I dreamed last night that Chris died. In the dream, I pulled one of his shirts out of the dirty clothes hamper and put it in a ziplock bag to retain his smell for as long as I could. The grief I felt in that dream was so real that I woke up with tears in my eyes and an ache in my chest.
It was only made worse by the fact that he's in Anniston at work so I couldn't just roll over, put my head on his chest and hear his heart beating. I texted him, but he's doing rounds and won't see his phone for a few hours.
My fear tells me that he still has to make the long drive home and what if?... I used to listen to those fears. Indulge them. I would work myself into a stomach wrenching panic.
I know what it is to lose someone I love to a sudden death. My very best friend in high school died that way. She was a year older than me and already attending Jack State. I was going to spend the weekend with her at college and it was going to be awesome. But first I had to speak at the PTF meeting at the school. I don't remember what I said, but I was the poster child, the teacher's pet, so I spoke.
Lori was supposed to be at the school to pick me up before 7. We were going to leave from there and she would bring me home on Sunday evening. By 7:30 she still wasn't there and I was annoyed. She tended to be late for everything. I had to call my dad to come get me. He put his shoes on and left the house. I griped all the way home. But when I walked through the front door and took one look at my mother's face, I knew something was really, really wrong.
I can't remember my mother's exact words, but I do remember the physical pain in my chest that made me collapse to the sofa. It truly felt like my heart was being ripped apart.
Lori was on her way to get me when she crossed the center line and hit a car head on. She died instantly.
Everything changed. My other best friend and I grew apart. I distanced myself from everyone. I stuffed my anger with God. I quit eating. I graduated in a fog. I remember one night telling one of my friends, who was also one of my teachers, how angry I was. He made the mistake of telling me that Lori wouldn't want me to be angry. I don't remember exactly what it was I threw at his head. He went and got a pastor friend of his. I don't even remember the man's name now, but we went for a walk in the darkened parking lot and he told me it was okay to be angry. He let me scream my rage and then held me while I wept, reassuring me that God still loved me.
I know what it is to lose. I know the kind of pain that changes you. But the thoughts of losing Chris are beyond my comprehension. Therefore, I "take every thought captive to obey Christ". (2 Cor 10:5) I chose in this moment to not fear, to trust. To believe that He will hold me, uphold me, no matter what. He is enough. His grace is sufficient.
I really wish Chris would call me back.
Saturday, April 07, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Squirrel Face-Off
I have the funniest story to tell and if you want to copy and share, that's fine, just give credit where you got it...
My dad is a handyman. I'm not giving him a compliment here; people pay him money to do odd jobs. Last week, he and Ty ran electrical conduit and wire at a house on the river. (my dad's also an electrician) This week, Dad called and explained the job they were going to do. I haven't laughed that hard in a while.
It seems there's an older couple he knows that he does odd jobs for periodically. A few days ago, they called because there was a squirrel in the wall of their den. Dad went over and removed the squirrel and put up mesh in the attic to keep it from getting back in. What they didn't know was that there was another squirrel in the wall. Who was now trapped.
The old man heard scratching and clawing in the wall and was very concerned. He sat in his chair and stared at the wall. Soon he noticed a small hole developing where the squirrel was gnawing at the sheetrock. He started to panic, so as a defense, he put a piece of duct tape over the hole. (well played...)
When the persistent animal started chewing through the duct tape (or what dad called "gray squirrel imprisonment tape"), the old man really panicked. The only logical course of action he could come up with was a .22. Yes, he ran to the closet, grabbed his gun, and shot several holes in the wall where the squirrel was.
Result: dead squirrel.
Dad and Ty's job:
1. cut a hole in the wall
2. remove dead squirrel
3. patch hole
4. patch bullet holes
5. extend the mesh in the attic
6. go outside and patch the bullet holes in the exterior siding
7. commiserate with the poor guy's wife who was gardening at the time of the incident and was almost SHOT!
I'm still laughing. Dad said if you take this guy's natural instincts, turn the 180` around, you get the right decision.
Moral of the story:
Duct tape cannot conquer squirrels. Guns can.
My dad is a handyman. I'm not giving him a compliment here; people pay him money to do odd jobs. Last week, he and Ty ran electrical conduit and wire at a house on the river. (my dad's also an electrician) This week, Dad called and explained the job they were going to do. I haven't laughed that hard in a while.
It seems there's an older couple he knows that he does odd jobs for periodically. A few days ago, they called because there was a squirrel in the wall of their den. Dad went over and removed the squirrel and put up mesh in the attic to keep it from getting back in. What they didn't know was that there was another squirrel in the wall. Who was now trapped.
The old man heard scratching and clawing in the wall and was very concerned. He sat in his chair and stared at the wall. Soon he noticed a small hole developing where the squirrel was gnawing at the sheetrock. He started to panic, so as a defense, he put a piece of duct tape over the hole. (well played...)
When the persistent animal started chewing through the duct tape (or what dad called "gray squirrel imprisonment tape"), the old man really panicked. The only logical course of action he could come up with was a .22. Yes, he ran to the closet, grabbed his gun, and shot several holes in the wall where the squirrel was.
Result: dead squirrel.
Dad and Ty's job:
1. cut a hole in the wall
2. remove dead squirrel
3. patch hole
4. patch bullet holes
5. extend the mesh in the attic
6. go outside and patch the bullet holes in the exterior siding
7. commiserate with the poor guy's wife who was gardening at the time of the incident and was almost SHOT!
I'm still laughing. Dad said if you take this guy's natural instincts, turn the 180` around, you get the right decision.
Moral of the story:
Duct tape cannot conquer squirrels. Guns can.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Homemade Laundry Soap
A few people have asked me for the recipe I use for laundry soap. It's a lot cheaper (about $6 per year!) and cleans just as well. I make mine in a five gallon bucket and only have to make it about twice a year. It's really, really quick and easy to make. I promise!!!
All you need:
1 cup Borax
1 cup Washing Soda (Arm and Hammer)
A Bar of Bath Soap
A 5 Gal. Bucket
Grate 2/3 of a bar of soap. Add slowly to simmering water on the stove top until melted. Add the Borax and Washing Soda slowly, stirring until dissolved.
In the bucket, add some hot water from the tap, then pour in the soap mixture. Stir. Add lukewarm water until the bucket has about 4 gallons of water in it. Put the lid on it and let it set for 24 hours. It will gel and end up looking sort of like white egg drop soup. :o) The whole process takes only about twenty minutes. Not bad, right?
*Don't use moisturizing soap.
This soap is low sudsing and I use it in my HE front loader but it can be used in a top loader too.
All you need:
1 cup Borax
1 cup Washing Soda (Arm and Hammer)
A Bar of Bath Soap
A 5 Gal. Bucket
Grate 2/3 of a bar of soap. Add slowly to simmering water on the stove top until melted. Add the Borax and Washing Soda slowly, stirring until dissolved.
In the bucket, add some hot water from the tap, then pour in the soap mixture. Stir. Add lukewarm water until the bucket has about 4 gallons of water in it. Put the lid on it and let it set for 24 hours. It will gel and end up looking sort of like white egg drop soup. :o) The whole process takes only about twenty minutes. Not bad, right?
*Don't use moisturizing soap.
This soap is low sudsing and I use it in my HE front loader but it can be used in a top loader too.
Church Planting
It's a really beautiful day outside. 68 degrees and sunny. Perfection. Chris has the day off. My dad is here just to hang out and there are 7 extra kids at my house. The two neighbor boys walked up and are playing catch in the front yard. Kristine spent the night with Gracie and the Hill kids are here while Kim and Quinn go to Virginia's dad's funeral.
Darrin, Brandon, Steven and Nate came up this morning and met Chris and I at the church plant's building. We made a list of things that need to be done and then they stayed to cut the grass. It looks so much better already. I'm so thankful for these guys!
Church planting has been described as "intense" and I would have to agree. To a certain extent, all ministry is intense. Any time you take your family into a situation where you are attempting to bring the gospel into an area where it has been absent is fraught with danger. People are suspicious and resistant. Churches get competitive. And your own heart gets frightened. I've heard planters talk about the frustration, the fear and the attacks. I've talked with one godly woman, who I thought was already so humble, who talked about the process of being broken. During one period of time, I looked around and asked what in the world we were doing. Why would I stay in a place where God is pealing back the layers of my flesh. That hurts.
I have an artist friend, Michelle. She painted this one particular canvas that has become God's word picture to my heart. The painting is of a girl with a jeweled tiara. The words on the canvas are, "Like any good princess, she laid down her life for the kingdom." My superficial happiness is distinctly unimportant. This short life is not what I'm living for. There is a King and a kingdom, and I am His princess and I lay down my life for him. He already gave his life for me. It's a beautiful truth. He died so I could live. He gave everything so I could have fellowship.
For me to give up temporary pleasure or my idols of comfort can feel like a huge sacrifice sometimes. But looking at it from the other side, it is NO sacrifice.
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." - Jim Elliot
There is always a cross we are to take up. For some, it is to be a martyr. For others, it is to raise their children, day in and day out, in the way they should go, even when they fear their children will not like them. In the face of fear and anger, or misunderstanding and condemnation, to follow Christ takes on a very different tone.
A friend asked me this week, in utter defeat, what to do about a child who throws tantrums all day long. What does she do to "fix" that problem? Another friend talked to me about the pain of never seeing her husband because he's ministering to other people. How does she get his attention? I could go on and on. The common thread there seems to be wanting to make the problem go away. Surely if we're following God, things will go well for us.
But maybe God has something else in mind. Maybe he's bigger and more complicated than that. Maybe his primary goal is NOT our comfort and happiness. Maybe he wants us to trust him, no matter what. Even when we are misunderstood, or judged, or reviled, or ignored. That may mean that we hold our ground with a stubborn child and discipline ten times a day for years before we see a heart change. It may mean that we continue to tell our spouse what our heart needs over and over again, feeling the hurt of that until they finally understand, no matter how long it takes. It may mean keeping our hearts soft towards someone who hurts us even when everything in us screams to cover up, give up, harden ourselves.
God is so good to us. He strips us bare so that we can finally behold him as he really is, not as we want him to be. He speaks the truth into our hearts, even though it hurts, because he knows the truth will set us free. He loves us with a furious, relentless love. Oh how I pray for love to be able to love him back.
Darrin, Brandon, Steven and Nate came up this morning and met Chris and I at the church plant's building. We made a list of things that need to be done and then they stayed to cut the grass. It looks so much better already. I'm so thankful for these guys!
Church planting has been described as "intense" and I would have to agree. To a certain extent, all ministry is intense. Any time you take your family into a situation where you are attempting to bring the gospel into an area where it has been absent is fraught with danger. People are suspicious and resistant. Churches get competitive. And your own heart gets frightened. I've heard planters talk about the frustration, the fear and the attacks. I've talked with one godly woman, who I thought was already so humble, who talked about the process of being broken. During one period of time, I looked around and asked what in the world we were doing. Why would I stay in a place where God is pealing back the layers of my flesh. That hurts.
I have an artist friend, Michelle. She painted this one particular canvas that has become God's word picture to my heart. The painting is of a girl with a jeweled tiara. The words on the canvas are, "Like any good princess, she laid down her life for the kingdom." My superficial happiness is distinctly unimportant. This short life is not what I'm living for. There is a King and a kingdom, and I am His princess and I lay down my life for him. He already gave his life for me. It's a beautiful truth. He died so I could live. He gave everything so I could have fellowship.
For me to give up temporary pleasure or my idols of comfort can feel like a huge sacrifice sometimes. But looking at it from the other side, it is NO sacrifice.
"He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." - Jim Elliot
There is always a cross we are to take up. For some, it is to be a martyr. For others, it is to raise their children, day in and day out, in the way they should go, even when they fear their children will not like them. In the face of fear and anger, or misunderstanding and condemnation, to follow Christ takes on a very different tone.
A friend asked me this week, in utter defeat, what to do about a child who throws tantrums all day long. What does she do to "fix" that problem? Another friend talked to me about the pain of never seeing her husband because he's ministering to other people. How does she get his attention? I could go on and on. The common thread there seems to be wanting to make the problem go away. Surely if we're following God, things will go well for us.
But maybe God has something else in mind. Maybe he's bigger and more complicated than that. Maybe his primary goal is NOT our comfort and happiness. Maybe he wants us to trust him, no matter what. Even when we are misunderstood, or judged, or reviled, or ignored. That may mean that we hold our ground with a stubborn child and discipline ten times a day for years before we see a heart change. It may mean that we continue to tell our spouse what our heart needs over and over again, feeling the hurt of that until they finally understand, no matter how long it takes. It may mean keeping our hearts soft towards someone who hurts us even when everything in us screams to cover up, give up, harden ourselves.
God is so good to us. He strips us bare so that we can finally behold him as he really is, not as we want him to be. He speaks the truth into our hearts, even though it hurts, because he knows the truth will set us free. He loves us with a furious, relentless love. Oh how I pray for love to be able to love him back.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Cold Feet and Scratching
The first thing on my mind right now is that my feet are cold. No, not cold... freezing. I think I'll go find my ski socks. Be right back...
Better. Now... the second thing on my mind is much more complicated and less easily fixed. Place and Story.
Chris has been listening to a sermon series on the theology of place. It's complicated and more than I can explain in a paragraph, but very simply put, it means live WHERE YOU ARE. It means if you live in a town, minister in that town. If you work someplace, minister in that place. Shop in your own town from stores that are local. Put your money into your local economy. Stop looking into the distance and living for a theoretical future. Live now, where you are.
Story. God has been gently pulling me to a place where I can confront my own story. There are things in my childhood I have never faced. Things that scare me. Things I ignore. When asked if there were any traumatic events in my childhood, I used to always say no, it was normal, happy even. When Gordon (my Christian counselor) asked me, the Holy Spirit brought several things to mind. Not good things.
Why now? Why can't I keep ignoring it? I dunno. The sermon Sunday night provoked a thought about my childhood. I heard someone, just this week, bring up the title of a Dan Allender book that Gordon recommended two years. I decided to pick up the new Bible study Chris got me for the wives of church-planters. First chapter: The Myths of Story. *sigh*
To quote: "It is our belief that the more we know and become familiar with our own stories, developing self-awareness and healthy critical thinking, the more we have the capacity to know God and his story. When we truly see our pasts for what they are, then we can begin to understand how we have sought to bring peace into our lives apart from relying on Christ. We begin to see where we have created idols to give us a false sense of hope and comfort. We being to see how we relate to others apart from relying on Christ. ... The more we open doors to our past, the more freedom we encounter. It is this freedom that draws others to the life-giving hope we possess."
*sigh*
I started a Word doc to track my memories. Some of the things I have recorded are messed up. Some are happy. But I get the distinct feeling that I am scratching at a rough patch of skin that could rupture at any time. That maybe there's some really f'ed up stuff under there. Stuff I am afraid that I'll never be able to make sense of. Is that really better than ignoring it?
I guess we'll find out. I think I'll go scratch at it a little while longer.
Better. Now... the second thing on my mind is much more complicated and less easily fixed. Place and Story.
Chris has been listening to a sermon series on the theology of place. It's complicated and more than I can explain in a paragraph, but very simply put, it means live WHERE YOU ARE. It means if you live in a town, minister in that town. If you work someplace, minister in that place. Shop in your own town from stores that are local. Put your money into your local economy. Stop looking into the distance and living for a theoretical future. Live now, where you are.
