Stone Crossings Reflections and Giveaway

As a child, I escape into the creek bed. No one can touch me here. It is a haven where I curl my bare, sun-browned toes into wet clay. I am hidden…

So begins L.L. Barkat’s story in her book Stone Crossings: Finding Grace in Hard and Hidden Places.

We follow this willowy child; skip from stone to stone with her along her faith journey--hop along beside as she stretches and is stretched…growing in grace along the way.

conversion—shame—suffering—resistance—doubt—fear—love—sacrifice—responsibility—gratitude—humility—healing—forgiveness—witness—heaven…

These are a few of the stepping stones that Barkat uses to navigate us through her story.

But this is no ordinary run-of-the-mill memoir.

This story of healing weaves in and out of a Higher One, reveals to each one of us how our stories are thread offerings—intertwining within the Greatest Story Ever Told.

I read Stone Crossings with Bible in hand—challenged to see anew well-worn scripture-stories, and dig deeper into the heart of these Words.

Jonah--given to us as a dove (his name means dove, which was a sin offering)—allows his fear of death to rule him; the tabernacle is painted as God’s heart; Moses’ forfeiture of entrance to the Promised Land is…freedom?

These and other tellings reveal the true depth of God’s Word; give my heart a new yearning as I see the familiar with different eyes.

L.L., who was deeply wounded as a child, discusses her difficulty believing in love as a young woman. Yet now, she is able to speak freely of God the Lover from Song of Songs:

“Whereas some people wait for the day they can climb into the lap of God the Father, and others ache to lean on his strong shepherd-shoulders, I anticipate the day when God the lover will hold me forever in a passionate and safe embrace.”

Is anyone else swooning?

Perhaps the part of the book that spoke to me most in this season of my life was the chapters on Sacrifice and Responsibility. L.L. speaks of sacrificing her desires for that of her family, and how God spoke to her through this:

“Tending sheep is a mundane job. It is a lot of same old, same old—the way we feed kids breakfast, lunch and dinner, or drive to the office and deal with the same people day after day. It is repetitive, like building a stone wall rock by rock across the landscape. So it’s easy for us to over look the power of small acts that are folded again and again into the meandering swish of common love.”

Along this vein, L.L. goes on to wonder, “…would I be a good king or a bad king if I had the choice?”

This pondering leads her to conclude:

“We are each like little kings privileged with a patch of ground, even if it’s less than a quarter-acre, like mine, and more likely to grow dandelions than a vineyard. We each hold a scepter of influence…in relationship to someone, or a group of people, or even God, who all spy eagerly to see what our face and voice will reveal. We are each, to put it simply, responsible in our blessedness…”

These words inspire me to tend my vineyard well. I know I shouldn’t need one, but these words serve as a reminder that I should do all for Him; that my family is a most sacred gift from Him and I am privileged to be one of its stewards.

In her own words, L.L. describes Stone Crossings: “Grace. That's the centerpiece of Stone Crossings, shared through the hard and hidden places of my life and the Bible.

In sun-dappled creekbeds and strawberry fields, in the dark belly of a whale and on parched desert plains, grace makes surprising appearances. Along the way, it calls, “Where have you been, where are you now, where do you want to be?” Then it gives strength to answer, to hope and to heal.”

If you would like a chance to win a copy of this beautifully written book, leave me a comment. I’ll draw the names of three lucky winners on Wednesday. L.L. has graciously offered a writing project inspired by my previous post. If you would like to try your hand at poetry, and receive some encouragement and instruction along the way, visit L.L. here.

To read Ann Voskamp’s insightful interview with L.L., go here. Heidi from Moms, Ministry and More also talked with L.L. You can read her interview here.

Grace in Hidden Places (and a giveaway announcement!)

I am driving home from work under threat of rain.

Ashen clouds loom but the storm is in my head.

These faces.

This day they will not leave me be.

They bluster about the windows of my mind, hammering up against closed shutters until beaten flaps are left hanging—swaying to and fro in this storm.

My patients.**

Some days their stories stick to me and not even a violent wind can blow them away.

I am thinking about the one we lost last week…so young;

the one who traded love for drink, and the injury that will change that forever.

I see this grandparent—wonder how this unheeding grasp will till the soil again.

