Easter.

The living room was dark as we sat, son and I. Staying up to rest in each others company long after daddy and siblings snuck off to bed.

He asks. “Mom? Does God ever talk to you?” Breathing in I gather my meandering thought processes to focus on correct response. I settle on truth.

“Yes.”

silence. I slyly lure out more.

“Does God talk to you?”

“oh sure, all the time.”

Silence.

“Well, what does He say?”

“Mainly, I just hear Him calling my name. Sometimes I hear Him calling for Elijah, but I don't think he hears.”

To not hear when He's calling...

Ultimately, isn't that what I want? To hear my name, to know my Savior and Lord really does know I’m down here? That He knows my frustrations, my sorrow, my unrelenting questions, to be soothed into calm reassurance that there's a concrete reason for all of this!

John 20: 11-16


11 But Mary stood outside by the tomb weeping, and as she wept she stooped down and looked into the tomb. 12 And she saw two angels in white sitting, one at the head and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. 13 Then they said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
She said to them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him.”
14 Now when she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, and did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?”
She, supposing Him to be the gardener, said to Him, “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.”
16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!”
She turned and said to Him,[a] “Rabboni!” (which is to say, Teacher).

She heard her name. Preceding the tomb, the cross, the scourging and crown of thorns, lies The Lords Supper; On the night in which He was betrayed our Lord, took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is My body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.”
Stop.
Back Up.
On THAT night, He gave thanks! I’m pretty darn quick to give thanks for the friends that can watch a kid at the last minute or my husband to get 'A' day off but when I’m being betrayed? When things hurt? I managed a whole Summer and Fall without saying thanks for ANYTHING!! But this winter, I tasted joy. Now, as I'm folding one unending load of laundry after another, I’m thanking Jesus for arms and legs that fill them.
And I hear Him whisper my name.

As I’m calming heartbroken tears of injustice, defiant siblings standing stoic with jaws set, I'm thanking God for opportunities to teach my children about forgiveness and grace.
Again, I hear my name.

I wash dish, after dish, scorching water sucking life from my hands and I thank my Lord for the tiny pea shoots I can see from my kitchen window, tendrils reaching forever skyward, Thank You Lord for this.
He speaks my name.

It's Spring. New life cracking frosty earth. I am so blessed. I have Hope because Hope lives in me! Lot's of things bring happiness, my new waffle iron made me happy, but waffle irons eventually break. A great buy on yarn makes me really happy, but I knit it, gift it and then it's gone.

True joy is not fleeting.
True joy is a relationship.
True joy cannot be bought.
True joy lives in you, guides you, nourishes you, soothes you , gives you comfort when you don't have the answers to life's circumstances because True Joy, possess understanding that surpasses all others.

I recently read if God answered all of my prayers just how I wanted, wouldn't that make me God?! Wow.

John 20: 11-16, again.


11 But Mary stood outside by the tomb weeping,(she was a faithful follower but in that moment the only thing she knew was that she didn't know what was going on anymore, she was confused, heartbroken, probably pretty angry too!) and as she wept she stooped down and looked into the tomb. (she acted, she stooped down, she didn't just sit there and cry!) 12 And she saw two angels in white sitting, one at the head and the other at the feet, where the body of Jesus had lain. 13 Then they said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?”
She said to them, “Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him.”
14 Now when she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, and did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?”
She, supposing Him to be the gardener, said to Him, “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.” (she's so upset, so hurt, so confused, she doesn't recognize Jesus, the man that cast out her demons, the man that was her whole world standing right in front of her until...)
16 Jesus said to her, “Mary!”
She turned and said to Him,[a] “Rabboni!” (which is to say, Teacher). (Joy!!!!)

When I actively, constantly, seek Him, through prayer, through giving thanks, through picking up my bible and reading just one passage slowly, soaking in each syllable.  He speaks my name.  He's not in that tomb. He IS ALIVE! He's right by my side and He's right by your side too, whispering your name, simply waiting for you to hear.

~ MOPS Tea and Testimony

The Girl...

She's just not a reader.  That's the statement we've lived with for the past few years.  She doesn't want to yet, she simple doesn't care.  Unfortunately, this isn't acceptable at a grade school level and so she's been getting extra help, we've been working with her on the basics and still, she doesn't care.  Or is that, didn't?  Picking up a book this weekend, a book from my childhood carried from tiny apartments to tiny house.  A book I had been saving for my future reader, she sat down and read.  She read in the evening.  She read in the morning.  She read when we got home from church and she read every time she sat to rest from her play.  She read at commercial breaks and she read long after the sun went down.  Hard words, stuck on the tip of her tongue.  Foreign words flowing off cherub lips.  Words holding clues to another world of mystery and intrigue.  Not monosyllabic fluff and filler but real words, ones that take you to another place.  Transporting words.  Have we held her back in our baby steps?  Don't push them, let them be kids?  What if our kids aren't progressing because they crave something harder?  When are the baby steps simply left for babies?   We supposedly learn as adults that the difficult path is often the most rewarding.  I could see in my daughters eyes the thrilling invitation of this road not taken.  The girl once again, becomes the teacher.

kids.