Story. God has been gently pulling me to a place where I can confront my own story. There are things in my childhood I have never faced. Things that scare me. Things I ignore. When asked if there were any traumatic events in my childhood, I used to always say no, it was normal, happy even. When Gordon (my Christian counselor) asked me, the Holy Spirit brought several things to mind. Not good things.
Why now? Why can't I keep ignoring it? I dunno. The sermon Sunday night provoked a thought about my childhood. I heard someone, just this week, bring up the title of a Dan Allender book that Gordon recommended two years. I decided to pick up the new Bible study Chris got me for the wives of church-planters. First chapter: The Myths of Story. *sigh*
To quote: "It is our belief that the more we know and become familiar with our own stories, developing self-awareness and healthy critical thinking, the more we have the capacity to know God and his story. When we truly see our pasts for what they are, then we can begin to understand how we have sought to bring peace into our lives apart from relying on Christ. We begin to see where we have created idols to give us a false sense of hope and comfort. We being to see how we relate to others apart from relying on Christ. ... The more we open doors to our past, the more freedom we encounter. It is this freedom that draws others to the life-giving hope we possess."
*sigh*
I started a Word doc to track my memories. Some of the things I have recorded are messed up. Some are happy. But I get the distinct feeling that I am scratching at a rough patch of skin that could rupture at any time. That maybe there's some really f'ed up stuff under there. Stuff I am afraid that I'll never be able to make sense of. Is that really better than ignoring it?
I guess we'll find out. I think I'll go scratch at it a little while longer.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A Sunny Irish Day
Is it a stretch to combine trebuchets and St. Patrick's Day? I hope not because that's what we did today.
In my co-op class we have been talking about the history of weapons and warfare. So far we've learned about the Tang dynasty and the invention of gunpowder, the Mongol invasion, Vikings, the Mayans and Aztecs, the spread of Islam and Werner von Braun's V-2 rockets. Diverse, I know. Anything to keep me from having to study guns. Blah. Boring.
This week we are studying Medieval Britain and Ireland. (thus, the trebuchet)
I found the pattern here. It was not hard or expensive. Chris precut all the wood and he and I assembled one yesterday just to make sure we knew what to do. This morning he helped the kids and it only took about an hour.
I found the pattern here. It was not hard or expensive. Chris precut all the wood and he and I assembled one yesterday just to make sure we knew what to do. This morning he helped the kids and it only took about an hour. 
Missy's geography class was on Ireland and St. Patrick's Day since that is day after tomorrow. They had a handout this week about it and today we had an Irish feast. Roasted chicken and carrots with Roasties. Roasties are roasted potatoes.
Recipe:
Peel and quarter several potatoes.
Boil for 5 minutes with a little salt.
Drain and let dry out for an hour or so.
Put them back in the cook pot with the lid and shake!
Put some duck fat (or olive oil) in the roasting pan and let preheat 5 minutes.
Add the potatoes. Top with salt, pepper and herbs (rosemary from the garden).
Cook 22 minutes on 350.
Take them out, flip them over, add a little more oil and herbs, put them back in.
Cook another 22 minutes.
DELICIOUS!!!
After we ate, we skyped with Laura, AJ and Bella Morgan for over an hour. The kids asked lots of questions. What are the toilets like? What do you eat for breakfast? Do they have beef jerky in Ireland? What kind of sports do you play? How is St Patrick's Day celebrated? Do you have stores like WalMart? etc. etc. etc.
AJ told us about hurling and showed us his hurler and slither. Super cool! Bella told us how to ask to use the bathroom in Irish. She showed us what their cereal boxes look like. We got a grand tour of the house. Steve and Eli popped into frame long enough to make us laugh. And Laura and I kept on talking while Kim was teaching Science.
The kids had a great day learning today. I love watching them laugh and experiment. I love when they get excited about learning. It puts all the days when school is an exercise in discipline into perspective.
Now, the sun is shining and Titan and I are swinging on the porch swing. The boys are in the woods looking for the perfect stick to use as the firing mechanism for their seige machine. The girls are running around in the yard doing who knows what. Kim is asleep on the sofa. It's been a really lovely day. I am very thankful!
Sunday, March 04, 2012
A Sword Will Pierce Your Soul
I shall preface this post with a comment on perception. Perception is a funny thing. The way a person perceives information is dependant on their experience or life state, at the time. So two people can listen to the same set of instructions or the same sermon and perceive two different things. Today's sermon spoke LOADS to me. It might have spoken to other people as well, but what they gleaned from it would be different from myself. Confused? I am. Whatev... on with the point of this post.
Our home church is planting a sister church in the town where we live. My husband is the elder for this plant. We have come to the stage in the process where it is time for us to make the transition from our home church to our new church. Why am I telling you this? Background is needed and I'll try to keep it brief.
My parents were vaguely unhappy most of my childhood. Okay. More than vaguely, if you count the suicide attempts. So we bounced from church to church. I don't blame them for this, seeing as how they were trying the best the could. By the time I was 17, I was ready to grow some roots. I was tired of the gossip and the chaos of the churches we had been to, and the Lord led me to a PCA church. (This in no way implies that only PCA churches are valid. This is just my experience.) I was comforted by the church government. It made me feel safe to know that the preacher couldn't run the church like a dictatorial regime and the "leadership" couldn't run him off if they didn't like the way he parted his hair. There was structure and safety in having a session of elders.
I joined Community when I was 17. I was in the youth group. I graduated and moved into the singles group. I met my husband there. I was discipled. I had my babies. I was shown how to mother. I was introduced to grace. I was taught. I was trained to lead. I grew up. I participated in Women's Ministry. I was comforted when my parents divorced. I saw what unity looked like when there was no gossip about it. I was supported through tragedies.
When Chris mentioned church planting, my answer was a simple but emphatic, "No." I could not even contemplate leaving my volitional family. But God worked in my heart and gave me a desire to move into my own community and share the gospel.
Now, it is time to make the move. It is time to leave my safe, wonderful, happy, comfortable, precious nest. It is time to say a goodbye to that family and give my heart to another family. I will, of course, never truly leave Community. They are my history. They are my heart.
Today was our last regular Sunday there. My children's hearts are broken.
(now to the perception part. Here is my take on Burt's sermon)
This morning, Burt preached out of John 19, when Mary was standing at the foot of the cross, watching her son be brutally murdered. Jesus told her to take John as her son and John to take Mary as his mother. Burt took us back to Luke 2, when Simeon blessed Jesus in the temple and told Mary that "a sword will pierce through you own soul also".
Right now it feels as though my soul is being pierced through.
Burt went on to point out that when Mary was in that agonizing place, Jesus saw her and provided a comfort for her. He saw her pain and met her in that place. When I am in grief and sorrow, Jesus sees me. He sees me from heaven and gives me himself. He doesn't ignore it. He comforts me.
When I took communion today, I could hear the Spirit reminding me, "Christ's body broken for you. He sees you. He knows." I couldn't stop crying. It was beautiful.
The rest of the sermon pointed out Christ's reconciliation with John who had abandoned him in the garden and the creation of a new family. John took care of Mary. She came to live with him.
God is moving us away from our true family, but he will not abandon us. He will not turn us out into the desert. He is providing another family for us. It will take a while for the relationships to be built and it may never be the same as Community, but there is no doubt that God is sending us.
I ask you to pray for my teenagers. This move is hardest on them, I think. Pray for Chris and I as we parent them through this. I think my biggest fear is that they will hate God and hate Chris and I for doing this to them. I long for them to see God's goodness in this. Pray for us as we actively and deliberately seek out relationships in Springville. Pray for Maggie and I as we trust God with our fears of being forgotten by the ones we love most.
Who knew that God would lead us into church planting? Yowza. Not me. I think moving to Peru would have been easier in some ways.
Someone else listening to this sermon may have perceived something completely different, but that's where I was today and I don't think I'll ever forget it. God spoke straight into my heart. Thank you, Burt for bringing it today. Have you been reading my mail???
Our home church is planting a sister church in the town where we live. My husband is the elder for this plant. We have come to the stage in the process where it is time for us to make the transition from our home church to our new church. Why am I telling you this? Background is needed and I'll try to keep it brief.
My parents were vaguely unhappy most of my childhood. Okay. More than vaguely, if you count the suicide attempts. So we bounced from church to church. I don't blame them for this, seeing as how they were trying the best the could. By the time I was 17, I was ready to grow some roots. I was tired of the gossip and the chaos of the churches we had been to, and the Lord led me to a PCA church. (This in no way implies that only PCA churches are valid. This is just my experience.) I was comforted by the church government. It made me feel safe to know that the preacher couldn't run the church like a dictatorial regime and the "leadership" couldn't run him off if they didn't like the way he parted his hair. There was structure and safety in having a session of elders.
I joined Community when I was 17. I was in the youth group. I graduated and moved into the singles group. I met my husband there. I was discipled. I had my babies. I was shown how to mother. I was introduced to grace. I was taught. I was trained to lead. I grew up. I participated in Women's Ministry. I was comforted when my parents divorced. I saw what unity looked like when there was no gossip about it. I was supported through tragedies.
When Chris mentioned church planting, my answer was a simple but emphatic, "No." I could not even contemplate leaving my volitional family. But God worked in my heart and gave me a desire to move into my own community and share the gospel.
Now, it is time to make the move. It is time to leave my safe, wonderful, happy, comfortable, precious nest. It is time to say a goodbye to that family and give my heart to another family. I will, of course, never truly leave Community. They are my history. They are my heart.
Today was our last regular Sunday there. My children's hearts are broken.
(now to the perception part. Here is my take on Burt's sermon)
This morning, Burt preached out of John 19, when Mary was standing at the foot of the cross, watching her son be brutally murdered. Jesus told her to take John as her son and John to take Mary as his mother. Burt took us back to Luke 2, when Simeon blessed Jesus in the temple and told Mary that "a sword will pierce through you own soul also".
Right now it feels as though my soul is being pierced through.
Burt went on to point out that when Mary was in that agonizing place, Jesus saw her and provided a comfort for her. He saw her pain and met her in that place. When I am in grief and sorrow, Jesus sees me. He sees me from heaven and gives me himself. He doesn't ignore it. He comforts me.
When I took communion today, I could hear the Spirit reminding me, "Christ's body broken for you. He sees you. He knows." I couldn't stop crying. It was beautiful.
The rest of the sermon pointed out Christ's reconciliation with John who had abandoned him in the garden and the creation of a new family. John took care of Mary. She came to live with him.
God is moving us away from our true family, but he will not abandon us. He will not turn us out into the desert. He is providing another family for us. It will take a while for the relationships to be built and it may never be the same as Community, but there is no doubt that God is sending us.
I ask you to pray for my teenagers. This move is hardest on them, I think. Pray for Chris and I as we parent them through this. I think my biggest fear is that they will hate God and hate Chris and I for doing this to them. I long for them to see God's goodness in this. Pray for us as we actively and deliberately seek out relationships in Springville. Pray for Maggie and I as we trust God with our fears of being forgotten by the ones we love most.
Who knew that God would lead us into church planting? Yowza. Not me. I think moving to Peru would have been easier in some ways.
Someone else listening to this sermon may have perceived something completely different, but that's where I was today and I don't think I'll ever forget it. God spoke straight into my heart. Thank you, Burt for bringing it today. Have you been reading my mail???
Thursday, March 01, 2012
Let's Rediscover over a Cuppa...
I was resistant to joining Facebook for a long time. I loved blogging and I adored my Blog Community. I think I had almost 25 or 30 blog links on my page. Most of these were people I knew but there were some of people who were either inspiring or just plain fascinating. I would log on every night after the kids went to bed and check in on my people.
My friend, Jawan, introduced me to the blogosphere. She started one and I followed her religiously. Once I started my own, it seemed like more and more people jumped in with me. My sister kept hers light-hearted. My pastor and brother-of-my-heart, G, varied. Sometimes his were frenetically hilarious; other times, heart-wrenchingly honest and moving. Another blog was from a guy named Nate who lived up north somewhere. His posts were fascinating as he navigated his new married life and teaching jr high.
And then Facebook came along. I didn't want to leave my sweet little nest. I was talked into it. There were some things I loved about it. I found friends from ages ago and we could chat like we were once again sitting in Economics class passing notes. What's not to love about that? I found my Algebra teacher and my high school mentor. I found kids (now adults) that I used to babysit. I found my best friend from third grade. This was awesome!
But somewhere along the way, something changed. All the depth was sucked out of the connections. Blogging allowed me to make a statement or a claim and then spend 500 words explaining it. On FB I became very cautious of my status updates, because I just didn't know who might be reading it. I didn't want my family to misunderstand a snarky comment or my high school friends to misinterpret me and think I was still the same self-righteous prig I used to be.
Facebook makes me rise back to the surface of myself and be pleasant. Admit it. You don't put deep feelings on a status. You don't want to post, "Cried myself to sleep last night. I don't think I want to be a mother any more." What?!?! DHR will be knocking any minute. Or how about posting, "My sin overwhelms me. I long for heaven." My aunt would have the suicide hotline make a house call.
But blogging... ahhh, that quiet little bubble where only people who WANT to know me come. That still place where I can think through my thoughts and send the results out into the void, not knowing who, if anyone, will read it.
I used to blog two or three times a week. I haven't blogged with any substance in almost a year. Maybe more. I don't like that. I like thinking and typing. I miss sending things out into the great unknown and waving as it goes. I like to be poetic sometimes. And I really like you... whoever you may be, who is reading this right now. I'm waving at you. Wave back with a review if you want. You don't have to; it's not required.
Facebook will continue to be in my life. I have the app after all. But my blog will be my dear, old friend that I sit down with and drink a cuppa and tell all my problems, joys and fears... You're invited too. Come on in. Do you like cream and sugar with your coffee?
My friend, Jawan, introduced me to the blogosphere. She started one and I followed her religiously. Once I started my own, it seemed like more and more people jumped in with me. My sister kept hers light-hearted. My pastor and brother-of-my-heart, G, varied. Sometimes his were frenetically hilarious; other times, heart-wrenchingly honest and moving. Another blog was from a guy named Nate who lived up north somewhere. His posts were fascinating as he navigated his new married life and teaching jr high.
And then Facebook came along. I didn't want to leave my sweet little nest. I was talked into it. There were some things I loved about it. I found friends from ages ago and we could chat like we were once again sitting in Economics class passing notes. What's not to love about that? I found my Algebra teacher and my high school mentor. I found kids (now adults) that I used to babysit. I found my best friend from third grade. This was awesome!
But somewhere along the way, something changed. All the depth was sucked out of the connections. Blogging allowed me to make a statement or a claim and then spend 500 words explaining it. On FB I became very cautious of my status updates, because I just didn't know who might be reading it. I didn't want my family to misunderstand a snarky comment or my high school friends to misinterpret me and think I was still the same self-righteous prig I used to be.
Facebook makes me rise back to the surface of myself and be pleasant. Admit it. You don't put deep feelings on a status. You don't want to post, "Cried myself to sleep last night. I don't think I want to be a mother any more." What?!?! DHR will be knocking any minute. Or how about posting, "My sin overwhelms me. I long for heaven." My aunt would have the suicide hotline make a house call.
But blogging... ahhh, that quiet little bubble where only people who WANT to know me come. That still place where I can think through my thoughts and send the results out into the void, not knowing who, if anyone, will read it.
I used to blog two or three times a week. I haven't blogged with any substance in almost a year. Maybe more. I don't like that. I like thinking and typing. I miss sending things out into the great unknown and waving as it goes. I like to be poetic sometimes. And I really like you... whoever you may be, who is reading this right now. I'm waving at you. Wave back with a review if you want. You don't have to; it's not required.
