Plans to do….something great.

The other night we were hanging out at the inline hockey rinks. Zachary had requested his birthday party simply be hanging out with his hockey buddies and playing hockey. After a weekend of…playing hockey. The kids loved it, though, and we played until it got dark. Then we pulled out glow sticks and attached them to the kids helmets and sticks, and we used glow-in-the-dark balls instead of pucks. I parked the truck next to the rink and would “charge” one of the balls with the headlights while the kids used the other one.

One of the parents standing with us mentioned that this would be one of the memories of the kids of their summer. Mom standing there charging up glow-in-the-dark balls while the kids played as long as possible. They didn’t even want the chocolate cake…they just wanted to play.

The parent’s comment caught me, though. I’ve been thinking ever since:

“What will the kids remember?”

Will it stand out in their minds that when they came downstairs I was distracted and on the computer; focused on the lives of others while they waited for my attention? I hope not. I’ve been more present to them and more intentional this summer about doing things. Enjoying them and enjoying the wonder that is summer as a kid.

Things like:

Catching Lightning Bugs (love living in the south)

Playing with Baking Soda, Vinegar and Food Coloring

Snowcones!

Water Balloon fights

Baby Pools!

Dinners with an abundance of color and flavor

What will they remember?

Staying up late, sleeping in, laughing and giggling.

Road trips to New Mexico.

Running outside and the feel of grass on bare feet.

Snow cones and swimming pools.

They will remember I was there and Steve was there.

They will not remember how clean the house was or if the laundry was done on time. They will not remember if the bed was made.

Lord, help me remember that those things need to be done without taking over. Help me remember to just enjoy these days.

Help me remember that these little souls are eager for affection and attention. Help me to remember that their wonder only takes a little encouragement to blossom.

Simple things. Attention. Intention. Just being present.

They laugh at me that I take pictures of our food and of them eating snow cones…but I know these days will be gone before I am ready. Taking pictures is part of my way of holding on to the moment.

I want them to know how to play and use their imaginations, but I think more than that, I just want to enjoy them. In my enjoyment I think they find a security and a confidence to just be themselves…and know that is enough.

So, this summer is all about memories of lazy things and “unimportant” things.

I have no plans to achieve great things this summer…I have plans to wear pajamas until noon and have tickle fights.

I have plans to whisper in their ears throughout the day that they are loved.

I have plans to lay in bed with them and read books.

 

I have plans to listen to them.

I have plans to look at the stars and tell them of a God who is filled with creativity and imagination…and that they are made in His image.  To remind them that they are loved by this God…that He delights in them and their laughter and their wonder. To point around them so that they can learn to look with wonder and hope and awareness.

Maybe I do have big plans after all. 

Memorable Mondays

I had so wanted to take pictures. Even had my camera in the car with pictures deleted so I could snap away as many as I like. When we pulled in the gravel driveway I think I actually heard a sharp intake of breath from the boy in the seat next to me.

 

This was not the time for pictures.

 

I have been wanting to send Zachary to Barefoot Republic for a couple years. A summer camp about an hour away from us, this place focuses on bringing a diverse group of young people together for a week of typical camp rituals. Wall climbing, eating bizarre foods, battles between cabins, worship services infused with youthful emotion. The pictures on their website and the videos they post on YouTube all show a group of kids laughing and playing hard and enjoying themselves.

Zach doesn’t have that many opportunities for this kind of event. He goes to youth group and he participates in sports and is around other kids…but there is just something a bit different about this place.  Maybe it is the diversity they seek out and encourage and facilitate. Maybe it is the enthusiasm of the counselors. I could see it and I was so excited.

The boy? Well…each mile on the GPS that counted down he got a little quieter and the jokes were a little less hearty. When we pulled in he was pretty quiet, other than mentioning he might die.

We checked him in and it all went faster than I wanted. He was swept up in his cabin by a counselor. I stood outside not wanting to be the hovering mom. I did, however, finally go in because I needed that last good-bye. He was busy filling out some paper and nodded and did say he loved me.

It was not exactly the departure I had planned…I was hoping for a little more of a glimmer in his eye. This is the first time he is away for camp…and I’ll be thinking about him all week.  I wish he could see on this end how great it is going to be…he sees instead the uncomfortable silences that are not in the pictures on FaceBook. The awkward moments where you don’t quite fit in or know what to do. The missing home.