I see how the unexpected death of a beloved pet can send one who has lost a limb into unfathomable throes of grief.

These stories leave me reeling.

Searching for grace.

Aren’t we all?

Aren’t we all searching for “…Grace in Hard and Hidden Places”?

Will you please join me on Saturday for some reflection on Finding this Grace? I have been longing to share with you some gleanings from a recent read that I have been treasuring.

The pages have all been turned, but I am not ready to put the book down. I am still holding on to the words…letting them speak to deep places inside.

The book? L.L. Barkat’s Stone Crossings: Finding Grace in Hard and Hidden Places.

Will you do me the honor of pulling up a chair so that I may share some thoughts? Three lucky visitors will walk away with their own copy of this precious book (the grand prize a signed copy!!).

That’s right! It’s my VERY FIRST bloggy giveaway! This wallflower is stepping onto the dance floor!

I’m a little nervous about it all, my friends.

But I simply must share.

Join me on Saturday for a chance to win this lovely book.

Finding His Grace in it all…

Laura

**details may be changed to protect identities. I am privileged to be entrusted with these stories and respectfully guard that honor.

***********************************************************************************

ABCs of the word, with Pam...

"C"

"Comfort, comfort my people, says your God."--Isaiah 40:1

Flesh and Bone

We cue up; wait to offer brow for this sacred facepainting.

I stand behind Jeffrey, watch as Pastor-friend rubs blackened thumb across fair fore…

when I hear these words.

“From dust you came and to dust you shall return, Jeffrey.”

These words.

And his name.

Terror seizes my heart.

Lump creeps up to throat.

Eyes…eyes begin to see.

We are only flesh and bone.

I want to fall to my knees, beat my breast, and tear this cloth that binds me, so I will be free---free to sob and wail and writhe in the pain of my guilt and sorrow.

We are only flesh and bone.

“We enter into Lent as a people who know the entire story…”

Pastor-friend breathes hope into these dry bones.

Yes. Yes!

There is more to this story. Lent is the journey to the cross—and to the resurrection beyond.

But as we drive through dense night, stars light up other skies…for dark clouds move like mountains in the sky.

And sorrow lingers.

I feel it—heavy--fall over me, weighting down my chest, filling my eyes with these tears.

Such grace.

Such grace.

Such awesome grace.

How does one comprehend such grace?

How does one hold out hands to take this,

this soul-freeing—chain-breaking—death-swallowing—love-inspiring—

God-sized

Grace?

We are only flesh and bone.

From dust we came.

To dust we will return.

But that will not be our final destination.

This journey breaks me…

As it should.

This grace is mine to hold in my hands.

I coddle it close, hold it tenderly.

And wear these ashes on my head.

Shriving

"Sharing our Shrove Tuesday doings, beloveds! Pray yours was sweet and filled with joy."













We come together.



















Usher in this season of Lent; ache to shed our excess.






























Tonight, we feast.

We feast on the sweets of abundance; drinking in laughter and offering what we hold in our hands.

For tomorrow we will don the garb of mourning, let ashes crown our glory.

But tonight, we celebrate the great blessings he has given us.

“Our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with songs of joy. Then it was said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.” (Psalm 126:2-3)

Forget Not

I'm posting a little early on our Yes to God Bible study. Tomorrow will be a busy day. What with music lessons for the boys and our church's Shrove Tuesday Pancake dinner...I didn't want to be left out!

I’ve always thought it easier to look ahead than back over my shoulder. The possibilities of the future are much more inviting than the mistakes of the past. In chapter eight of our online Bible study of Jennifer Rothschild's book Self Talk Soul Talk, Jennifer tells us, Forget Not His Benefits, O My Soul.

I find this chapter especially poignant as we prepare to enter into the season of Lent.

This time of year always brings me to my knees. As I reflect on my human failings, and meditate on the great price that was paid for my soul, I am filled with repentance and gratitude.

As a young girl, I took a quilt bought at a flea market, folded it carefully, and placed it at the foot of my bed. I told my friends that my grandmother made it for me. This was a lie; I never really knew either one of my grandmothers.

I so wanted a heritage of tender stories. The truth was, my stories were not happy ones. My stories left me empty inside. I wanted to run into the future and leave those painful memories far behind.