Facebook will continue to be in my life. I have the app after all. But my blog will be my dear, old friend that I sit down with and drink a cuppa and tell all my problems, joys and fears... You're invited too. Come on in. Do you like cream and sugar with your coffee?
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Redeeming the House and my Heart
Today, I cleaned out my big hall closet. A lot. Like to the tune of purging three garbage bags out of it. I am so tired of my house being full of s*#t, pardon my cartoon french. I have lost count of how much stuff I've given away. It's so much that my friends are seriously worried that we're moving overseas. My hall closet now has space for more coats and room on the shelf. The bigger hall closet (deemed the "Tornado Closet" because of its location at the center of the house) has floor space and the topmost shelf is almost empty. Maggie's closet, where I had stuff stored, is now empty of my stuff. Next project: the Attic! Duh duh duh *cue scary music* I am so done. It's amazing how much stuff we've accumulated.
In the process, I homeschooled. Ty and I went through his entire Algebra book to date and went over the processes that he was unsure of. Brody and I did a math lesson and then I gave him some books on tape to keep him busy and happy. A while later, I heard his growl of frustration and made my way to where he was nested, only to find out "the stupid tape is broken!"... except it was at the end of the tape and needed to either be flipped over or rewound. For a child raised with his own iPod, this was a major inconvenience. He made himself a sandwich while it rewound.
Maggie and I had a great, ongoing conversation about life today. She's ridiculously funny. So witty. She got a new full sized bed yesterday and she tried not to move from it today. She ate, did school, helped me sort boxes, all from the squishy firmness of her "big girl" bed.
Chris and I discussed the cluster that was Maggie's check up yesterday. Her pediatrician is losing his mind. He interrupted, assumed, and lectured to the point that I was almost rude to him. He stopped. Chris recommended a carefully worded email.
I did all these things almost simultaneously today. My house isn't super clean but it is tidy. The kids did their school. The closets got cleaned. I got several long, whispery hugs from Chris that I am completely addicted to. And I found this... a page of homework from the very first time I went through Discipling by Grace circa 1999:
"While trying to do this assignment - Chris wants help going through his suits to give some away, Maggie wants to have a dialogue on why we should go to McDonald's, and Ty lets me know that he has poop in his pants. I get VERY angry every time I hear "Mommy! Mommy!" I'M TRYING TO WORK!"
And
"I woke up - sick, fatigued. Then I look around and now I'm overwhelmed. The floors need vacuuming, there are dishes in the sink, the table is full of the junk I emptied out of the van, my desk is overrun with papers, there are toys everywhere, the bathroom is dirty, etc, etc, etc. I end up either doing nothing and feeling disgusted with myself OR I push myself to clean and am mean to the kids and get even sicker."
I was dumbstruck at the difference in myself in the last twelve years. I wish I could go back in time and get myself to understand that the children and Chris WERE my job. Who gives a flying rat's ass about the dishes or the vacuuming? Those are just things that needed doing. My family was my job. I remember being so task oriented that Maggie and Ty were just interruptions.
In my defense, that's how you do every other job on the face of the earth. You have a job description. You have a list of tasks that need to be done and you do them. But being a mother is not a list of tasks or a job; it is a living, breathing, organic experience. It's not like pooping. It's like breathing. You don't put it off or try to hurry it along. You just breathe.
And also in my defense, I was still relatively new (just a few years) to the whole experience of washing dishes and clothes and cooking... I still had to think about them. As time has gone on and I've gotten so accustomed to doing those things, I don't have to give them a second thought. Remember when you learned to tie your shoes? For years after, you had to force your fingers into the right position, maybe even repeat under your breath the steps, "X them over, loop, over, under, loop, through, pull." When's the last time you had to think about tying your shoes? Huh? You can't even remember. You can talk on the phone, do whatever, and tie your shoes. That's what housework is like to me now. I do it without ever giving it conscious thought. But back then, back when my kids were little, I still had to think about it. And add to that the constant demand of their persistent voices and no wonder I got so frustrated!
The older I've gotten, the more relaxed I've gotten. There's a reason for that: I am not defined by the state of my house or how nice my kids are to me. My kids are sinners just like me. They don't mean to be unkind to me. They don't try to hurt my feelings. They are just like me. I don't try to be selfish or say mean things to people. But I get caught up in my own little world and before I know it, I've hurt someone. That's what they did to me. Poor things. They had no idea why I was so angry with them all the time.
I mentioned this to them tonight and asked them if they remembered it. Nope. Not even a little. They have no recollection of a messy house or a screaming mother. They remembered the walks we took in the woods and the trips to my mother's house. And today, my two oldest, at different times without knowledge of the other, came to me, hugged me and told me thank you for all the ways I helped them today.
I wish I could tell my younger self to hang in there. One day, they get older and become aware of you as a person. One day, all that housework becomes second nature. One day, they clean up after themselves. One day, they look down upon you and say "Thank you."
God's grace is sufficient. For my sin, for my children's memories, and for my heart. He is making even this right. Redemption is a beautiful thing.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Paris: Part Two
I am so mad about the layout! I've put extra spaces between the paragraphs and blogger is not showing them. It's all squashed together. Grrrr... Sorry!
The long awaited Part Deux... I made use of the journal!
I slept well. The bed was comfortable and the pillow not too hard. It was lovely and dark in the room when I woke up to find Ginger peeking out the windows. Apparently, she hadn't slept much because there was no clock in the room. I turned my phone on and when we saw that it was a few minutes after 8:00 we got up. I could tell Ginger was pretty tired.
We took turns showering in our gorgeous, enormous shower. It was so cool. It had a shower-head the size of a dinner plate and a glass enclosure. The only weird part was that the "door" to the shower wouldn't close all the way. But the water pressure was hard and I really enjoyed that because Trace and Ginger's shower in England really just spits at you. Anywho, we got ready, said good-bye to our pretty room and checked out.
Outside it was gray and the sky looked like rain. It wasn't drizzling, but every once and a while we could feel the mist. We took a moment to pray about the weather and then we were off.
Our next question was "Now what?" I had studied the maps and had a pretty good idea where things were. We wanted to see the Arc de Triomph and the Louvre. But first... breakfast. The idea of it was intimidating. We didn't speak the language. We walked past a few cafes and tried to read the signs. Finally I looked at Ginger and said, "We're just going to have to do it. We're just going to walk in one of these and try." Ginger looked as intimidated as I felt, but we chose one and walked over to it. The chalk sign held words that we recognized: le jus d'orange, omelette, croissant. Bingo. I led the way and was greeted by a waiter: White shirt, black trousers, black bowtie and apron. And he looked like Robert Deniro.
He said something in French really fast.
Me: "Pardonnez-moi. I'm so sorry. I do not speak French." I looked pitiful, I'm sure.
He threw his hands in the air. " Well zen, what are we going to do?" And then laughed.
I was so relieved! He pointed us to a small table next to the window. I ordered a ham and cheese omelette with orange juice and Ginger got the croissants with jam and coffee. While we ate we watched this old Frenchman (long white hair and beard, beret and kerchief tied around his neck) drink his espresso, smoke his pipe and read the paper. I tried to get his picture but missed. He was awesome.
We paid and walked down to Invalides and then took a left, towards the Seine, and walked through a chestnut grove. Ginger got pictures but I didn't. There were lots of people on bicycles. Just like in the movies. The buildings around us were magnificent. Enormous, stone, gilded. And that was just the Air France headquarters...
We crossed Pont Alexandre III (Pont means bridge, fyi). There are statues there that will blow your mind. They've got to be thirty feet tall, at least and golden. We just stood the
re for several minutes and basked. I found a pic on google. That's the dome we saw out our hotel room window. We were to the right of it.
re for several minutes and basked. I found a pic on google. That's the dome we saw out our hotel room window. We were to the right of it. We were almost over the bridge when about five police vans passed, going the same direction we were, lights and sirens blaring. We watched them pass and wondered.
On the other side of the bridge, we passed the Grande Palace and on the other side of the street, the Petite Palace, both now museums. They were huge! And who should be parked in front of the Petite Palace but the police vans. The odd thing was that no one was in a hurry. All the police were leisurely standing around, smoking and putting on their bullet proof vests. It was so odd. We never did figure out what they were doing.
The avenue just passed the Palaces was the famous Champs Elysees. (pronounced: shomps ee less-ay) To the right we could see the Place de la Concorde and to the left, way down the road, was the Arc de Triomph. Ginger and I just looked at each other and grinned like idiots.
We walked down the Champs Elysees. Let's just take a moment to let that sink in.... I walked on the Champs Elysees. ...
Every store had at least one guard outside and two doormen. There was a queue outside one place, which we realized was the Abercrombie and Fitch store. You had to go through a wrought iron gate, down an ivy lined path, and around a corner. They only let people in a few at a time. We didn't waste our time standing in line.
There was a movie theater, a Nike store, a Toyota showroom, Louis Vuitton, and lots and lots more. Some of the shops were literally the size of my bedroom. There was lots of traffic. And 
there was a Haagen Daz. I got a Bonafe Ice Cream. It had bananas and caramel. So good! We sat under the canopy to the right and people-watched. :o)
there was a Haagen Daz. I got a Bonafe Ice Cream. It had bananas and caramel. So good! We sat under the canopy to the right and people-watched. :o)We walked the rest of the way to the Arc de Triomphe. The structure itself was magnificent. Huge! And surrounding the Arc is a roundabout, or traffic circle, that has 12 roads feeding into it. It looked like complete chaos to me. But it was amazing. We sat on a bench and rested while looking at it. Ginger made the observation that Paris is as beautiful as the pictures make it out to be, but the pictures cannot do it justice. The pictures don't give you the scale of everything. And the scale is magnificent.
As we walked back down the Avenue, contemplating what we wanted to do, I was overwhelmed with gratitude. It would have been enough for Chris and I to come back to Culcheth. It would have been enough for Maggie to come with us. It would have been enough to bring the rest of the kids. It would have been enough to spend all of our time in Culcheth. It would have been enough. But to find myself, with one of my dearest friends, walking through Paris... it was beyond words. And it was only a few minutes after noon...
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Paris: Part One
Ok. Some of you are annoyed with me, I know. But when Ginger and I got home, I found out that they DO NOT have unlimited internet! So I quit using it; I didn't want them to run out. So here is my very best recollection of the rest of the trip...
Wednesday morning, Ginger and I got up and tried to get everything just right so the men would have an easier time while we were gone. We cooked potato soup for Wednesday night and made taco meat for them for Thursday. Then we walked into the village for Ginger to get her haircut. (And yes, I gave her the money that everyone donated for this very reason... she got a style too!) The haircut took much longer than expected and we still had to go to the grocery for lunch stuff for the kids. At 2:00 we were still at Sainsbury's and we had to leave for the airport by 3:00!
We dashed back to the house and packed. No, we had not already packed. I know. I know. Dumb. We spent so much time taking care of everyone else, we didn't take care of ourselves. But isn't that how we women work? ... Yes, it is.
Sue came and picked us up. I told her to bring her passport but she disobeyed. She drove us to Liverpool and dropped us at the John Lennon Airport. The thing about Sue is, we can talk about really personal, important stuff and then turn around and crack each other up. She would totally fit in on a Friday night.
Ginger and I flew Easy Jet, the illegitimate step-brother of more distinguished airlines. You get the gate furthest away from civilization and no assigned seating. And no leg room.... and no elbow room... and only one carry-on (this includes purses). But we didn't care. We were going to PARIS!!! Our flight attendant, a man, looked remarkably like a very effeminate David Russell. Creepy. The girl next to me, beside the window, had a cold I thought. It wasn't until we were almost there that I realized she was crying.
Now I know, I had been told, that the English are private and reserved, yadda yadda yadda. But I could not let this poor girl sit there and cry! I made a funny comment about Paris and broke the ice. Come to find out, she goes to university in Paris and was going back after a short visit at home with her family. She was homesick. We talked for a bit and by the time we disembarked, she was laughing. It was cool.
The Charles DeGaulle airport is dark and old and slightly dirty. Not at all what I expected. And since we flew Easy Jet, we were in the back forty and had to walk the entire length of the airport to get to the train station. No problem. Our feet were still fresh. We went down the escalator and were confronted with machines. Many ticket dispensing machines and no idea what to do.
We walked over to what we hoped was an information desk. This was our first time to say, "Bonjour. I don't speak French. I am so sorry." The young man smiled at us and said what we soon found out was the standard, "It's okay. I speak a little English." He pointed us in the right direction and we found the line for the real live person who sold tickets. Soon we were on our way. I had studied the Metro map extensively and knew our stops. It still took about an hour to get from the airport to our stop.
When we walked up the stairs and into the heart of Paris, we held hands and grinned at each other. It was lit up and living up to its nickname, "The City of Lights." Wow. There are no words to describe the feeling. And it was the first of many, many times we got that feeling. We found our hotel, a discreet little place next to the Musee de l'Armee. It was called the Hotel de l'Empereur. It was awesome! Our room had a little balcony that faced the golden dome of the Museum. We called the guys and let them know we made it, ditched our stuff and headed out in search of food and the Eiffel Tower.
It was late and the cafes were crowded and about to close. We also didn't have the courage to walk into a place and try to order. Instead we found a tiny, tiny little Parisian version of a quick mart. We bought cheese, grapes, a plum, an apple, some bread and a bag of chips for me, and some drinks. Then we were off again.
You would think that you would see the Eiffel Tower first thing, but the buildings are so tall and close together that you can't. I had studied the map and, having a pretty good sense of direction, headed the right way. And then it happened. One minute we were looking at beautiful buildings and then we could see the top of the tower.
We ran forward a few steps and there it was! All lit up and sparkling with lights. We literally jumped up and down and squealed! I was looking at the Eiffel Tower! Surreal. We took some pictures and then walked over to it.
The pictures I had seen captured the beauty, but there's just no way to capture the scale. It's just so big! One of the bases of the leg is the size of my house! And up close, the steel framework almost looks like lace. My words are inadequate.
We walked under it and sat at a bench while we ate our fruit and cheese. Let me restate: Ginger and I sat under the Eiffel Tower and ate cheese and fruit. From Paris. And the grapes... the grapes tasted like honeysuckle. The best thing I have ever eaten. If someone asks me what my favorite food is, it will forever be Grapes From Paris. Seriously.
We sat for a while. We gawked. We giggled. We tried to wrap our minds around it. And then, since it was midnight, we walked back to our hotel and fell into bed.
End of Day One in Paris....
Wednesday morning, Ginger and I got up and tried to get everything just right so the men would have an easier time while we were gone. We cooked potato soup for Wednesday night and made taco meat for them for Thursday. Then we walked into the village for Ginger to get her haircut. (And yes, I gave her the money that everyone donated for this very reason... she got a style too!) The haircut took much longer than expected and we still had to go to the grocery for lunch stuff for the kids. At 2:00 we were still at Sainsbury's and we had to leave for the airport by 3:00!
We dashed back to the house and packed. No, we had not already packed. I know. I know. Dumb. We spent so much time taking care of everyone else, we didn't take care of ourselves. But isn't that how we women work? ... Yes, it is.
Sue came and picked us up. I told her to bring her passport but she disobeyed. She drove us to Liverpool and dropped us at the John Lennon Airport. The thing about Sue is, we can talk about really personal, important stuff and then turn around and crack each other up. She would totally fit in on a Friday night.