Here’s the great thing, though…the counselors see both. They know that catch in the gut of the kids who are not comfortable, and they know how that same kid is going to be grinning from ear to ear at the end of the week. They know, and we parents hope, that these kids are going to see sometimes you have to take that uncomfortable leap into something new to find out how great it can be.

As I was walking away I heard one counselor shout a hello to another counselor. He greeted her and asked if she was ready for the week.

She gave a harried look and replied that she hoped so.

He laughed heartily and then said,

“No worries. God is ready.”

Yep, the boy is in good hands.

Sometimes Silence is Best…

I know it has been weeks since I have written anything here. The funny thing is that it is not because I have been so busy; things are beginning to settle down for the summer. There are still hockey games and activities, but the days are beginning to take on that lazy attitude.

Possibly that has led to my lack of enthusiasm to write, but I think it is actually something a little deeper.

There has been so much grief lately, and so many friends facing challenges if not significant trials. The tornados in Oklahoma…we’ll be driving right through there in a few weeks as we make our trek to NM and CO. I cannot imagine how those folks are beginning to start over. Such loss. Others who are facing health issues with children…and many I know only through FaceBook and yet follow their progress closely. Others who are changing jobs or houses or schools or towns and dealing with the uprooting and re-settling.

Others who face tremendous loss that comes suddenly.

Others who are doing well. Sometimes we forget to mention them, don’t we. Some who are still walking in the midst of all these events of life and do so with joy and with peace.

I just realized as I was walking this morning that I really have nothing to say. I go through these seasons and I realize that I am just adding to the noise (yes, I realize that it has taken me 200+ words to say that). It is not that I am unfeeling or that I am uncaring, it is rather that awareness that sometimes silence is best.

There is not an answer to friends who are facing deep challenges, but presence is helpful.

Prayers seem to filter down to groans.

And yet…wonder seeps in even in these times and the laugh of a 2 year old girl can bring such joy and delight.

All of this to say…time for a season of quiet. Time to observe, to pray and to read and to listen. Time to simplify for a bit. Time to just be. It is not that I am neglecting this blog…it is simply time for a season of quiet.

See you soon…when the words begin flowing again.

Merciful Monday.

Maturity is not a patchwork affair assembled out of bits and pieces of disciplines and devotions, doctrines and causes. It is all the operations of the Trinity in the practice of resurrection.

Eugene H. Peterson. Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Kindle Locations 494-495). Kindle Edition.

Yes, yes, I am still reading Peterson. Yes, I do still intend to write more posts as I work through this book. Nope, I’m not ready this morning.  I am reading and thinking, but not quite ready to write…beyond the above quotation.

The last month has felt like a whirlwind. Sports have been in high gear, school has been on that final push, Maddie has been testing the waters of turning 2. Curriculums for next year needed to be chosen, registration for tutorials had to happen. Add three birthdays within a month of each other and Mother’s Day into the mix…and I’m feeling ready for summer.

On the way to the orthodontist the other day we stopped by the library, I picked up a new book and barely made it past the first few pages. A Measure of My Days is about a young country doctor practicing in Maine. What caught me immediately was his description of his morning routine: waking up at 4:30, turning on music, making coffee and taking two hours to read and write. I breathed that in and realized how desperately I miss that sectioned off and protected time to feed my soul.

I have not done well with carving that time into my schedule in the last month, and my soul is weary and frazzled. I cannot survive just on the blessings of Sunday morning.  I need those moments of reading truth from others and finding their root in the Bible. I need that silence…or that music couched solitude…to grow my soul.

The quotation above from Peterson has held my attention, though, because just carving out that time is not enough. We cannot throw together a recipe of the right disciplines and devotions that will guarantee that we mature in the faith. We cannot expect to just mark the things off our list and feel that we have accomplished our pursuit of God sufficiently.

The working of the Trinity in our lives…the reality of the Resurrection in our souls…the breath of the Spirit in our bones…the imagination of the Creator in our minds.  This is what we need.

What I need.

I am frazzled with momentary things, with things that have their place and their importance, but which need to take their rightful place in the momentary and the mundane. My soul does not need to feed on the gossip of FaceBook and the trivia of television.

My soul needs the reality of the Resurrection. My soul needs the disciplines and the pursuit of God…but my soul needs that couched in the working of the Spirit.

I’m not sure that I can do 4:30. I’m not a morning person. School is done, though, and this morning 6am brought silence and peace and the calling to seek God.

I’m not seeking a patchwork of “right” things…I’m seeking God.

I am thankful that I can start afresh this morning and focus on Peterson’s book, focus on some things I want to think through. I am thankful for the refreshing of habits that have been neglected.