Looking back can be difficult for some. There may be hurtful things in our pasts, things we are ashamed of, or things we don’t understand. We want people to see us as we are now, not as we were then. We are tempted to hide our truths from others. But it is in sharing our stories that we become one people. We learn from the experiences of others, and we also grow closer when we reveal our weaknesses.

And God wants us to remember.

After cutting off the flow of the Jordan River so the Israelites could pass, He commanded Joshua to have the people set up twelve stones. The Lord said to Joshua: “…In the future, when your children ask you, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them that the flow of the Jordan was cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. These stones are to be a memorial to the people of Israel forever.” (Joshua 4:6-7)

Yes, God wants us to remember the good times and the difficult times. And what’s more, He wants us to share these stories so that they will not be forgotten. So that future generations will learn and understand what came before them. We cannot be afraid to look back.

But we must not fear looking forward either. The Lord did not tell his people to stay at the Jordan’s edge and gaze at the stones forever. If they had done so, they never would have made it to their promised land! Looking back is only beneficial when it strengthens us to move forward. As Jennifer says, “Remember what is profitable, whether good or bad…Ask God’s Spirit to guide you to profitable memories. Ask Him to help you wisely assign meaning to your milestones.”

We will not fear the uncertainty of the future when we remember the unfailing faithfulness God has shown us in the past.

Let’s build our futures on the goodness of the Lord. Let us share our stories with one another. Let us tell our children about His faithfulness in our lives. He is faithful. We must never forget that. Because we have a promised land to get to.

Shoots of Green

Look what we saw in our frolic this afternoon:




It's enough to inspire poetry! Join L.L. Barket for Random Acts of Poetry every Friday (I'm a little late). This weeks challenge? Scarlet, or write a poem on color. Here's my offering...

Shoot of Green

shoot of green

reaching through the earth with pointed finger

I wait

for you to reveal yourself

to boldly declare

beauty enveloped

in praying sepals

I picture

in my mind

the secret you have hidden

in your womb

the blooms

come alive

in my imagination

and garden becomes a thing of expectation--

sleeping joy.

I rejoice in the waiting

because I know

what is to come.

Beautiful

Trying to surface, but as I push off the bottom of this pool, would you mind if we revisit some old thoughts? From the archives...

My Dears,

I’ve been wrestling with the “if onlys” for the last couple of days.

Does that ever happen to you, and does it catch you by surprise?

Do you ever find that, when you least expect it, ghosts that you believed long exorcised pop their heads out of some dusty corner and whisper “boo” at you?

And not only do you jump, but you let a little bit of something else creep back into your consciousness. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s anger, maybe it’s regret. And if you’re like me, you let that little bit of creepiness control you for a while.

You see, I have this beautiful group of young girls that I teach on Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings. In these young faces, I see so much promise. I want to take all that I’ve learned in life and open their heads and just pour it in. I want to tell them about the hard stuff, the mistakes I’ve made, and all of my regrets. I want to warn them to guard their hearts above all, to stay true to their beliefs and stand firm.

But I know that it doesn’t work that way. I never had someone to tell me those things, but, chances are, if I did, I wouldn’t have listened anyway.

Sometimes we have to learn the hard way.

So I have restrained myself. Instead of telling the girls the history of my world, I buy curriculum.

Yesterday, I went out looking for curriculum.

We needed a new direction. I found this lovely series on inner beauty. It was about how we are all beautiful in God’s eyes. I got so excited just reading the lesson plans. I imagined us doing our nails and discussing Jesus (humor me, I have two sons). I so want for these girls to have an intimate relationship with our Lord. So, in the first lesson, I’m supposed to take a Polaroid of each girl, and we do a little craft with the photo. I thought it would be fun to share a preteen picture of myself with my girls. After much scavenging, I stumbled upon a small snapshot of me at the tender age of twelve.

I was not prepared for the emotions stirred within me at that image of the little girl I used to be. The picture was taken at a very difficult time in my life. I was trying to make sense of some excruciatingly painful things with the wisdom of a twelve year old. I was not a pretty pre-teen. Skinny, with long stringy hair, freckled pale skin, and big teeth.

Yet, I had these eyes. Big and blue.