Ginger and I flew Easy Jet, the illegitimate step-brother of more distinguished airlines. You get the gate furthest away from civilization and no assigned seating. And no leg room.... and no elbow room... and only one carry-on (this includes purses). But we didn't care. We were going to PARIS!!! Our flight attendant, a man, looked remarkably like a very effeminate David Russell. Creepy. The girl next to me, beside the window, had a cold I thought. It wasn't until we were almost there that I realized she was crying.
Now I know, I had been told, that the English are private and reserved, yadda yadda yadda. But I could not let this poor girl sit there and cry! I made a funny comment about Paris and broke the ice. Come to find out, she goes to university in Paris and was going back after a short visit at home with her family. She was homesick. We talked for a bit and by the time we disembarked, she was laughing. It was cool.
The Charles DeGaulle airport is dark and old and slightly dirty. Not at all what I expected. And since we flew Easy Jet, we were in the back forty and had to walk the entire length of the airport to get to the train station. No problem. Our feet were still fresh. We went down the escalator and were confronted with machines. Many ticket dispensing machines and no idea what to do.
We walked over to what we hoped was an information desk. This was our first time to say, "Bonjour. I don't speak French. I am so sorry." The young man smiled at us and said what we soon found out was the standard, "It's okay. I speak a little English." He pointed us in the right direction and we found the line for the real live person who sold tickets. Soon we were on our way. I had studied the Metro map extensively and knew our stops. It still took about an hour to get from the airport to our stop.
When we walked up the stairs and into the heart of Paris, we held hands and grinned at each other. It was lit up and living up to its nickname, "The City of Lights." Wow. There are no words to describe the feeling. And it was the first of many, many times we got that feeling. We found our hotel, a discreet little place next to the Musee de l'Armee. It was called the Hotel de l'Empereur. It was awesome! Our room had a little balcony that faced the golden dome of the Museum. We called the guys and let them know we made it, ditched our stuff and headed out in search of food and the Eiffel Tower.
It was late and the cafes were crowded and about to close. We also didn't have the courage to walk into a place and try to order. Instead we found a tiny, tiny little Parisian version of a quick mart. We bought cheese, grapes, a plum, an apple, some bread and a bag of chips for me, and some drinks. Then we were off again.
You would think that you would see the Eiffel Tower first thing, but the buildings are so tall and close together that you can't. I had studied the map and, having a pretty good sense of direction, headed the right way. And then it happened. One minute we were looking at beautiful buildings and then we could see the top of the tower.
We ran forward a few steps and there it was! All lit up and sparkling with lights. We literally jumped up and down and squealed! I was looking at the Eiffel Tower! Surreal. We took some pictures and then walked over to it.
The pictures I had seen captured the beauty, but there's just no way to capture the scale. It's just so big! One of the bases of the leg is the size of my house! And up close, the steel framework almost looks like lace. My words are inadequate.
We walked under it and sat at a bench while we ate our fruit and cheese. Let me restate: Ginger and I sat under the Eiffel Tower and ate cheese and fruit. From Paris. And the grapes... the grapes tasted like honeysuckle. The best thing I have ever eaten. If someone asks me what my favorite food is, it will forever be Grapes From Paris. Seriously.
We sat for a while. We gawked. We giggled. We tried to wrap our minds around it. And then, since it was midnight, we walked back to our hotel and fell into bed.
End of Day One in Paris....
Friday, November 04, 2011
Tuesday, England Day 3
I wrote this partly on the day of and partly the next day and never posted it...
We woke up this morning, ate breakfast, and got ready for Ladies Bible Study. Ginger and I walked down to AnneMarie's, not far. AnneMarie's home is lovely. Very homey. In England they say very "homely". Different meaning, I know.
In Bible study, we talked about the ongoing work of the Spirit in sanctification. We studied in Galatians. It was me, Ginger, Ruth, AnneMarie, Sue, Sarah and Bea. I love these ladies. They're so awesome. Very honest and longing for more of the Lord. It was beautiful to be able to talk about the struggles we feel everyday. The things that cause us pain, doubt and fear are the exact spots where we apply the gospel. That is where we most see our need for someone to save us.
After lunch, we walked down to Linear Park. I was surprised by how... linear it was. :o) It's a wooded area with hiking that lays on the site of an old railway line. It was very muddy but the kids had a great time. Cully cried when it was time to leave.
While Ginger and I were at Linear Park with most of the kids, Chris, Trace and Ty played tennis with Jevon. They had a great time together. Jevon's a hoot.
At six Shaun Kavanagh came to pick us up for "tea". To us Southerners, that means supper. Our family is so big, it took two cars to transport us. Trace took part and Shaun took part. When we walked in the house smelled soooo good. I made myself at home and walked on back to the kitchen. Gracious. Sue had cooked us a feast. We had chili (my fave), mashed potatoes, rice, peas and corn, chicken pot pie, tortilla chips and bonaffe pie for dessert! So good. Sue said she was trying to bribe me into being her friend. It worked.
After tea, we loaded up again and went to the Trafford Centre. The teenagers (Maggie, Ty, Jevon, Lizzie and Josh) went their way; we went ours. Sue bought the youngers smoothies. Then we walked to the Grand Staircase. At the top we spied the teens. Sue and I just looked at each other and went into ridiculous spy mode. We ran to the nearest pillar and peeked around at them. As they walked, we sprinted from pillar to pillar. It was hilarious. It took the teenagers a few minutes to notice us and be completely mortified. Sue and I were laughing so hard and our husbands were following us around, lost in their own conversation. I'm sure we were a sight! We ended up at a coffee shop and talked and talked and talked until the kids found us again. Paul and AnneMarie showed up to pick Jevon up and we talked some more.
We went back to the Kavs house and talked some more. Such an edifying night. Sue and I sat in the car and talked for an hour! You know the kind of talking I mean? When you can't even stop to move inside the house. It's kind of magical, I think. You don't want to do anything to mess it up. We didn't get back to the Donahoos until 1am. Awesome!
It was such a great day! We got to spend all day with our church family. Exactly why we came!
We woke up this morning, ate breakfast, and got ready for Ladies Bible Study. Ginger and I walked down to AnneMarie's, not far. AnneMarie's home is lovely. Very homey. In England they say very "homely". Different meaning, I know.
In Bible study, we talked about the ongoing work of the Spirit in sanctification. We studied in Galatians. It was me, Ginger, Ruth, AnneMarie, Sue, Sarah and Bea. I love these ladies. They're so awesome. Very honest and longing for more of the Lord. It was beautiful to be able to talk about the struggles we feel everyday. The things that cause us pain, doubt and fear are the exact spots where we apply the gospel. That is where we most see our need for someone to save us.
After lunch, we walked down to Linear Park. I was surprised by how... linear it was. :o) It's a wooded area with hiking that lays on the site of an old railway line. It was very muddy but the kids had a great time. Cully cried when it was time to leave.
While Ginger and I were at Linear Park with most of the kids, Chris, Trace and Ty played tennis with Jevon. They had a great time together. Jevon's a hoot.
At six Shaun Kavanagh came to pick us up for "tea". To us Southerners, that means supper. Our family is so big, it took two cars to transport us. Trace took part and Shaun took part. When we walked in the house smelled soooo good. I made myself at home and walked on back to the kitchen. Gracious. Sue had cooked us a feast. We had chili (my fave), mashed potatoes, rice, peas and corn, chicken pot pie, tortilla chips and bonaffe pie for dessert! So good. Sue said she was trying to bribe me into being her friend. It worked.
After tea, we loaded up again and went to the Trafford Centre. The teenagers (Maggie, Ty, Jevon, Lizzie and Josh) went their way; we went ours. Sue bought the youngers smoothies. Then we walked to the Grand Staircase. At the top we spied the teens. Sue and I just looked at each other and went into ridiculous spy mode. We ran to the nearest pillar and peeked around at them. As they walked, we sprinted from pillar to pillar. It was hilarious. It took the teenagers a few minutes to notice us and be completely mortified. Sue and I were laughing so hard and our husbands were following us around, lost in their own conversation. I'm sure we were a sight! We ended up at a coffee shop and talked and talked and talked until the kids found us again. Paul and AnneMarie showed up to pick Jevon up and we talked some more.
We went back to the Kavs house and talked some more. Such an edifying night. Sue and I sat in the car and talked for an hour! You know the kind of talking I mean? When you can't even stop to move inside the house. It's kind of magical, I think. You don't want to do anything to mess it up. We didn't get back to the Donahoos until 1am. Awesome!
It was such a great day! We got to spend all day with our church family. Exactly why we came!
Monday, October 31, 2011
England Day 2
Day 2:
I slept not so well last night. Thus I slept late this morning. I don't like the feeling of oversleeping, at all. Chris woke me up and I had to rush to get ready so we could catch the bus. We ended up having to wait for it anyways...
We took the kids to Trafford Centre today. I needed to get a new Sim card for my cellphone, so we would have a way of communicating. I got one for 10 pounds. Not bad. I can add to it if I need to. When I went to the TMobile store (pronounced T-MoBILE - long I), the tech guy took one look at my phone and asked me in an awed voice, "Is that the new 4G from America?" "Um, yes." To which he then called the girl who worked there over to show her the "new 4G from America." Again, awed voice. My eyes were a little big at this point. When he asked permission to hold it, I started to feel the first twinges of guilt for all the countless games of Spider Solitaire played on it. I nodded and he took it over to the next guy to show it off. I feel pretty certain that guy's look was slightly derisive. I felt the sudden urge to defend myself. "I have every right to have that phone. Every right." Anywho, they got me all fixed up with unlimited web and all that jazz and I left feeling sorta like a rock star.
We shopped and shopped and shopped. I watched the kids watch the people. We ate in the massive food court and the kids watched the jumbotron. I took a picture of the Egyptian themed Pizza Hut to prove its existence to the Friday Night girls. I was grilled by the pharmacist at Boots for wanting to buy Gracie some Tums. I truly thought he was not going to allow it, but he finally did. Thank goodness.
We rode a double decker bus to the mall. Gracie got some nauseating video footage of it. Let me know if you want to see it. I even took Ty's and Gracie's picture with the super nice driver. The kids like being the foreigners, I think. They like being the novelty.
Then tonight, we got to eat Indian food with Roy and Ruth. We gave up all ordering rights to Roy who chose wisely for us. He ordered the Josh Groban... no wait... the Rogan Josh for me. SOOOO yummy. Ty got lamb something. So did Chris. Brody and Grace got the Chicken ghura. Maggie got "the soup thingie and the wrap thingie," as Roy so eloquently put it. He cracks me up. After stuffing ourselves to an uncomfortable degree we walked back to Trace and Ginger's for dessert and coffee. The Kunar's (Pastor of Grace Fellowship and his wife) stayed for quite a while and the discussion was so edifying. They understand the intricate joys and heartbreak of church planting and have a lot of wisdom. God was very good to let us spend time with them.
We rounded out the evening by watching the latest episode of An Idiot Abroad. There are no words. So. Funny. At one point, Ginger and I thought we were going to throw up. Trace was in the floor, literally. And Chris was having an asthma attack. Ricky Gervais and this other guy, Steve somebody, found this really negative, slightly slow, clueless fella and sent him around the world doing different things. Like go to Egypt and see the pyramids. He was totally unimpressed. Tonight, he went down Route 66 in America. I cannot explain. You have to see it for yourselves. It was great to laugh that hard.
Now, I am in my room, which is usually Cullen's room, typing and listening to Chris snore. All the boys are in Trace's office and the girls are in Ansley's room.
Having a lovely time. Wish you were here.
I slept not so well last night. Thus I slept late this morning. I don't like the feeling of oversleeping, at all. Chris woke me up and I had to rush to get ready so we could catch the bus. We ended up having to wait for it anyways...
We took the kids to Trafford Centre today. I needed to get a new Sim card for my cellphone, so we would have a way of communicating. I got one for 10 pounds. Not bad. I can add to it if I need to. When I went to the TMobile store (pronounced T-MoBILE - long I), the tech guy took one look at my phone and asked me in an awed voice, "Is that the new 4G from America?" "Um, yes." To which he then called the girl who worked there over to show her the "new 4G from America." Again, awed voice. My eyes were a little big at this point. When he asked permission to hold it, I started to feel the first twinges of guilt for all the countless games of Spider Solitaire played on it. I nodded and he took it over to the next guy to show it off. I feel pretty certain that guy's look was slightly derisive. I felt the sudden urge to defend myself. "I have every right to have that phone. Every right." Anywho, they got me all fixed up with unlimited web and all that jazz and I left feeling sorta like a rock star.
We shopped and shopped and shopped. I watched the kids watch the people. We ate in the massive food court and the kids watched the jumbotron. I took a picture of the Egyptian themed Pizza Hut to prove its existence to the Friday Night girls. I was grilled by the pharmacist at Boots for wanting to buy Gracie some Tums. I truly thought he was not going to allow it, but he finally did. Thank goodness.
We rode a double decker bus to the mall. Gracie got some nauseating video footage of it. Let me know if you want to see it. I even took Ty's and Gracie's picture with the super nice driver. The kids like being the foreigners, I think. They like being the novelty.
Then tonight, we got to eat Indian food with Roy and Ruth. We gave up all ordering rights to Roy who chose wisely for us. He ordered the Josh Groban... no wait... the Rogan Josh for me. SOOOO yummy. Ty got lamb something. So did Chris. Brody and Grace got the Chicken ghura. Maggie got "the soup thingie and the wrap thingie," as Roy so eloquently put it. He cracks me up. After stuffing ourselves to an uncomfortable degree we walked back to Trace and Ginger's for dessert and coffee. The Kunar's (Pastor of Grace Fellowship and his wife) stayed for quite a while and the discussion was so edifying. They understand the intricate joys and heartbreak of church planting and have a lot of wisdom. God was very good to let us spend time with them.
We rounded out the evening by watching the latest episode of An Idiot Abroad. There are no words. So. Funny. At one point, Ginger and I thought we were going to throw up. Trace was in the floor, literally. And Chris was having an asthma attack. Ricky Gervais and this other guy, Steve somebody, found this really negative, slightly slow, clueless fella and sent him around the world doing different things. Like go to Egypt and see the pyramids. He was totally unimpressed. Tonight, he went down Route 66 in America. I cannot explain. You have to see it for yourselves. It was great to laugh that hard.
Now, I am in my room, which is usually Cullen's room, typing and listening to Chris snore. All the boys are in Trace's office and the girls are in Ansley's room.
Having a lovely time. Wish you were here.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
England Day 1
Day 1:
After sleeping 13 hours, we awoke at 8:30. Their time change was last night, so we got an extra hour of sleep. Oh yeah. The kids slept an hour longer than we did...
We got dressed and walked to church, about 1/4 mile from here. The kids thought it was cool that we can walk everywhere. As we walked past the front of the school where the church meets, I heard a frantic knocking and looked up. Shirley was waving to me from the upper window and smiling her head off. It was awesome. When we walked in, we were immediately hugged by Jevon, Neil, Shirley, Roy and Sean. Big hugs! Then Paul and Ruth found us and gave us hugs as well.
Bruce preached this morning out of Hebrews. When he finished Maggie and Ty both turned to me and mouthed "Wow." It was challenging and I'll try to share my notes later. Their music is slightly different and they were new to us. But we picked them up and worshipped along with our brothers and sisters. I did notice a couple of cultural references in the music. One was about God being over every throne ever known. It struck me that to Americans that would be a historical reference... to the English, this is a modern statement of reality. It was interesting to me.