So…Merciful Monday this morning.  I have time to tidy the house and to sit at my table with headphones on and read. Think. Pray. Write. Repeat.

Care to join me?

Pray. Act.

I was all set to write about Peterson’s book today, yet as things often happen I was struck by something else and need to think it through.

I have participated in a friend’s blog for about 7 years. This blog has been a place of debate, argument, discussion, deep prayer, friendship, controversy. His comments tend to number in the hundreds. People have engaged there…and we’ve formed a bit of community. The blog has focused on those who have been abused in the church. That is a hurting and sometimes volatile audience. There is reason for those feelings.  We’ve had one person who has been through tremendous suffering and has now tried to bring to light an abusive leader…and has been frustrated by the lack of support. He is a strong personality and a passionate person, and we’ve been frustrated often that he has taken over the dialog. There were some pretty harsh words shared in a thread yesterday…a thread with over 300 comments. I read through them all last night and this morning…and kept wanting to have the words to interject that would ease the tension and bring some peace.

I didn’t have the words.

Through this journey the person has been frustrated by Christians and has found allies in those who do not believe. He has been frustrated with God.

There are a lot of people who have felt that way, a lot of people who have been frustrated by God. A lot of people who have wondered why God has not stepped in to a given situation and changed things. Why can’t He make a miraculous release and why can’t the king be eaten by worms? Immediately.

I can understand that thinking. Why didn’t God stop Gosnell? 40 years of that horror. I think often of the children being abused. Right now. Why doesn’t God step in?

I do not have an answer that satisfies.

I am not surprised that this person on the blog is persistent to the point of obnoxious. He lived in a survival mode for a long time, I would guess…and I can imagine the need to have others pay attention. I think, from interactions with those who have faced abuse or neglect that there is almost an insatiable need for affirmation. The need to know that they are no longer that abused one or that neglected one…that they matter and that their cause matters.  I get that.

Those are often the people who will get things done because they are tenacious and they are focused and passionate.

The flip side is that sometimes they can turn others off because they demand so much.

I remember when I spent a summer in Chicago with Jesus People, USA. I expected when I arrived that we would help every homeless person we encountered. I expected them to be Mother Teresa-ish. When we walked to the shelter my first day, I was shocked that they literally ignored people. Yes, literally. They would just keep on walking as homeless people asked for their help. When I asked about this, they explained that if they stopped and helped each person on the way they would never make it to the shelter. The shelter where they watched children of homeless women so the women could get jobs, and then get apartments…and get off the streets and find a new life. The shelter where they ministered to physical and spiritual and emotional needs.

None of that would happen if they stopped at each need.

They had to stay focused on where they were called and able to impact deeply a few people’s lives. This did not make them callous. It did not make the people they had to walk by unimportant or unnecessary. This made them wise.
The fact is we simply cannot help every single need we are faced with. We cannot.

We can pray. We can be compassionate and we can be kind (they never spoke a harsh word).

Maybe…maybe…if we are able to encounter those in our path with compassion and with grace we can ease some of the insatiable needs.

Maybe our gifting and our calling is to listen and to pray. That is not weak or unnecessary.

Maybe God is working in ways we simply cannot see. Maybe He is doing something that couldn’t be affected by eating the king with worms.  That doesn’t mean we don’t still wish for immediate justice…except when we are the sinner.

There is another side, and this is the balance.

There are those who see a need and find a creative solution and do so with humility and grace that expands to joy and healing. Beating people into helping just makes people reluctant recruits. Doing something creative and healing…people long to be part of that. They long to see God work, and I think this is where we often find Him.

A friend posted this this morning and it fed my soul:

Maybe it is because I am often moved by music. Maybe it is because God so often moves through music. He unleashes our emotions in ways that does not happen through words alone.

More than that though. This one person that leads the music therapy at the hospital paid attention. She gave these children not only a voice, but also a means to express themselves.

She listened. And then God expanded.

I cannot help this person on the blog in the way he would hope. I do not have the finances to contribute, and I do not live where I can be a vocal and physical presence. I cannot go knock on the door of the abuser and say that he is wrong.

I can, however, listen and I can pray. Sometimes challenge needs to be spoken when those in need become more bully than advocate. Maybe if someone had listened and acted years ago that wouldn’t have happened, I don’t know.

I know…I’m rambling.