Storms.

I first heard the thunder while separating whites from darks in the quiet depths of the house.  Stopping for a moment to assess the severity of the storm approaching, I shake it off and quickly resume the task at hand.  Screams cut through my musing, twist knob, thick liquid glugs, lid closes, my feet hit the stairs.  I had heard it sounds like a freight train coming before it engulfs all life within it's path, no conscience, the least is destroyed along with the most esteemed.  Reaching the landing I take in the full scope of damage.  Will our insurance be enough?  What can realistically be replaced?   Most importantly, how Lord?!   How, can three kids who were moments ago watching Sponge Bob happily on the floor, HOW can they completely destroy not only the house but themselves in such a seemingly short expanse of time?!  One load, that's all I needed to put in.  Walk away and the gates of Hades open up, demons jump off furniture, one arming the nearest presumed foe.  Heads collide, rug burns sting, tears streak through freckles.  I sigh.   Scooping up the wounded sprites we sit in silence, calm, sssshhhhhhhhh.  I'm counting.  They smell like sausage and play-doh. Small hands pick up.  Cartoons no longer a privilege of the day.  I hear the dryer stop, a plea-prayer lifts up as I'm once again drawn under. Morning.

Blessings.

It's pretty easy to look around at my life and count the ways God continually blesses me when all is well. In a week wracked with sickness upon sickness my vision admittedly becomes a bit clouded. "One Thousand Gifts" was delivered the same day my doctor gave me a mega-dose of antibiotics to kick the sinus/strep infection invading my head. I didn't know when I ordered it that I would be practically bedridden and able to power through the pages in two days. As always, God provides. I found I was blessed this week with not only modern medicine that can kick misery out the door but a doctor with enough foresight to prescribe an antidote to the side-effects of that mega-dose (I'll trust all my female friends understand).

I was blessed last night with a mystery package of Hostess Donuts when I unpacked my groceries. I trust the man that was in line in front of us isn't feeling the same blessing. But this morning when the two woke up to daddy and brother gone, those circles of powdery goodness eased sleepy longings to be any where other than home.

We were more than blessed to have my husband be able to see his grandfather before he went to his final home, free to attend his service today without any I wish I had's.

There will be more sickness to heal and more funerals to attend. Life continues, if not here than on the other side. Snow falls unexpectedly mid-February, best friends belly laugh in the tub, the warmth of coffee in a mug given by a friend. The weekend beckons.

Nine.

"I want to do something"
That's always how it starts, those olive eyes staring up at me expectantly. Maybe this time, this time she'll drop everything and we'll all jet off to Disneyland. Not so much.

"So do something" goes my well thought out, deeply empathetic response. The woes of a child, plans to build a trap to catch fish in a river we do not own, nor are we going to anytime soon, dashed. A fort then. Every step planned, each move a reason, right, wrong, black, white. The oldest child wrestles with the injustices of each moment, gladiator puts up his shield while swinging blindly at the invisible foe.

Calm boy.

I'm reminded we're almost done. We've been charged with raising this one and we're at the half. His 9th birthday came and left, cake eaten, wrapping paper strewn. A mother's heart senses the change. We've peaked the mountain but no downhill coast lies ahead. Is the first nine really the decent? Baby is born, love flows, songs soothe, kisses heal. Too many memories now. Suckers no longer stop the tears, he knows it will hurt and what pain feels like. Cowlicks stick up randomly on bedhead, one of my first gifts. He asks me to cut the quesadilla he prepared while he pours his soup, the list of not allowed to do's diminishing every day. The tongue sharpens as his odor grows, the voice to soon deepen. I smile as he plays keep away from the zhu zhu's racing on the floor, still such a child.

Listening

I like to think I'm a good listener but I guess our views of ourselves are admittedly a bit one sided. Two years ago I wrote a similar post about feeling the need to give up the computer for a while and when I rethought that decision my computer crashed and a forced fast begin. Well, I may be two years older but certainly not two years wiser. Once again the call to set aside my computer time overcame me and yet once again I dismissed it. Pretty sure you can guess the outcome, our computer died. Again. This time it wasn't an easy fix and I've been offline for a solid month. I tried once to use a friends computer to order a yarn fix and not so amazingly, the order never shipped, never got billed, simply never existed. I was to be on a fast whether I wanted to or not.

What I learned on Summer Vacation...alternate title: When God smacks you upside the head it's because he's trying to tell you something.

Listen to me. That's pretty much it. I actually did a devotion about it at our MOPS group but it's hard to convey it all in a short time. I'm getting good at turning to Him. Really good at talking to Him. But actually taking the time to listen, not so much. I knew beyond a shadow of doubt when I was suppose to coordinate our MOPS group. Now I know I'm supposed to be done. What I didn't know is then what? I can anticipate and I can speculate but I didn't have a clue to what he was telling me. Because I wouldn't listen. After I finally formulated that He simply wanted my attention, after it really sunk in, He let me know the what. I'm not going to question the how, summer vacation reminded me the Creator of the Universe controls that just fine. Proverbs 1:33, but whoever listens to me will dwell safely, and will be secure, without fear of evil.