After church, we hung out for a bit and had coffee and tea. I got to talk with Jevon and Sue's daughter, Lizzie, for a while. Then we went to The Cherry Tree for lunch for a traditional Sunday Roast. Wowza. So good! (I know. I was surprised too!) I had sliced roast beef, parsnips, roasted potatoes, boiled new potatoes, carrots, mushy peas and Yorkshire Pudding. Turns out I've had Yorkshire pudding before... I didn't know it though. It looks like hollow dinner rolls. And tastes like soggy bread. Not impressive. But everything else was wonderful.
After lunch, we walked down the road to Bruce and Bea's for coffee. Bruce is almost seven feet tall and one of the most genuinely nice and funny people I've ever met. He spent months saving up to buy a fancy coffee maker. By the time he had the money saved up, Bea said she was desperate for him to just buy it already. lol. Reminded me of Chris when he shoe shops. Funny. Anyways, we spent a few hours just sitting and talking and laughing. They asked us a lot of probing questions that gave us a lot to think about.
When we left there, Trace and Chris walked over to Neil and Shirley's to retrieve Gracie who had gone to spend the afternoon with their oldest daughter, Emily. Ginger and I dropped by Sainsbury's for canned tomatoes, corn and chili powder (Beef Skillet Fiesta - Jevon loved it!). Then met the guys at the house.
Jevon came over and we had a Halloween party since the kids can't Trick or Treat here. The kids dressed up (nerd, princess, hippie, 2 rock star, gangster). We gave them (and Jevon) each a plastic bag. Then Trace, Ginger, Chris and I went upstairs and each chose a bedroom. We shut the doors and the kids came and knocked. When they said Trick or Treat, we gave them American candy that we'd brought over. It was really, really silly and fun. Then we came down and let them dig in. :o)
Now, the kids are in bed asleep and we are watching the British television show, An Idiot Abroad. Ricky Jervais. 'Nuff said... So ridiculous.
Good night America. Good night England. Good night Moon...
After sleeping 13 hours, we awoke at 8:30. Their time change was last night, so we got an extra hour of sleep. Oh yeah. The kids slept an hour longer than we did...
We got dressed and walked to church, about 1/4 mile from here. The kids thought it was cool that we can walk everywhere. As we walked past the front of the school where the church meets, I heard a frantic knocking and looked up. Shirley was waving to me from the upper window and smiling her head off. It was awesome. When we walked in, we were immediately hugged by Jevon, Neil, Shirley, Roy and Sean. Big hugs! Then Paul and Ruth found us and gave us hugs as well.
Bruce preached this morning out of Hebrews. When he finished Maggie and Ty both turned to me and mouthed "Wow." It was challenging and I'll try to share my notes later. Their music is slightly different and they were new to us. But we picked them up and worshipped along with our brothers and sisters. I did notice a couple of cultural references in the music. One was about God being over every throne ever known. It struck me that to Americans that would be a historical reference... to the English, this is a modern statement of reality. It was interesting to me.
After church, we hung out for a bit and had coffee and tea. I got to talk with Jevon and Sue's daughter, Lizzie, for a while. Then we went to The Cherry Tree for lunch for a traditional Sunday Roast. Wowza. So good! (I know. I was surprised too!) I had sliced roast beef, parsnips, roasted potatoes, boiled new potatoes, carrots, mushy peas and Yorkshire Pudding. Turns out I've had Yorkshire pudding before... I didn't know it though. It looks like hollow dinner rolls. And tastes like soggy bread. Not impressive. But everything else was wonderful.
After lunch, we walked down the road to Bruce and Bea's for coffee. Bruce is almost seven feet tall and one of the most genuinely nice and funny people I've ever met. He spent months saving up to buy a fancy coffee maker. By the time he had the money saved up, Bea said she was desperate for him to just buy it already. lol. Reminded me of Chris when he shoe shops. Funny. Anyways, we spent a few hours just sitting and talking and laughing. They asked us a lot of probing questions that gave us a lot to think about.
When we left there, Trace and Chris walked over to Neil and Shirley's to retrieve Gracie who had gone to spend the afternoon with their oldest daughter, Emily. Ginger and I dropped by Sainsbury's for canned tomatoes, corn and chili powder (Beef Skillet Fiesta - Jevon loved it!). Then met the guys at the house.
Jevon came over and we had a Halloween party since the kids can't Trick or Treat here. The kids dressed up (nerd, princess, hippie, 2 rock star, gangster). We gave them (and Jevon) each a plastic bag. Then Trace, Ginger, Chris and I went upstairs and each chose a bedroom. We shut the doors and the kids came and knocked. When they said Trick or Treat, we gave them American candy that we'd brought over. It was really, really silly and fun. Then we came down and let them dig in. :o)
Now, the kids are in bed asleep and we are watching the British television show, An Idiot Abroad. Ricky Jervais. 'Nuff said... So ridiculous.
Good night America. Good night England. Good night Moon...
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Expressions of Love
My heart is very full tonight. It's not that I've had a terrific, fun-filled day. I've been busy and checking things off my to do list. But I have felt the love of my Father today...
1. in Coldplay's new album that came out today.
2. in getting to know some really cool kids at CORE and enjoying their company. Geeks are awesome.
3. in my kids' faces and laughter.
4. through Amber, who took my kids to the movies to see Real Steel so I could get all my errands run.
5. through Missy and Kim (sis), who rode with me and gave me the gift of conversation and laughter.
6. through the girl who helped me pick out and put on my phone case at the TMobile store. She kept me laughing and served me well.
7. through Michelle Davis who "shopped" with me at Target while we talked on the phone.
8. through Poe on the Porch at KimHill's.
9. through Cobi who is one of the most interesting people that I know and makes me more interesting than I already am. ;o)
10. through watching the sweet babies play in the yard at Kim's.
11. through the hot cocoa placed in my hand while I hung out.
12. through seeing my youngest be brought to tears because a song had moved him so much.
13. Did I mention Coldplay has a new album...
14. through Tiffany making sure she could hug me and give me a proper good-bye before I left for England.
15. through coming home and seeing all our bags packed in the living room.
16. through my brother-in-law and Dad reassuring me that the squealing of my van was not "critical" and they would fix it.
17. through sitting in the van with Brody and listening to a song, full blast, twice before we came in the house.
18. through my neighbor Dave who, I know, would protect my family with his life and puts up with my dog and kids like it's no big deal.
19. through the volitional family that put their arms around me and mine and LOVES us.
20. through looking at my passport and knowing how HE has provided a way and a ministry for my family.
21. through knowing that in 85 hours I can hug my friend Ginger breathless and live her life with her for a while.
22. through the anticipation of building up already formed friendships in England and making more.
23. through knowing Christ and Him crucified.
I have been busy. I have been rushed. I have been relaxed. I have been lots of things today. Most of all, I have been loved. And I am grateful and my heart overflows.
1. in Coldplay's new album that came out today.
2. in getting to know some really cool kids at CORE and enjoying their company. Geeks are awesome.
3. in my kids' faces and laughter.
4. through Amber, who took my kids to the movies to see Real Steel so I could get all my errands run.
5. through Missy and Kim (sis), who rode with me and gave me the gift of conversation and laughter.
6. through the girl who helped me pick out and put on my phone case at the TMobile store. She kept me laughing and served me well.
7. through Michelle Davis who "shopped" with me at Target while we talked on the phone.
8. through Poe on the Porch at KimHill's.
9. through Cobi who is one of the most interesting people that I know and makes me more interesting than I already am. ;o)
10. through watching the sweet babies play in the yard at Kim's.
11. through the hot cocoa placed in my hand while I hung out.
12. through seeing my youngest be brought to tears because a song had moved him so much.
13. Did I mention Coldplay has a new album...
14. through Tiffany making sure she could hug me and give me a proper good-bye before I left for England.
15. through coming home and seeing all our bags packed in the living room.
16. through my brother-in-law and Dad reassuring me that the squealing of my van was not "critical" and they would fix it.
17. through sitting in the van with Brody and listening to a song, full blast, twice before we came in the house.
18. through my neighbor Dave who, I know, would protect my family with his life and puts up with my dog and kids like it's no big deal.
19. through the volitional family that put their arms around me and mine and LOVES us.
20. through looking at my passport and knowing how HE has provided a way and a ministry for my family.
21. through knowing that in 85 hours I can hug my friend Ginger breathless and live her life with her for a while.
22. through the anticipation of building up already formed friendships in England and making more.
23. through knowing Christ and Him crucified.
I have been busy. I have been rushed. I have been relaxed. I have been lots of things today. Most of all, I have been loved. And I am grateful and my heart overflows.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
October 19th
I got all of our suitcases out of the attic and the closet. I measured and placed them in two categories: checked and carry-on. We have 5 checked and 3 carry-on. Then we carried them out to the van and they will ALL fit in the trunk. Now to figure out what to put in them...
Ginger just called me. We talked for an hour and a half. Everything from budget to travel plans to menu. I think the details are mostly ironed out. I've talked to my cell carrier and know how to get a new sim card when we get there. I talked to the bank and they know we're travelling. There are still things I have to do, but the list is not too overwhelming.
It's finally sinking in that we're going to England. I've been planning and praying and it's almost here. I've been in touch with Sue and Shirley and we have play dates planned. We'll be eating with Bruce and Bea while there. I know that none of you friends reading this post know who they are but, oh, how I wish you did. And you will one day in heaven. They are such lovely people. I know you would love them too.
I'm going to be teaching while there. God keeps bringing me back to 1 Corinthians 2:2-5. I know nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified. And that definitely leads me to a place of fear and great trembling, but I know that I have nothing to offer these wonderful women from another culture. The Holy Spirit, however, has so much to offer them and if he can use me, even a little bit that is a privilege.
So today, we are doubling up on schoolwork, adding things to the To Do list, cleaning, packing and trying not to let myself get overwhelmed.
One of my children, who will remain nameless, has zero coping skills today. Lots of whining, screaming and meltdowns. It's pushing my nerves to the breaking point. I am struggling with the reality of grace for this child. I have too much to do to deal with this issue... oh wait, no I don't. They need me more than my lists need me. Dang. I forgot again.
There is no real point to this post. I have no moral or lesson. Nothing profound or funny. In fact, I'm second guessing why I'm even writing this...
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Wondering....
I am wondering what God has planned for me. I'm not down or depressed or even unsettled. It's just... well, I'm having a moment of peace with the fact that I have no idea what God will do. Gone are the days of assuming I know what is best for me and my family. Gone are the days of pleading with God to keep my children close.
I wonder where we will be in ten years. What we will be doing in five. I wonder what my kids will do when they grow up. I wonder if I'm preparing them.
I feel a flutter of excitement in the pit of my belly. I take a deep breath when I think about the times coming that will not be easy. I know God is sufficient. He is real. And his path for us is already laid out. I wonder what it looks like...
Friday, August 19, 2011
How Did I End Up Here?
I am currently sitting in my comfy green chair, watching my four children do their school.
First, how in the world did I end up being the mother of four children?
Second, how did I become this mother who patiently (mostly) schools her kids at home?
I am blown away. Ty and Brody are at the dining room table doing English assignments. Mags and Grace are sitting on the couch, one doing English, the other math. The house is quiet and still. They are content to do their work... at the moment. All I hear is the gentle scratching of their pencils and the tapping of Maggie's laptop.
I never, ever, thought that I would homeschool. I remember thinking that all those homeschoolers were a little bit crazy. And then God ushered me into it. I remember being overwhelmed with the choices in curriculum and teaching styles, thinking that the entire world hinged on my decision. I remember being stressed out and euphoric, by turns. I remember when Maggie and Ty learned to read and realizing that I did that... that was me teaching them.
And here it is... 10 years later. Ten years. Wow. I have two children in high school, for pete's sake. My days are now mostly quiet affairs. We start early with Bible immediately after breakfast. Then spelling, reading, math, science, history, english, electives... We move from one subject to another, no yelling. No screaming. Minimal complaints. How in the world does that happen?
God moves me into places that I never knew or wanted to go. He shows me mercy and grace when I have no idea that I need it. Now, I can't imagine not being with my kids all day, every day. Something that used to overwhelm me, is my new normal. All I can do is enjoy it. Who knows how long it will last? Sure, I would love to teach them until they graduate, but I don't know what my future holds. Only God knows all that.
I watch them as they search for knowledge. I watch them, right now, as they furrow their brows in concentration and lean over their books. I watch them nod to themselves when they finally understand. And I ask God to teach them, hold them, grow them. I ask God to bless the efforts we all put into this. I ask Him to call each of my children into the path He has already established for them. Maybe one day they, too, will ask, "How did I end up here?"
That makes me smile.
First, how in the world did I end up being the mother of four children?
Second, how did I become this mother who patiently (mostly) schools her kids at home?
I am blown away. Ty and Brody are at the dining room table doing English assignments. Mags and Grace are sitting on the couch, one doing English, the other math. The house is quiet and still. They are content to do their work... at the moment. All I hear is the gentle scratching of their pencils and the tapping of Maggie's laptop.
I never, ever, thought that I would homeschool. I remember thinking that all those homeschoolers were a little bit crazy. And then God ushered me into it. I remember being overwhelmed with the choices in curriculum and teaching styles, thinking that the entire world hinged on my decision. I remember being stressed out and euphoric, by turns. I remember when Maggie and Ty learned to read and realizing that I did that... that was me teaching them.
And here it is... 10 years later. Ten years. Wow. I have two children in high school, for pete's sake. My days are now mostly quiet affairs. We start early with Bible immediately after breakfast. Then spelling, reading, math, science, history, english, electives... We move from one subject to another, no yelling. No screaming. Minimal complaints. How in the world does that happen?
God moves me into places that I never knew or wanted to go. He shows me mercy and grace when I have no idea that I need it. Now, I can't imagine not being with my kids all day, every day. Something that used to overwhelm me, is my new normal. All I can do is enjoy it. Who knows how long it will last? Sure, I would love to teach them until they graduate, but I don't know what my future holds. Only God knows all that.
I watch them as they search for knowledge. I watch them, right now, as they furrow their brows in concentration and lean over their books. I watch them nod to themselves when they finally understand. And I ask God to teach them, hold them, grow them. I ask God to bless the efforts we all put into this. I ask Him to call each of my children into the path He has already established for them. Maybe one day they, too, will ask, "How did I end up here?"
That makes me smile.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Fear and Enjoyment
How do I teach my children to face their fears? How do I help them understand that we should never make a decision based completely on fear?
I guess, maybe, I push them to jump in the deep end, go to the class, attempt the sport, etc until they see one of two things. They either see that a.) it wasn't so bad and there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place or b.) they failed and survived it and even learned from it... failure wasn't the end of the world.
And if they fail, I am there with the gospel to remind them who they actually are... they are loved by their Creator and that is all they really need. And when they succeed, I am there with the gospel too.
But in all of it, I remind them to enjoy it. Enjoy it. Jump in, tackle, pirouette, write, learn... whatever... and enjoy it. Enjoyment glorifies God if we remember Him in the midst of it. He is there in the midst of that fear and He is all that truly matters.
Is that too big to pass on to someone who still depends on me for clean underwear?
A sure sign that I have forgotten the gospel is when I've forgotten how to enjoy God in the simple things.
I guess, maybe, I push them to jump in the deep end, go to the class, attempt the sport, etc until they see one of two things. They either see that a.) it wasn't so bad and there was nothing to be afraid of in the first place or b.) they failed and survived it and even learned from it... failure wasn't the end of the world.
And if they fail, I am there with the gospel to remind them who they actually are... they are loved by their Creator and that is all they really need. And when they succeed, I am there with the gospel too.