Here’s the thing, though. I do believe that God continues to work in miraculous ways in our midst. Often they are not the ways I would like. I wish that every child who was facing abuse would have a warring angel that would enter their home in that moment and defend them. I would rejoice in that.
God would rejoice in the abuser and the victim being healed.

Oh…there is so much here, and it is hard to be concise.

Today, though….we are faced with those who need to know they are not forgotten or unworthy or unnecessary. Today, in our midst, in our reach and in the path of our calling are those we can impact. We can listen…and we can act in some way. It starts with paying attention. Hearing the songs that could be sung. Acting in a way that inspires those around us to become involved when their talents match the needs.

The result is healing, hope and joy. Rejoicing as God works in the midst…in a quiet and mundane way, possibly, but working.

I’m not sure how this fleshes out for you, or even for me all the time. I know I fail at being aware so often.

Praying is not vanity, though. We begin by seeking God…pressing in and listening to His voice. Allowing Him to open our eyes to our gifting and our calling and the needs around us. Then acting with Spirit empowered actions. There is more that needs to be said….but sometimes it comes down to simplicity.

We will not be able to help every need. We will, however, be able to impact some…and God will expand our efforts.

Pray. Act.

Delighting in the Littles….

I am not sure how many times lately I have mentioned that it is a rainy Monday. Beginning to feel a little like when we lived in Vancouver! Still, I enjoy a rainy Monday; it seems to let me settle in slowly. This is our last full week of school, which means a busy time, but also an exciting time.

This is also, for us, the season of birthdays. Our youngest boy turned 7 a couple weeks ago and we had his party with friends this weekend. Again, it was raining, so the party was indoors…filling the house with rambunctious and giggly boys. It was wonderful!

We have two more birthdays coming in May…our oldest and our youngest.  More celebrations and balloons and parties.

More delighting in our kids.

I have found myself doing that a lot lately. We’ve had our moments where they’ve been frustrating and where we’ve had to discipline, but I have found myself truly enjoying them lately.

And I noticed something this weekend: in my delighting in my kids I had a deep sorrow and awareness of all the babies who were greeted with terror at the hands of Gosnell.  Each baby I have seen in the last few weeks has brought the horrors of his story to mind, and great sorrow.

I have read some about him, and I have been absolutely sickened. I have a friend who survived an abortion, and each time I read about these innocents who were painfully murdered…I think of my friend, Gianna. I think of her fiery life and I think of the joy and delight she brings into my life and many others.

I think of the light she brings into the world.

And I think, and wonder, what we have lost with all these who have been killed. Gosnell is the horrific extreme. I cannot imagine the callousness of the soul that is able to kill babies who are crying and struggling to live…again, and again. I am struck, however, by the reality that this is the same thing that happens in the sterile clinics and when the abortion is done ‘correctly’. I have many friends who are in support of a woman’s choice, and I understand their decision and their thinking.

I understand, but I do not agree.  I am so deeply grieved, and angered, by Gosnell…but he is just the story that has been highlighted. The same choice to end life happens so continuously…and I wonder what grief it bears on the Creator. I wonder what these littles would have been…I wonder what we have missed. What laughter and delight, what joy and light, what imagination and what brilliance we have lost.

My mother and dad were faced with the choice. The doctor encouraged my mother to abort me; she had had several miscarriages and there was concern for her life. There was legitimate reason in the medical mind to terminate my life.

My folks said no. And here I am.

And I know that there is so much tied up in this discussion. So many issues…and so many failings on all our parts. As a church we have not excelled at caring for those who were terrified by the reality of a life for which they would be responsible. Some who have simply chosen freedom rather than responsibility, and done so callously. And some who have been so broken by the decision…and they need to be cared for and loved and extended grace. So many issues. But Gosnell….oh, my soul.

So, on a rainy Monday as I listen to my littles waking I am wearied by this brokenness around us. This pain and this loss, and this horror. In the midst of that…I continue to hold for hope and know that God still is working. That there are still stories of the redeemed and the made whole.

I look at my littles and I rejoice that they are filled with life and with imagination and with hope….and I delight in them and whisper a prayer of thanks that they are here. That I am here. I whisper a prayer for those who are tormented by a decision and those who are facing a decision with great fear and confusion. Lord, have mercy.

A Word that Calls us…

“Paul’s letter to the Ephesians joins together what has been torn apart in our sin-wrecked world. He begins with an exuberant exploration of what Christians believe about God, and then, like a surgeon skillfully setting a compound fracture, `sets’ this belief in God into our behavior before God so that the bones – belief and behavior – knit together and heal.