And in those eyes, this old version of me saw the same promise reflected; the same promise that I see in the eyes of the girls that I teach.

But I knew the future of that little girl in the picture. I knew of all the mistakes she would make, all the wrong choices and concessions. And I let that grief and that regret creep in.

I needed to live with it for a little while, I guess. The Lord tells us that He works all things together for the good of those who love Him.

Tonight, when I was tucking my youngest son in, he asked me a peculiar question: If there was never a you, would there have ever been a me?

Carefully, we traced all the requirements that came into play for my little man to be born, just the wonderful way that he is. In the quiet of my mind, I remembered many more variables. Every wrong choice made, every missed opportunity, every hurtful rejection; all of these things have brought me to where I am today: tucking in my beautiful boy.

If I could tell my girls one thing, it would be this: You are loved with a love that is greater than anything in this world.

If we know this with every ounce of our being, we act accordingly. When we are assured of our value, we act as one who is valuable.

I’m holding that picture of the blue-eyed girl close to my heart. She is beautiful. And in her eyes, I see so much promise.

************************************************************************************

ABCs of the Word, B with Pam:

"And your fame spread among the nations on account of your beauty, because the splendor I had given you made you beauty perfect, declares the Sovereign Lord."

Shalom

“I am having bad thoughts and obsessing over things and I need an intervention.”

Psychologist husband looks over a pile of papers on desk and considers me.

He assumes clinical voice.

“I can help, but I need more coffee.”

This is serious stuff.

In the kitchen, I smile as I ready his remedy.

He knows me.

I wait for him to join me in the family room for meaty conversation. He listens. Gives sympathetic ear, good advice, and reassuring hugs.

But still these thoughts swim in my head, surfacing sporadically and leaving me gasping for air.

I try cleaning the thought closet. I put all my pretty thoughts forward.

I try distracting myself—my kitchen floor is very clean.

I even try singing.

But they keep circling the pool of my mind, rearing ugly heads from depths and splashing all around.

I flounder.

Thrash about in the anger.

Float limply in pride.

Drown in self-righteousness.

And I am miserable.

In this week’s chapter of Self Talk, Soul Talk--our online Bible study--Jennifer Rothschild talks about this very thing.

Jennifer reminds us that the Old Testament word for peace comes from the Hebrew word shalom. She says, “This peaceful-sounding word is really a prayer that asks God to secure a person’s well-being. You can still and quiet your soul by speaking shalom to yourself. It’s like inviting wellness to your soul—to your thought closet.”

That is what I had to do: speak peace to my soul.

And it was hard.

I went to Him. Found a quiet place where we could talk. And I tattled on some people.

It wasn’t until I laid my worry at His feet that I felt the thoughts slip away.

Jennifer talks about some of the many opponents of a peaceful mindset: control issues, anger, a negative mindset, and defiance.

Remembering her words helped me walk through these barriers and find peace on the other side. She talked about “gasoline words” and “water words”— words that inflame or words that quench the anger.

I realized I was speaking words in my head that could set a flame worse than the Great Chicago fire.

Jennifer goes on to say, “Your soul needs the water of the Word to wash over your thought closet.”

That was the remedy my soul longed for. When I went to the Word, peace settled in.

Friends, my problem has not gone away. But I rest in His promises.

I will go through this process over and over again.

Healthy soul-talk is not for sissies.

But it’s worth the fight.

A Promise

because we have new beginnings every day, I am posting an old valentine message. I too need reminded of these things. . .

This morning, my husband stands impassively beside me at the bathroom sink, readying himself for the day, a parallel existence to mine. I hesitate briefly as I study his countenance; a face I know as well as my own. To reach out and touch him would be to breach another world. You see, we have grown comfortable.

Besides, there isn’t time.

I have a good marriage. My husband and I talk about the things that mean the most to us, our dreams and daily happenings; we laugh a lot, we are committed to spending time alone together. But sometimes, I wonder, are we just going through the motions? I’ve heard all the stories about couples waking up one day and realizing they don’t love each other anymore. And I wonder to myself, “Is this possible? Can this happen to us?”