But in all of it, I remind them to enjoy it. Enjoy it. Jump in, tackle, pirouette, write, learn... whatever... and enjoy it. Enjoyment glorifies God if we remember Him in the midst of it. He is there in the midst of that fear and He is all that truly matters.
Is that too big to pass on to someone who still depends on me for clean underwear?
A sure sign that I have forgotten the gospel is when I've forgotten how to enjoy God in the simple things.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Do Not Entrust Yourself To Them
John 2:23-25
23Now when he was in Jerusalem at the Passover Feast, many believed in his name when they saw the signs that he was doing. 24But Jesus on his part did not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people 25and needed no one to bear witness about man, for he himself knew what was in man.
23Now when he was in Jerusalem at the Passover Feast, many believed in his name when they saw the signs that he was doing. 24But Jesus on his part did not entrust himself to them, because he knew all people 25and needed no one to bear witness about man, for he himself knew what was in man.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Uselessness and Glory
In my last post, I was mulling over the brokenness that comes from God stripping away all that is not his. Since that post, I've been pondering the meaning of useful/useless and also the meaning of blessings. Here are new thoughts:
I found a song by Frou Frou called "Let Go" that I am currently listening to somewhat obsessively. If you doubt, ask my family. The chorus says:
Let go.
Let go.
Jump in.
Well, whatcha waiting for?
It's alright,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown.
Let go.
Let go.
Just get in.
It's so amazing here.
It's alright,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown.
It then mentions how everything else is just a sideshow and there is boundless pleasure to be found. I have no idea what Imogen Heap was thinking when she wrote it but it made me cry when I first heard it. I have fought true brokenness for a long time and here was God reminding me through this song that there is such beauty in brokenness. It doesn't feel beautiful, but it is.
Which leads me to the subject of usefulness vs. uselessness...
I have felt utterly spent and useless for months. I labor, toil, work... all for the zeal of the Lord... and nothing happens. I don't think it was wrong for me to get tired. But I do think the exhaustion caused me to forget some things... Today's devotion from My Utmost For His Highest said this:
"[We] notice God's unutterable waste of saints, according to the judgment of the world. God plants his saints in the most useless places. We say - God intends me to be here because I am so useful. Jesus never estimated His life along the line of the greatest use. God puts His saints where they will glorify Him, and we are no judge at all of where that is."
Can I just say??? Ouch. I have always said that I want to be "used by God". And when I know that I am useless then that must be wrong and bad. Right? But what is my chief end? To be useful, or to glorify Him? It is not my decision to determine my usefulness. It is only for me to obey.
The devotional above was on the subject of suffering in 1 Peter 4:19. He says, "To choose to suffer means that there is something wrong; to choose God's will even if it means suffering is a very different thing." I think it is a kind of suffering to put your own desires and dreams to death. And that suffering leads to brokenness. And that brokenness is beautiful. And God is still God. And he still loves me.
Selah.
So where does that leave me? In the same place. Only now, I realize that I don't know what my future holds. And I'm okay with that. And I realize that I cannot contribute one thing to God's work. But He uses me anyway, for His own glory. I can do His bidding, show His love, rest in His peace, all without thought to my own life.
And I know some may read this and think "Of course we don't know the future!" But I think we still maintain this small nugget of our past dreams for our future. (Read THAT sentence ten more times! Geez.) I mean... We all have some residual, lingering dreams from our childhood. Marriage, minivans, children's graduations, retirement. We think we know the general direction of our lives. We make plans for after our kids are grown. We determine where we are most useful. That's the kind of thing I'm talking about...
Now, I pray for the grace to remember it...
I found a song by Frou Frou called "Let Go" that I am currently listening to somewhat obsessively. If you doubt, ask my family. The chorus says:
Let go.
Let go.
Jump in.
Well, whatcha waiting for?
It's alright,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown.
Let go.
Let go.
Just get in.
It's so amazing here.
It's alright,
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown.
It then mentions how everything else is just a sideshow and there is boundless pleasure to be found. I have no idea what Imogen Heap was thinking when she wrote it but it made me cry when I first heard it. I have fought true brokenness for a long time and here was God reminding me through this song that there is such beauty in brokenness. It doesn't feel beautiful, but it is.
Which leads me to the subject of usefulness vs. uselessness...
I have felt utterly spent and useless for months. I labor, toil, work... all for the zeal of the Lord... and nothing happens. I don't think it was wrong for me to get tired. But I do think the exhaustion caused me to forget some things... Today's devotion from My Utmost For His Highest said this:
"[We] notice God's unutterable waste of saints, according to the judgment of the world. God plants his saints in the most useless places. We say - God intends me to be here because I am so useful. Jesus never estimated His life along the line of the greatest use. God puts His saints where they will glorify Him, and we are no judge at all of where that is."
Can I just say??? Ouch. I have always said that I want to be "used by God". And when I know that I am useless then that must be wrong and bad. Right? But what is my chief end? To be useful, or to glorify Him? It is not my decision to determine my usefulness. It is only for me to obey.
The devotional above was on the subject of suffering in 1 Peter 4:19. He says, "To choose to suffer means that there is something wrong; to choose God's will even if it means suffering is a very different thing." I think it is a kind of suffering to put your own desires and dreams to death. And that suffering leads to brokenness. And that brokenness is beautiful. And God is still God. And he still loves me.
Selah.
So where does that leave me? In the same place. Only now, I realize that I don't know what my future holds. And I'm okay with that. And I realize that I cannot contribute one thing to God's work. But He uses me anyway, for His own glory. I can do His bidding, show His love, rest in His peace, all without thought to my own life.
And I know some may read this and think "Of course we don't know the future!" But I think we still maintain this small nugget of our past dreams for our future. (Read THAT sentence ten more times! Geez.) I mean... We all have some residual, lingering dreams from our childhood. Marriage, minivans, children's graduations, retirement. We think we know the general direction of our lives. We make plans for after our kids are grown. We determine where we are most useful. That's the kind of thing I'm talking about...
Now, I pray for the grace to remember it...
Friday, July 29, 2011
Myopic Faith
I'm trying to determine how much to tell, how much to expose. I don't want to give too much.
In my childhood, my life had periods of uncertainty. It also had periods of deep chaos and pain. I never gave much thought to my future. It wasn't a conscious choice; I just didn't. God seemed close to me then. Even though my idea of who he was lacked truth and substance. I thought of him as someone who loved me but who was disappointed and annoyed with me most of the time. I carried a burden with me always.
God showed me his glory in the form of the gospel when I was in my early twenties. I vividly remember the freedom that came when I was told that God is not disappointed with me. He doesn't cry a sad tear when I am selfish. He doesn't roll his eyes at me when I sin or act foolish. He, because of Christ's atoning work on the cross, is enamored with me. He delights in me. My spiritual shoulders sagged with relief when that burden was lifted.
It was then that I began to have hope. I began to think of the future; make plans. I wanted to tell others this grace, this relief. I began to see the burden in the lives around me and looked for every opportunity to tell them. I wanted to serve God.
And serve him, I did. He called me to teach women's classes; something I had NO interest in doing. No way. He called me to help in women's ministy. It was wonderful. He then called me to be the head of women's minstry. That too was a delight. I had a clear vision and a mission/purpose statement written out to keep me from trying to take over. That is my inclination after all. Then God called Chris to seminary and us to church planting. I was amazed that God could use either one of us. It seemed blissfully amazing.
Somewhere along the way, as the British say, it all went pear shaped. The wheels of my faith began to wobble. Without even realizing I was doing it, I compensated for the wobble with hard work and a good attitude. But little did I know that something was wrong. I couldn't feel it yet; wasn't aware of the impending consequences.
Just as the human body can take abuse for so long, so can the spiritual man. It can run on memories and past experiences for a while. But as I tried harder, my joy was quietly seeping out of me a slow enough rate that I didn't notice it until it was completely depleted. And I was depressed.
My plans do not work. No matter how good they are, how easy they are, how well thought out. If God is not in them, if he is not blessing them, they will fail. And fail they do.
I've come to realize that my hope has been in the future God planned, not in God Himself. So he took away that hope. Smashed it to pieces. Now, when I think of the future, I see nothing but cloudy, murky nothingness. It exhausts me to contemplate it.
My faith is now myopic. I can see God and nothing else. He is nose-to-nose with me; His breath on my face. If I try to look around him, despair overtakes me and I feel fear. But as long as I am looking at Him, contemplating Him, breathing Him in, then I am okay.
There's a Mo Leverett song that I love. I think it's the modern day equivalent of It Is Well With My Soul. It's title is It's Alright. When everything falls apart, when my hope in me is shaken, when I feel like a failure... it's alright. "If God is for us, who can be against us? If God is with us, then we are not alone."
It's Alright. Myopic Faith ain't all that bad...
In my childhood, my life had periods of uncertainty. It also had periods of deep chaos and pain. I never gave much thought to my future. It wasn't a conscious choice; I just didn't. God seemed close to me then. Even though my idea of who he was lacked truth and substance. I thought of him as someone who loved me but who was disappointed and annoyed with me most of the time. I carried a burden with me always.
God showed me his glory in the form of the gospel when I was in my early twenties. I vividly remember the freedom that came when I was told that God is not disappointed with me. He doesn't cry a sad tear when I am selfish. He doesn't roll his eyes at me when I sin or act foolish. He, because of Christ's atoning work on the cross, is enamored with me. He delights in me. My spiritual shoulders sagged with relief when that burden was lifted.
It was then that I began to have hope. I began to think of the future; make plans. I wanted to tell others this grace, this relief. I began to see the burden in the lives around me and looked for every opportunity to tell them. I wanted to serve God.
And serve him, I did. He called me to teach women's classes; something I had NO interest in doing. No way. He called me to help in women's ministy. It was wonderful. He then called me to be the head of women's minstry. That too was a delight. I had a clear vision and a mission/purpose statement written out to keep me from trying to take over. That is my inclination after all. Then God called Chris to seminary and us to church planting. I was amazed that God could use either one of us. It seemed blissfully amazing.
Somewhere along the way, as the British say, it all went pear shaped. The wheels of my faith began to wobble. Without even realizing I was doing it, I compensated for the wobble with hard work and a good attitude. But little did I know that something was wrong. I couldn't feel it yet; wasn't aware of the impending consequences.
Just as the human body can take abuse for so long, so can the spiritual man. It can run on memories and past experiences for a while. But as I tried harder, my joy was quietly seeping out of me a slow enough rate that I didn't notice it until it was completely depleted. And I was depressed.
My plans do not work. No matter how good they are, how easy they are, how well thought out. If God is not in them, if he is not blessing them, they will fail. And fail they do.
I've come to realize that my hope has been in the future God planned, not in God Himself. So he took away that hope. Smashed it to pieces. Now, when I think of the future, I see nothing but cloudy, murky nothingness. It exhausts me to contemplate it.
My faith is now myopic. I can see God and nothing else. He is nose-to-nose with me; His breath on my face. If I try to look around him, despair overtakes me and I feel fear. But as long as I am looking at Him, contemplating Him, breathing Him in, then I am okay.
There's a Mo Leverett song that I love. I think it's the modern day equivalent of It Is Well With My Soul. It's title is It's Alright. When everything falls apart, when my hope in me is shaken, when I feel like a failure... it's alright. "If God is for us, who can be against us? If God is with us, then we are not alone."
It's Alright. Myopic Faith ain't all that bad...
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Slippery Hamster Wheel
There is so much in my head right now. It's like there is a hamster wheel in there and all my thoughts and hopes and concerns and worries have piled on and are running as fast as they can. I hear the squeaking. Maybe I should make a list...
1. I have no idea how to parent teenagers. Their decisions making abilities are sub par, to say the least, and yet the decisions they are faced with can have huge repercussions. Do I give them lots of freedom? What if they make a huge mistake? They're too young to have that kind of responsibility right now. They're not 17 or 18. But what if I limit them too much and they end up stunted and socially retarded? What if, by not letting them make mistakes, they never learn from them and make worse mistakes when they're grown? But making mistakes is an important learning tool. But drugs and stuff like that can ruin your entire life... See the hamster wheel?
2. Money. DO NOT get me started. If I have it, I want to relax and not be vigilant about how it is spent. I want to feel some freedom or "breathing room". But then I spend too much and feel really guilty about it. If I don't have any money, then I think of all the ways that I've wasted it in the past or spend too much time thinking of ways to save and/or make some. But then I remember that God always provides our needs and try to trust God. But then I think about natural consequences and how, if you are wasteful you can't just pray and ask God to hand you a vacation. You need to save for it, right? But I see God blessing other people with things that they have not scrimped and saved for and I get confused. Hamster wheel.
3. Missions trip. Our support is not coming in very well. We only have maybe half. But I know that God calls us to missions. But not all people are called to all missions. So am I not supposed to go or am I supposed to get more creative about fundraising? Or am I supposed to wait until the rates go down and our support will cover it? Hamster wheel. *sung in a sing-song voice*
4. Church planting.
5. Homeschooling.
6. Exercise.
7. Personal conflict with people who have not loved me well.
8. Travel in general.
9. Etc. etc. etc.
I feel like a baby Christian trying to figure things out. It all seems so confusing to me right now and I feel like the people who could help me figure things out aren't all that interested. Which leads me to another thing I've noticed...
I've forgotten how to be transparent. Somewhere along the way I've become solid and maybe a little stoic. I've sucked it up and kept working, trying to be obedient. But the harder it gets, the harder I try and the more I try to convince myself that everything's ok. The more I try to convince myself, the less open I am with the people around me. And I lose my ability to be open about my life.
I hate that. I hate that I started projecting competency. I hate that the more I projected it, the less I felt it until I ended up in a place of deep disconnection and aloneness.
Somehow, I lost my way. Somehow, the slippery soap of the gospel squirted right out of my hand and it took me a long time to notice that it was gone...
1. I have no idea how to parent teenagers. Their decisions making abilities are sub par, to say the least, and yet the decisions they are faced with can have huge repercussions. Do I give them lots of freedom? What if they make a huge mistake? They're too young to have that kind of responsibility right now. They're not 17 or 18. But what if I limit them too much and they end up stunted and socially retarded? What if, by not letting them make mistakes, they never learn from them and make worse mistakes when they're grown? But making mistakes is an important learning tool. But drugs and stuff like that can ruin your entire life... See the hamster wheel?
2. Money. DO NOT get me started. If I have it, I want to relax and not be vigilant about how it is spent. I want to feel some freedom or "breathing room". But then I spend too much and feel really guilty about it. If I don't have any money, then I think of all the ways that I've wasted it in the past or spend too much time thinking of ways to save and/or make some. But then I remember that God always provides our needs and try to trust God. But then I think about natural consequences and how, if you are wasteful you can't just pray and ask God to hand you a vacation. You need to save for it, right? But I see God blessing other people with things that they have not scrimped and saved for and I get confused. Hamster wheel.
3. Missions trip. Our support is not coming in very well. We only have maybe half. But I know that God calls us to missions. But not all people are called to all missions. So am I not supposed to go or am I supposed to get more creative about fundraising? Or am I supposed to wait until the rates go down and our support will cover it? Hamster wheel. *sung in a sing-song voice*
4. Church planting.
5. Homeschooling.
6. Exercise.
7. Personal conflict with people who have not loved me well.
8. Travel in general.
9. Etc. etc. etc.
I feel like a baby Christian trying to figure things out. It all seems so confusing to me right now and I feel like the people who could help me figure things out aren't all that interested. Which leads me to another thing I've noticed...