Eugene H. Peterson. Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Kindle Locations 370-372). Kindle Edition.

The last few weeks have felt hectic. I have not had the chance to read and process and post some thoughts on this second chapter in Peterson’s book. I have not been able to cook regular meals; fast food has dominated, and that is not like us. The schedule has not changed dramatically, but the busy-ness of healthy, active kids has seemed, well, more busy.

We have practices for two kids Tuesday nights and Thursday nights and Friday nights. We have games, usually two, every Saturday.

We have Biblestudy on Wednesday nights.

Church on Sundays.

Busy.  Oh, and we had a birthday in there, with another party this weekend. The oldest boy turns 12 in just a couple weeks, and he had braces put on this past week.

I have had that feeling of running from place to place. This is the time for registering for tutorials and picking out curriculum for next year, so that has added to the hectic feel. The push of the urgency.

There are times for the urgent, but the urgent has to stop dominating. I feel tired and harried. Then I read the above paragraph from Peterson and my whole soul leaned in and there was that whisper of, “Yes…this is what I need to think on today.”  Chapter two for Peterson is focused on how God is calling us…not directing or informing, but calling us, and the response is a walk. Not a pursuit of the urgent…a walk.

The items balanced in the Ephesians scales are God’s calling and human living: “I beg you,” writes Paul, “to walk (peripateo) worthy of the calling to which you have been called (kaleo).” When our walking and God’s calling are in balance, we are whole; we are living maturely, living responsively to God’s calling, living congruent with the way God calls us into being. Axios, worthy – mature, healthy, robust.

Eugene H. Peterson. Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Kindle Locations 387-390). Kindle Edition.

We can understand neither God nor ourselves in any living, adequate, and mature way that is an impersonal, non-relational way. When God’s calling and our walking fit, we are growing up in Christ. God calls; we walk.

Eugene H. Peterson. Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Kindle Locations 392-393). Kindle Edition.

We cannot ‘do’ this Christianity in a static or analytical way…we are called into a relationship and a journey. I needed to hear that this morning. In the midst of the busy-ness of life, I…and you…are called by the Living God to walk with Him.  We are called through His Word…through the conversation with Him in the Bible and through the Holy Spirit. This is not some dead creed or some dead language…God speaks to us.

God speaks the decisive word that puts us on the way, the road, the path of life. The Hebrew word for Bible is Miqra, a noun formed from the verb “to call,” qara. The Bible is not a book to carry around and read for information on God, but a voice to listen to. I like that. This word of God that we name Bible, book, is not at root a word to be read and looked at and discussed. It is a word to be listened to and obeyed, a word that gets us going. Fundamentally, it is a call: God calls us.

Eugene H. Peterson. Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Kindle Locations 407-410). Kindle Edition.

God’s word stirs us. There are other books which do that as well…I have been stirred reading Madeleine L’Engle, reading Frederick Buechner, reading…countless authors.  Many times I am stirred by their writings because they are echoing the words of the Word. The Truth is the same and my Spirit attests to that. There is something different about the Bible, though. That Spirit-infested Word that conveys to us God’s call. Not only does it call us, but it identifies us…it gives us the understanding of our true identity. God’s children. God’s people. God’s called ones…

A call is not an impersonal cause that makes something happen in a mechanical way in obedience to the laws of physics, like a baseball that is launched by a swung bat knocking it out of the ballpark. Call comes into our ears, beckoning us into the future, bringing us into a way of life that has never been experienced in just this way before: a promise, a new thing, a blessing, our place in the new creation, a resurrection life.

Eugene H. Peterson. Practice Resurrection: A Conversation on Growing Up in Christ (Kindle Locations 413-416). Kindle Edition.

The call comes in the middle of the mediocrity, or the mundane, or the muck, or the mire….the middle of wherever we are.  The call comes and changes everything…brings hope. Brings Resurrection life.

Life that is no longer dominated by the urgency of the mundane. Life instead that is infested by the Spirit of the Living God. Life that is informed by eternity and by the reality of the truly important and informed…not just an existence of jumping from one activity to another.

I needed to hear that this morning. As my little one is standing and waiting for me to come out and jump on the trampoline and my others are doing school work. Life is happening, but it is not just the marking off of our to-do list. Life is listening for that Call for today…to understand what that Resurrection life means in the midst of the busy-ness. How that call changes the mundane into something different. Something hopeful and life-filled.

There is more to this chapter, but for now that is enough for me to chew on for awhile. I need to let the reality of that call sink deeply into this frazzled soul.