In her book Between Two Worlds: The Inner Lives of Children of Divorce, Elizabeth Marquardt reports that a national study has found that two thirds of all divorces result from “low-conflict” problems, such as partners feeling “unhappy or unfulfilled”. Her book goes on to outline the myriad of problems that the children involved in these divorces face. They are subtle problems, difficult to measure by any scientific standards. The book is filled with words like “empty”, and “lost”; descriptors that society shuns in favor of educational level and average household income. We are rearing, in fact we are becoming, a generation of highly successful, yet unhappy people.

Marriage is hard.  

In today’s world of self-indulgence and instant gratification, it’s all too easy to give up at the first little bump on the road of life. It can be boring, tedious, annoying, demanding, and downright tough. To be happy in a marriage is hard, hard work.

I have a good marriage. But I want an excellent one. Don’t I owe it to my children to demonstrate the richness that intimacy can hold? I don’t ever want them to describe their emotional lives as “empty”. As a product of divorce, haven’t I felt all of those tender longings myself? No, I want more for my children. The best gift I can give them is a marriage that is alive, filled with passion and enthusiasm.

I read this amazing passage in the novel Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides.  Eugenides writes: “Bride and bridegroom performed the dance of Isaiah. Hip to hip, arms interwoven to hold hands, Desdemona and Lefty circumambulated the captain, once, twice, and then again, spinning the cocoon of their life together. No patriarchal linearity here. We Greeks get married in circles, to impress upon ourselves the essential matrimonial facts: that to be happy you have to find variety in repetition; that to go forward you have to come back where you began.”

How beautiful and wise are these words! To find “variety in repetition” is not an easy task. And to move forward together sometimes requires waiting, or learning to move in time to the rhythm of the other; a unique dance that only two can share.

As I look at my husband this morning, all of these things are going through my mind. Slowly, I reach out my hand. He turns to look at me, and there is a question in his eyes…like he is remembering something he has forgotten. And everything old is new again, for he remembers now how it feels to receive a tender touch from his wife. And because there is not time, the touch is a promise. A promise sweeter than any chocolate valentine can hold.  

It is the promise of a new beginning.

Illuminated

Notes from when the lights went out. . .

Tonight, the winds came through—

Howling at our doors and sending debris scurrying. Tree branches leave their husky frames to litter streets, and leaves scatter like rolling tumble weeds.

The storms are not so fierce as that of our dear friends’ in OK, but they leave us blown about and in the dark.

The power is out all through our little town.

I pen these words by candlelight, scratching these thoughts down the old fashioned way—in land of shadow and flickering light.

At first, boys are sobered by the deepness of dark. As we drive home from church to sinister streets and lightless house, however, they exclaim over brightness of stars in this endless dark. They are soon delighted by warm glow as we play charades by candlelight and read Bible verses in swaying light.

Tonight we read of God’s covenant with Abram, and there is this, “He took him outside and said, ‘Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them.’ Then he said to him, ‘So shall your offspring be.’” (Gen. 15:5)

These words hold special meaning to me. I chose them for the life verse of young Brody Whittaker in my first book for teens, Brody’s Story, because of how they touched my young heart as a girl.

The boys, however, know none of this; they only know the brilliance of the stars they saw earlier in the evening. As I read God’s words to Abram--I pause—take in their faces as they hear His voice utter these words to them.

So we go to see, again; lean in doorway and take in this glorious promise in the sky.

The Big Dipper stands on end, and I draw sharp breath—

He is touching me again.

“Do you know He was speaking of us? We are Abraham’s descendents. We are children of God… Part of our story written right there in those pages.”

Arms snake around small shoulders and all eyes are caught up in the promise.

They are tucked in by candlelight, warm light flickering over now sleeping faces.

And I sit, listening to wind whistle down chimney.

Jeff will be home soon, but for now I have these quiet moments.

I have these quiet moments to be thankful for Light.

Valentine

Our poetry challenge this week from L.L. Barkat exhorts us to “Write a poem that begins, middles, or ends with Once upon a time...or even just Once...Or, if you’d prefer, you could use some other common fairy tale language like happily ever after. Just try to tell a moment true and whole. . .”

L.L. encourages us, this week, to not “shrink from the darkness...”

Here is my offering.

Valentine

Once

upon a time

Love was

a craft store heart

bold and full

and brilliant red,

with voluptuously

rounded analogous curves

and

perfectly pointed tip.