I've forgotten how to be transparent. Somewhere along the way I've become solid and maybe a little stoic. I've sucked it up and kept working, trying to be obedient. But the harder it gets, the harder I try and the more I try to convince myself that everything's ok. The more I try to convince myself, the less open I am with the people around me. And I lose my ability to be open about my life.
I hate that. I hate that I started projecting competency. I hate that the more I projected it, the less I felt it until I ended up in a place of deep disconnection and aloneness.
Somehow, I lost my way. Somehow, the slippery soap of the gospel squirted right out of my hand and it took me a long time to notice that it was gone...
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Love
It is a beautiful thing to love someone well. To love them fiercely is even better. I don't think that scripture calls us to love everyone ferociously. It would be too exhausting and consuming. And really, I think it would be unnecessary. If you are loved by one person with a depth and openness that goes to the very marrow of your bones, you're blessed.
I don't think everyone has the ability to love this way. At least that's what I hear. But for those of us who do, we must guard our hearts. To love someone this way, to always be for them and never against them, to protect them and open your heart to pour yourself out for them, leaves you open to the deepest kind of heartbreak.
I think mothers love their children this way. I think husbands love their wives this way, and vice versa. I think it is not felt always or even consistently practiced, but when it is poured out? It's a fire that soothes as well as challenges. It brings one spirit in contact with another spirit in a way that allows for the Holy Spirit to pour back and forth between them.
This kind of love isn't sexual or shallow or friendly. It is deep. Bone deep. And it is more powerful than anything we have the privilege to experience on this earth. It can give someone the strength to continue on through unspeakable pain. It can give someone the courage to confess sins too deep to utter lightly. It can open someone's heart and lift them up above their temporal circumstances and look into a reality much higher.
It is breathtaking in its total lack of self-concern. It is the way the Father loves his children. We are not strong enough to understand, to truly grasp, the breadth and length and height and depth. It surpasses our understanding.
But there are moments, those short yet giant moments, when we are able to love someone else this way. We cannot sustain it. Not like God. But there are those times when we open ourselves wide and pour love into someone's heart and they feel it and they know it and they are lifted up.
I don't think everyone has the ability to love this way. At least that's what I hear. But for those of us who do, we must guard our hearts. To love someone this way, to always be for them and never against them, to protect them and open your heart to pour yourself out for them, leaves you open to the deepest kind of heartbreak.
I think mothers love their children this way. I think husbands love their wives this way, and vice versa. I think it is not felt always or even consistently practiced, but when it is poured out? It's a fire that soothes as well as challenges. It brings one spirit in contact with another spirit in a way that allows for the Holy Spirit to pour back and forth between them.
This kind of love isn't sexual or shallow or friendly. It is deep. Bone deep. And it is more powerful than anything we have the privilege to experience on this earth. It can give someone the strength to continue on through unspeakable pain. It can give someone the courage to confess sins too deep to utter lightly. It can open someone's heart and lift them up above their temporal circumstances and look into a reality much higher.
It is breathtaking in its total lack of self-concern. It is the way the Father loves his children. We are not strong enough to understand, to truly grasp, the breadth and length and height and depth. It surpasses our understanding.
But there are moments, those short yet giant moments, when we are able to love someone else this way. We cannot sustain it. Not like God. But there are those times when we open ourselves wide and pour love into someone's heart and they feel it and they know it and they are lifted up.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Catalog Living
Elaine finds it hard to get to sleep at a decent hour when Gary insists on “working the red carpet” every night before getting into bed.
This current post from catalogliving.com made me think of KimHill. Can you figure it why? heehee
Saturday, February 19, 2011
It Might Get Loud
I know that I've blogged about music before. And I am completely aware that I've blogged about documentaries. But I can't help it; I love them both. And today I found the perfect combination of both...
It Might Get Loud is a documentary that was advertised as being about the electric guitar. I was interested. Then I found out that it starred Jimmy Paige, The Edge and Jack White. I was thrilled. I settled into my favorite armchair with a glass of water and a handful of M&M's. Then I paused it to get my headphones since I have such loud children...and headphones in my ears are their sign to leave me alone.
It was outrageous! I loved it! Nothing draws happiness out of me as much as music. And I have always loved Led Zeppelin and U2. The White Stripes are a newer fave addition to my playlist. To see all of the guitarists together and to hear their back stories was really fun.
All I could think while I was watching it was how great it would be to watch it with Brendan. After all, he's still a musician, and the first time he ever heard Led Zeppelin and U2 was from Chris and I. I remember teaching him to sing some of the songs when he was barely two. Seems like yesterday. Maybe when he's home we can find a couple of hours to watch it together. In the mean time, I think I'll write him and tell him about it.
It Might Get Loud is a documentary that was advertised as being about the electric guitar. I was interested. Then I found out that it starred Jimmy Paige, The Edge and Jack White. I was thrilled. I settled into my favorite armchair with a glass of water and a handful of M&M's. Then I paused it to get my headphones since I have such loud children...and headphones in my ears are their sign to leave me alone.
It was outrageous! I loved it! Nothing draws happiness out of me as much as music. And I have always loved Led Zeppelin and U2. The White Stripes are a newer fave addition to my playlist. To see all of the guitarists together and to hear their back stories was really fun.
All I could think while I was watching it was how great it would be to watch it with Brendan. After all, he's still a musician, and the first time he ever heard Led Zeppelin and U2 was from Chris and I. I remember teaching him to sing some of the songs when he was barely two. Seems like yesterday. Maybe when he's home we can find a couple of hours to watch it together. In the mean time, I think I'll write him and tell him about it.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Is Resistance Futile?
Only those familiar with the repercussions of mental illness will understand this, I am sure. It almost doesn't make sense to me. Will my mother always affect me this way?
-------------------
Like a ghost.
A dream almost remembered,
niggling at the edges of consciousness.
Like a word on the tip of the tongue.
A splinter festering in the finger.
Shadow, fear, always there.
Like an ancient worry stone,
turned over and over.
Rubbed gently over time.
Familiar, yet repugnant.
Run from it. Yesterday.
Ignore it. Today.
Pretend it doesn't exist. Now.
Bone deep surety, inevitability.
Resist, resist, resist.
Nothing is written in stone.
Will the reality of my mother ever leave me be?
Or will I wrestle with her every day for the rest of my life?
Weary.
Tired.
Done.
...
Faith.
Is God really good?
Ruthless trust.
Cling. Hope. Tenacious faith.
Please be real.
-------------------------------------------
I do not call this poetry. I don't know what I call this. Stream of consciousness, maybe? Incoherent babbling of a raving lunatic? Grieving of an abandoned child? All I know is that it helps to get it out of my head.
-------------------
Like a ghost.
A dream almost remembered,
niggling at the edges of consciousness.
Like a word on the tip of the tongue.
A splinter festering in the finger.
Shadow, fear, always there.
Like an ancient worry stone,
turned over and over.
Rubbed gently over time.
Familiar, yet repugnant.
Run from it. Yesterday.
Ignore it. Today.
Pretend it doesn't exist. Now.
Bone deep surety, inevitability.
Resist, resist, resist.
Nothing is written in stone.
Will the reality of my mother ever leave me be?
Or will I wrestle with her every day for the rest of my life?
Weary.
Tired.
Done.
...
Faith.
Is God really good?
Ruthless trust.
Cling. Hope. Tenacious faith.
Please be real.
-------------------------------------------
I do not call this poetry. I don't know what I call this. Stream of consciousness, maybe? Incoherent babbling of a raving lunatic? Grieving of an abandoned child? All I know is that it helps to get it out of my head.
Sunday, February 06, 2011
White Oleander
I watched the movie White Oleander yesterday. I thought it was a really good movie. I watched it based on the cast. Renee Zellweger, Michelle Pfeiffer, Robin Wright. I hoped it would be good, and it was.
Of course there were certain aspects of the film that I did not like. Robin Wright's character used Born Again Christianity as a crutch which is what many in the world boil Christianity down to. That part was sad to me. I'm absolutely positive that many "christians" do use it as a crutch; but I know I don't. I know I have surity that God is real. Christ is real and his sacrifice was real.
But there were moments in the movie that were very poignant. The main character's relationship with her mother was thought provoking, the way it shows how closely a mother and daughter are intertwined. Even when one or both of them are "profoundly broken." (a phrase directly from the movie)
The last lines of the movie made me think of my own mother.
“Even so, I find myself thinking of her, wanting to feel that wind. It’s a secret wanting… like a song I can’t stop humming. Or loving someone you can never have.
No matter how much she has damaged me… No matter how flawed she is…
I know my mother loves me.”
Of course there were certain aspects of the film that I did not like. Robin Wright's character used Born Again Christianity as a crutch which is what many in the world boil Christianity down to. That part was sad to me. I'm absolutely positive that many "christians" do use it as a crutch; but I know I don't. I know I have surity that God is real. Christ is real and his sacrifice was real.
But there were moments in the movie that were very poignant. The main character's relationship with her mother was thought provoking, the way it shows how closely a mother and daughter are intertwined. Even when one or both of them are "profoundly broken." (a phrase directly from the movie)
The last lines of the movie made me think of my own mother.
“Even so, I find myself thinking of her, wanting to feel that wind. It’s a secret wanting… like a song I can’t stop humming. Or loving someone you can never have.
No matter how much she has damaged me… No matter how flawed she is…
I know my mother loves me.”
Wow. I think that says what I think most of the time when it comes to my mother.
Good movie. Very little bad language. Very few sexual situations. But it had the feeling of being very real, which made it more than a little sad at times. The ending was good though. I hate sad endings.
Friday, January 07, 2011
Unsure. Unsteady. Confident.
Things on my mind:
I love Pride and Prejudice. The BBC production. It's time to watch it again. All five hours of it. Solid film-making. Romantic. Beautifully shot. Witty. Well written. Colin Firth. 'Nuff said.
I'm really looking forward to Bible study tomorrow. I've really, really missed it. I love those Springville ladies.
There is a white dog at my house. It's been here for three days and it will not leave. We've chased it off with sticks, thrown gravel at it, not fed it. Today I shot the shotgun to scare it... 4 times! And it still comes back! It's not mean, just annoying. It's sweet, but it's big and a female. Too much maintenance for someone who is not an animal person and who already has a cat and a puppy. I think I'm going to have to take it to the pound tomorrow. Grrrr.... so inconvenient.
I miss Chris. He's been busy this week and we haven't had a chance to just be around each other. I like him. So much. I like to sit in bed and watch movies with him. I like just being in the same room with him: him reading or watching tv and me reading or on the computer. His breathing is a comfort to me. Like that Nickel Creek song, Tomorrow Is a Long Time. It says, "Yes and only if my own true love was waiting. If I could hear his heart softly pounding, yes and only if he was lyin' by me, would I lie in my bed once again." I love the sound of Chris' heart beating. It's slow and steady and assures me that he is real and he's still alive. I love to lay my head on his chest while we watch television and just be comforted by his existence. I adore that man.
I love my friends who come see me and make my home their own for a few hours a week. I love to see them dig in my cupboards and cook. I love making things, like tonight's margaritas, as a team; all of us giving it a taste until it's just right. I love laughing together and telling terrible things that break our hearts. I love that they can answer almost any question that my kids may have for me and vice versa.
I miss Ginger terribly. I didn't think it would be this bad. I honestly didn't. I want so much to have the money to buy a plane ticket. Why must it be so impossible? I feel like that illustration from Jane Eyre, that our hearts are bound together by an invisible cord. And the cord is stretched to a painful degree. I wonder if God will make a way for me to go see her? I wish, I wish, I wish...
I miss Brendan. I wonder how he feels right this very minute. Is he happy? Scared? Alone? Sick? Happy? Smiling? I wonder.
I've thought of Michelle all day. Talked to her once. Is St. Louis what she expected? Is there room for all her boxes? What will she and Michael face in the coming months? I want badly to help them, encourage them. I miss my little SK. Her happy smile when she wakes from her nap on Thursday is in my head. Will she remember me? I want there to be someone else there, in St Louis, who will love her the way my family and I do; who will do her nails and play marbles with her. I want them to be happy.
I am rambling. Anxious. Tired. Unsure of my choices. Unsteady on my feet, metaphorically speaking. Aware of my sin and weakness. Inadequate to the task. Confident that God is enough. Sure that He has a plan.
That's all. The End.
I love Pride and Prejudice. The BBC production. It's time to watch it again. All five hours of it. Solid film-making. Romantic. Beautifully shot. Witty. Well written. Colin Firth. 'Nuff said.
I'm really looking forward to Bible study tomorrow. I've really, really missed it. I love those Springville ladies.
There is a white dog at my house. It's been here for three days and it will not leave. We've chased it off with sticks, thrown gravel at it, not fed it. Today I shot the shotgun to scare it... 4 times! And it still comes back! It's not mean, just annoying. It's sweet, but it's big and a female. Too much maintenance for someone who is not an animal person and who already has a cat and a puppy. I think I'm going to have to take it to the pound tomorrow. Grrrr.... so inconvenient.
I miss Chris. He's been busy this week and we haven't had a chance to just be around each other. I like him. So much. I like to sit in bed and watch movies with him. I like just being in the same room with him: him reading or watching tv and me reading or on the computer. His breathing is a comfort to me. Like that Nickel Creek song, Tomorrow Is a Long Time. It says, "Yes and only if my own true love was waiting. If I could hear his heart softly pounding, yes and only if he was lyin' by me, would I lie in my bed once again." I love the sound of Chris' heart beating. It's slow and steady and assures me that he is real and he's still alive. I love to lay my head on his chest while we watch television and just be comforted by his existence. I adore that man.
I love my friends who come see me and make my home their own for a few hours a week. I love to see them dig in my cupboards and cook. I love making things, like tonight's margaritas, as a team; all of us giving it a taste until it's just right. I love laughing together and telling terrible things that break our hearts. I love that they can answer almost any question that my kids may have for me and vice versa.
I miss Ginger terribly. I didn't think it would be this bad. I honestly didn't. I want so much to have the money to buy a plane ticket. Why must it be so impossible? I feel like that illustration from Jane Eyre, that our hearts are bound together by an invisible cord. And the cord is stretched to a painful degree. I wonder if God will make a way for me to go see her? I wish, I wish, I wish...
I miss Brendan. I wonder how he feels right this very minute. Is he happy? Scared? Alone? Sick? Happy? Smiling? I wonder.
I've thought of Michelle all day. Talked to her once. Is St. Louis what she expected? Is there room for all her boxes? What will she and Michael face in the coming months? I want badly to help them, encourage them. I miss my little SK. Her happy smile when she wakes from her nap on Thursday is in my head. Will she remember me? I want there to be someone else there, in St Louis, who will love her the way my family and I do; who will do her nails and play marbles with her. I want them to be happy.
I am rambling. Anxious. Tired. Unsure of my choices. Unsteady on my feet, metaphorically speaking. Aware of my sin and weakness. Inadequate to the task. Confident that God is enough. Sure that He has a plan.
That's all. The End.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Funniness
Missy and I have a lot of fun. We have PhD's in witty bantering. It's true. I admire us tremendously. It's very hard to remember a time when we were not friends, even though it wasn't that long ago.
One of my favorite things we have done is go back and forth on Facebook. My favorite thread goes like this:
My status update:
sometimes the line between beauty and pretentiousness is in the eye of the beholder.
Missy: Of what do you speak?
Me: I speak in riddles and code...
Missy: Stop it.
Me: The eagle took the spoon and threw it down the hill with the goat... decipher.
Missy: My husband beat your husband up again? Dangit. I'll talk to him about that.
Me: No. That's "The BALD eagle threw the smokin' hot spork down the hill and killed the goat"!