White lace would surround

clean and bright

and

wonderful

this partial carefully bedded

in crumpled tissue

and placed in box

to be

opened on special occasions and

exclaimed over

before packed away again.

Once

upon a time

I never knew

the fleshy bleeding pulse

of real love

this messy mass of muscle

which strengthens with exertion

This wound in my chest

a holy ache

as hands reach

in

try to pull sinews

free this pounding

fear inside

This heart

beats

outside of this body

where sorrow

and joy

walk hand in hand

sister-friends

bound

by real love.

**friends, I will resume our online Bible study of Jennifer Rothschild's book, Soul Talk Self Talk next week. Rather than posting on this week's chapter, I am choosing to practice what the Psalmist encourages us to do: Look up.

Thank you for sticking with me.

Old Wineskin

“Mom?”

“Hmmm?”

I am cleaning this kitchen, worrying over crumbs in floor as pots are scoured.

He is balancing on one leg, hopping in some unknown pattern across the tiles on this crumby floor.

“Do you think the animals in the Garden of Eden talked?”

We’ve been reading Genesis, and this boy has been turning our beginnings over and over in his mind; he asks new questions each day.

I hesitate. I am thinking of the Chronicles of Narnia, of the beavers with a capital “B”. I don’t want this child to think that This Story is a fairy tale.

“Ummm. What do you think? I think it would say if they did, don’t you? I mean, Adam was lonely for a mate…maybe because no one could talk back?”

He hops across two tiles, lands on alternate leg—never looking up.

“Well, I know they did.”

“You do? How so?”

“The serpent…”

His voice raises on the last syllable of this slithering word, as if explaining something to a child.

“Oh, yes, well, but that was the devil, see…”

But he is gone; hopped on to other things.

I stand alone, wet hands dripping, feeling that I just dropped something very important.

I’ll pick it up later, but for now…

For now I must admit that I am pleased that my boy child is pondering this familiar Bible story in his spare time.

He does this often—receives the familiar as fresh.

It’s his nature.

And I am this old wineskin, ready to rupture as the new ferments…

It’s all about the seeing again.

When I was 12, and my parents divorced, I carried my Bible with me everywhere I went for a season.

My world was falling apart, but I would cling to this…the One Thing that I knew would not change.

It was the first time I would read those words cover to cover—not understanding much of them, but clinging, breathing in their life.

They were real. Concrete. Stories to live by.

To this day, when someone says, “I don’t know if I believe the Bible literally”—this bothers me greatly.

These words were the only truth I knew during that season of my life. I know their power. They held me close many a night.

But because this was the way I cut my teeth on His Word, my mind is dull in many ways. I take these stories at face value. I relate them like bedtime tales.

But they are oh, so much more.

The layers of meaning in these Words…

Now that I am older, now that I have read much and studied more…

The meaning in these Words takes my breath away.

Yet still, sometimes they are flat to me.

It takes this hopping boy to open my eyes.

I’m still learning to see, my friends.

What beauty to behold.

Melting

We venture out this morning, lured by the sun and clear blue sky.

Anticipation turns to despair as we step outside and into world of brown.

Mud everywhere.

This beautiful white blanket of snow is slipping away—sliding in snaky rivulets down streets and into gaping water drains.

Left behind is this dirty residue of slushy mire, grimy sludge tainting landscape.

My snowglobe is melting.

Spirits are muddy too, as eyes take in this dingy milieu.

There is something so clean in a snow coverlet. I ponder looking out window as fresh flakes dance in the air, covering bleak terrain in shifting patterns of light.

These diamonds sparkle in sun and speak to me of purity--of covering my sins.

But now, dirt is exposed. What was once pure is polluted with the muck of time.

The muck of time.

Time can carry sullied memories, regrets wrapped in muddied packages. Time unburies bitter roots, exposes jaded views.

Time

can warp

a heart

that is hidden

under pristine doilies-

beating under a false façade--

trapped,

before it

is truly

healed.

How do I melt this heart?

This heart, so cold it’s turned to stone…

Afraid to yield, afraid of what is buried under that thin layer of ice.

We walk, splashing along in gray thoughts, up to shins in this murky soup.

I am talking to Him, always, pouring out this stony heart.