Missy: Busy Beavers.
Me: aannnndddd.... scene! That's a wrap, people.
I'm still laughing. It's so nice to be able to crack yourself up. It's positively outrageous good fortune to have a friend who can do it for you. Thank you, Missy dear.
One of my favorite things we have done is go back and forth on Facebook. My favorite thread goes like this:
My status update:
sometimes the line between beauty and pretentiousness is in the eye of the beholder.
Missy: Of what do you speak?
Me: I speak in riddles and code...
Missy: Stop it.
Me: The eagle took the spoon and threw it down the hill with the goat... decipher.
Missy: My husband beat your husband up again? Dangit. I'll talk to him about that.
Me: No. That's "The BALD eagle threw the smokin' hot spork down the hill and killed the goat"!
Missy: Busy Beavers.
Me: aannnndddd.... scene! That's a wrap, people.
I'm still laughing. It's so nice to be able to crack yourself up. It's positively outrageous good fortune to have a friend who can do it for you. Thank you, Missy dear.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Brendan
3 am phone call.
pointed head in a striped cap, giant baby hands.
snuggle. cuddle. love.
2nd year.
bubble baths, funny faces, repeating led zeppelin.
come stay with me. let's race, color, sing.
4th year.
hold the baby. teach her guns and blocks.
come stay with me. let's cook, build, be silly.
7th year.
sad, confused, quiet.
what is divorce? can i stay with you?
10th year.
funny. mouthy. getting in trouble.
sure you can stay with me.
14th year.
music. girls. guns.
soul has returned. you're still mine.
18th year.
grown. confused. sure.
man. still my baby.
now.
must you leave? stay with me.
play. sing. silly. safe.
i still love you.
pointed head in a striped cap, giant baby hands.
snuggle. cuddle. love.
2nd year.
bubble baths, funny faces, repeating led zeppelin.
come stay with me. let's race, color, sing.
4th year.
hold the baby. teach her guns and blocks.
come stay with me. let's cook, build, be silly.
7th year.
sad, confused, quiet.
what is divorce? can i stay with you?
10th year.
funny. mouthy. getting in trouble.
sure you can stay with me.
14th year.
music. girls. guns.
soul has returned. you're still mine.
18th year.
grown. confused. sure.
man. still my baby.
now.
must you leave? stay with me.
play. sing. silly. safe.
i still love you.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
"The Ordeal"
I have bad teeth. That is no secret. And I'm not really one of those people who never talks about it. No one will ever say about me, "Oh wow! I had no idea that Crissy had bad teeth." I whine about them too much. What can I say? I'm a whiner. From waayyyyy back.
Monday I went to get the impressions for three crowns made. One of those is an implant. My first and hopefully last one. Me no likee. And they're too expensive. So, long story short, there was a new-ish hygienist who apparently is not 'for' suctioning. I lay there drowning until I couldn't take it any more. I swallowed. Which, it turns out, was a bad thing to do.
The drill cut into the soft floor of my mouth, right under and connected to my tongue. It bled. He cauterized it with silver nitrate and then put some stitches in it. After that, hygienist-lady (who incidentally will never work on me again) broke my temporary bridge, couldn't make another one and sprayed me in the face twice with water. By the time I left, my dentist had apologized countless times and my face was already swelling.
I was seriously trying not to cry. I was in pain, and it had scared me. When I walked into the waiting room, my father-in-law was there for his appointment. When he saw me, he reached out to me and I started to cry. He patted me on the back and asked silently if I was okay. I nodded, got my self together and drove home.
By Monday night, I couldn't swallow and my mouth was in hell. Tuesday, same thing. I couldn't move my tongue, couldn't talk, couldn't eat and spent a lot of time pacing and counting to control the pain.
My sister came up two days straight and schooled the kids, tidied the house and cooked supper. My kids got really good at charades. My friends brought me food and sent me sweet notes on facebook.
Today almost 4 days later, the swelling is finally going down and I can whisper. I have learned to drink my pureed food and be thankful for it. I can swallow a lot more easily.
But now I've realized that my tongue is numb in places. And there is a huge goiter-looking thing under my chin. I'm afraid that the drill got to my sublingual gland and maybe some nerves. I'm having trouble talking. It sounds like I've had a stroke. So I'm sitting here, in bed, blogging my fears and worries.
I know that God is good and his meticulous providence is perfect. I know that I am thankful for his provision in all things. I also think that it helps to just speak it. To remember it. To share it. No matter the end result.
Monday I went to get the impressions for three crowns made. One of those is an implant. My first and hopefully last one. Me no likee. And they're too expensive. So, long story short, there was a new-ish hygienist who apparently is not 'for' suctioning. I lay there drowning until I couldn't take it any more. I swallowed. Which, it turns out, was a bad thing to do.
The drill cut into the soft floor of my mouth, right under and connected to my tongue. It bled. He cauterized it with silver nitrate and then put some stitches in it. After that, hygienist-lady (who incidentally will never work on me again) broke my temporary bridge, couldn't make another one and sprayed me in the face twice with water. By the time I left, my dentist had apologized countless times and my face was already swelling.
I was seriously trying not to cry. I was in pain, and it had scared me. When I walked into the waiting room, my father-in-law was there for his appointment. When he saw me, he reached out to me and I started to cry. He patted me on the back and asked silently if I was okay. I nodded, got my self together and drove home.
By Monday night, I couldn't swallow and my mouth was in hell. Tuesday, same thing. I couldn't move my tongue, couldn't talk, couldn't eat and spent a lot of time pacing and counting to control the pain.
My sister came up two days straight and schooled the kids, tidied the house and cooked supper. My kids got really good at charades. My friends brought me food and sent me sweet notes on facebook.
Today almost 4 days later, the swelling is finally going down and I can whisper. I have learned to drink my pureed food and be thankful for it. I can swallow a lot more easily.
But now I've realized that my tongue is numb in places. And there is a huge goiter-looking thing under my chin. I'm afraid that the drill got to my sublingual gland and maybe some nerves. I'm having trouble talking. It sounds like I've had a stroke. So I'm sitting here, in bed, blogging my fears and worries.
I know that God is good and his meticulous providence is perfect. I know that I am thankful for his provision in all things. I also think that it helps to just speak it. To remember it. To share it. No matter the end result.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
October 23rd - A Great Day
What a beautiful day. I mean it. After months and months of rushing from one task/event/commitment to another, we just slowed it down today. It's funny: when you're over-committed, it feels impossible to let go of things and slow down. Until you've finally had enough, then it's easy as pie. You just cancel things and say no.
Anyway... so today... Brody and Ty both had games. Chris and I hung out and enjoyed being together while watching our "Squirt" and "Pork Chop" play ball. No stress whatsoever. Both boys won. We came home to a relatively clean house, laundry done (Thank you Brendan!), hot dogs thawed and ready to grill. Chris and the kids, plus our friend John, played two-hand touch in the front yard. I stretched out on the porch swing and propped my feet up on the chain. The wind was blowing just enough to keep us cool and push the swing. I talked to my cousin Brad for a little bit.
After a late lunch, I took a nap while the boys watched LSU and Auburn play and the girls hung out. After a lovely nap, (my first in months) I made homemade strawberry milkshakes for supper, cause I'm cool like that.
We looked at old scrapbooks and sat in the floor laughing. We teased and hugged and talked. At one point I watched Brody go get Gracie a housecoat because he noticed she was cold.
It was so nice... no, nice is not the right word, ... it was healing. Too much responsibility can suck the life right out of a family. Every once in a while, you need to not answer the phone, turn off Facebook and just hang out. I am so glad we did.
Anyway... so today... Brody and Ty both had games. Chris and I hung out and enjoyed being together while watching our "Squirt" and "Pork Chop" play ball. No stress whatsoever. Both boys won. We came home to a relatively clean house, laundry done (Thank you Brendan!), hot dogs thawed and ready to grill. Chris and the kids, plus our friend John, played two-hand touch in the front yard. I stretched out on the porch swing and propped my feet up on the chain. The wind was blowing just enough to keep us cool and push the swing. I talked to my cousin Brad for a little bit.
After a late lunch, I took a nap while the boys watched LSU and Auburn play and the girls hung out. After a lovely nap, (my first in months) I made homemade strawberry milkshakes for supper, cause I'm cool like that.
We looked at old scrapbooks and sat in the floor laughing. We teased and hugged and talked. At one point I watched Brody go get Gracie a housecoat because he noticed she was cold.
It was so nice... no, nice is not the right word, ... it was healing. Too much responsibility can suck the life right out of a family. Every once in a while, you need to not answer the phone, turn off Facebook and just hang out. I am so glad we did.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Thinking, Blinking and Humanity
I just watched an episode of This American Life on Netflix. TAL has been a radio show on NPR for a really long time and a few years ago Showtime made it a series. Alas, it only lasted 2 seasons. But I digress...
The episode I watched is called Escape. It was about a guy named Mike who has a muscular disorder to the point that he is completely deformed. He cannot speak, swallow, move. He can click a button with his thumb to type and he can blink and move his eyebrows. He is 27 years old and living at home with his mother.
Mike has perfect mental capabilities. He writes, jokes, curses, and is sarcastic. He just wants to be happy. When asked who he would choose to be his voice, instead of the stilted computer generated one, he answered "Either Johnny Depp or Edward Norton because they are both complete badasses."
When he said it, I felt kinda sorry for him actually. He was just so pitifully not either of those guys. But then to my complete surprise, Ira Glass says that from that point on in the show, all of Mike's emails and answers would be read by... Johnny Depp. And they were. From there on out, whenever Mike spoke it was with the voice of Johnny Depp.
I was really surprised at the effect this had on me. I immediately gave Mike's intelligence more credit. He seemed more human and tangible to me. His words seemed deeper and more eloquent. I don't think it had as much to do with it being Johnny Depp's voice (although it didn't hurt... I'm just sayin') as much as it was just a "normal" voice.
I wonder if Chris' dad feels that way having to use a servox. I wonder how many people in the world feel that way.
Mike has a girlfriend. An intelligent, non-handicapped girlfriend. People think she's crazy or perverse. I cringed when they introduced her. But after a while, I realized that she sees into him. She looks beyond his appearance and into his eyes and sees something that others don't see. I wonder if I could do that.
I have no conclusion to these thoughts. I just wanted to get them out of my head and maybe send them out into the great unknown. Maybe someone else will pick up my thoughts where I left off.
The episode I watched is called Escape. It was about a guy named Mike who has a muscular disorder to the point that he is completely deformed. He cannot speak, swallow, move. He can click a button with his thumb to type and he can blink and move his eyebrows. He is 27 years old and living at home with his mother.
Mike has perfect mental capabilities. He writes, jokes, curses, and is sarcastic. He just wants to be happy. When asked who he would choose to be his voice, instead of the stilted computer generated one, he answered "Either Johnny Depp or Edward Norton because they are both complete badasses."
When he said it, I felt kinda sorry for him actually. He was just so pitifully not either of those guys. But then to my complete surprise, Ira Glass says that from that point on in the show, all of Mike's emails and answers would be read by... Johnny Depp. And they were. From there on out, whenever Mike spoke it was with the voice of Johnny Depp.
I was really surprised at the effect this had on me. I immediately gave Mike's intelligence more credit. He seemed more human and tangible to me. His words seemed deeper and more eloquent. I don't think it had as much to do with it being Johnny Depp's voice (although it didn't hurt... I'm just sayin') as much as it was just a "normal" voice.
I wonder if Chris' dad feels that way having to use a servox. I wonder how many people in the world feel that way.
Mike has a girlfriend. An intelligent, non-handicapped girlfriend. People think she's crazy or perverse. I cringed when they introduced her. But after a while, I realized that she sees into him. She looks beyond his appearance and into his eyes and sees something that others don't see. I wonder if I could do that.
I have no conclusion to these thoughts. I just wanted to get them out of my head and maybe send them out into the great unknown. Maybe someone else will pick up my thoughts where I left off.
Thursday, October 07, 2010
Define Iconoclast
I've been reading C.S. Lewis today. Thus my superior language skills in this post.
I like the movie Then She Found Me. There is a scene when Helen Hunt's character is having a crisis of faith and her mother tells her, "Maybe God is not who you thought he was. Maybe he's difficult. Awful. Complicated."
To some that may sound sacrilegious. But to me it sounds convicting. Lewis says that God is the Great Iconoclast. He says, "My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself." I have varying ideas of who God is or who I want him to be. (I'm working as a church planter: thus, God wants to make this whole church planting thing fun. I love my husband: God will give my husband great tenderness and affection for me at all times.)
And when God does not meet my expectations. When my husband is busy or my mother dies or there is pain in church community, my perception of who God is will be shattered.
I had a friend tell me once after a semi-traumatic event, "Maybe you just thought you were trusting God."
There are so many times that I just think that I am trusting God. Like Helen Hunt's character said, "I had faith. I thought God was good." What she really meant was that she thought God was going to do things her way. Or that the only "good" she could see in that moment was what she had the power to envision.
I don't really know if I am saying that I don't have faith or if it's that I don't put my faith in who God really is. I invent who I want Him to be. I exercise faith by clenching my eyes shut and crossing my fingers, hoping and wishing on a star. My faith is stilted. My hope is in a religious idea. I build a temple out of my circumstances.
And when things do not go the way I think they should, or there is pain that seems too much to bear, I feel the foundations of my life begin to tear and I panic. I panic thinking that God has somehow abandoned me or let me down. But the reality is that the tearing and shattering is God revealing Himself to me. I forget that God's presence is associated with fire and thunder and earthquakes.
Lewis says, "God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn't. ... He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down."
Most of the time, I want an easy God. A religious figure. A relic to help me through my day. But God is a furious lover. An independent reality. A complicated Trinity. He shatters in order to shape. He is the Great Iconoclast.
I like the movie Then She Found Me. There is a scene when Helen Hunt's character is having a crisis of faith and her mother tells her, "Maybe God is not who you thought he was. Maybe he's difficult. Awful. Complicated."
To some that may sound sacrilegious. But to me it sounds convicting. Lewis says that God is the Great Iconoclast. He says, "My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself." I have varying ideas of who God is or who I want him to be. (I'm working as a church planter: thus, God wants to make this whole church planting thing fun. I love my husband: God will give my husband great tenderness and affection for me at all times.)
And when God does not meet my expectations. When my husband is busy or my mother dies or there is pain in church community, my perception of who God is will be shattered.
I had a friend tell me once after a semi-traumatic event, "Maybe you just thought you were trusting God."
There are so many times that I just think that I am trusting God. Like Helen Hunt's character said, "I had faith. I thought God was good." What she really meant was that she thought God was going to do things her way. Or that the only "good" she could see in that moment was what she had the power to envision.
I don't really know if I am saying that I don't have faith or if it's that I don't put my faith in who God really is. I invent who I want Him to be. I exercise faith by clenching my eyes shut and crossing my fingers, hoping and wishing on a star. My faith is stilted. My hope is in a religious idea. I build a temple out of my circumstances.
And when things do not go the way I think they should, or there is pain that seems too much to bear, I feel the foundations of my life begin to tear and I panic. I panic thinking that God has somehow abandoned me or let me down. But the reality is that the tearing and shattering is God revealing Himself to me. I forget that God's presence is associated with fire and thunder and earthquakes.
Lewis says, "God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn't. ... He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down."
Most of the time, I want an easy God. A religious figure. A relic to help me through my day. But God is a furious lover. An independent reality. A complicated Trinity. He shatters in order to shape. He is the Great Iconoclast.
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