Shimmer.

Sunlight dances on melting snow before me.

It catches my eye like the snap of fingers. God’s fingers, perhaps?

And I begin to see.

Brushy grass pushes up through white…straining toward sun.

I bend lower and study these wonders.

Beneath the lacy ice I see, rippling pieces of sun, straining…

Water trickles, gurgles--bursts forth from icy bindings.

I feel a trickle in this heart.

The tiniest of beginnings…

The thaw will come

and melt this stony heart.

Could it be that the messiness of melting is needed?

This awareness of dirt and grime, an awakening?

It hurts.

Oh, God, it hurts.

To stare at the ugliness that is my human nature…

It is only natural to avert eyes—to cover this brokenness with a snowy white coverlet.

But when the blanket is lifted, and dirt is exposed…the sun shines in and all is gently

washed away.

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 36:26

Do you see the cross, my sisters? I did not until I downloaded these pictures and then, it jumped out at me...

Giggles in the Morning

I remember what it feels like to have a bed full of chubby sweetness and tiny limbs.

When the boys were small, we did our fair share of co-sleeping.

Baby Jeffrey used to snuggle in between his father and me during the nights of frequent feedings. Without fail, before sunrise, Teddy toddled in—dragging silkie behind. He snuggled in beside, wedging small body into tiniest of places, grasping onto my hair with thumb in mouth.

Jeff--slept peacefully on his side of the bed as these two small creatures surrounded me--so close they become extensions of my body.

In those days of sleep deprivation, we would wake up in all manner of configurations. My neck and shoulders always stiff from wrapping arms around small packages--I remember despairing that I may never have another decent night’s sleep again.

This morning, at pre-dawn hour, telephone rings and I spring from sleep to rescue slumber of deep breathing boys.

It is the recorded message from the school board. School cancelled again.

Jeff gets up to take shower and I lie there--remembering--in lonely bed as snow falls softly down outside.

Cold feet pad in. Lifts covers and snuggles in close. As we lay there, me breathing deep the smell of morning on boy skin, he comes.

I turn head and see long legs standing, smiling crooked smile down on us.

He too climbs in beside.

This bed has gotten smaller.

Cold feet press against my skin and I catch my breath. They giggle and wiggle and chatter on in the dim of morning slowly coming on.

And here I am, surrounded by these not so small creatures again…these extensions of my heart.

As snow falls softly outside, I am keenly aware of the passing of time. These years have accumulated just as quietly as these gentle flakes falling down.

I drink deeply from this cup today.

And thank the Lord for these melting years.

The Nitty Gritty

Time for our Yes To God online Bible study with Lelia:

Chapter five of Jennifer Rothschild’s book, Self Talk, Soul Talk

Tune In: Awake, My Soul.

We’re getting in to the nitty gritty, ladies.

This chapter starts Part two of our study—Seven Things To Say To Your Soul.

Jennifer says, on page 65, that “…sometimes we become sleepy and apathetic toward some of our poor choices and negative attitudes.”

Thus, the “Awake my soul.”

In this chapter, Jennifer reminds us of the costs of distraction and the need to be attentive to the things that we treasure.

Jennifer says, “We must tune in to our treasures and take note of what distracts us. The enemy of your soul doesn’t always tempt you with overtly evil things to keep you from peace and spiritual success. No, he uses even good things to distract you form what is best.”

Sound familiar anyone? What's that old saying about Satan making you busy?

One of the most difficult things for me to do is to tease out the best from the good.

We need some kind of litmus test, it seems.

Sticking with our thought closed analogy, page 71 gives help, “Every time we access something from our thought closets, our treasures (our priorities) should be prominent—front and center.”

How many times do I make decisions without seeking God’s will?

Without considering my husband’s thoughts?

Or how it will affect my children?

These things should be my litmus test.

These are my treasures.

It’s time I started treating them as such.

In the very beginning of this chapter, Jennifer makes this point: “Keeping something clean is easier when you tend to it daily.”

So true.

I apply this wisdom to my laundry pile—faithfully sticking to the plan of at least one load a day…Knowing that the chore is more easily managed a little bit at a time.

Do I diligently work on my treasures in this manner?

Do I even have a plan to keep the sacred sacred?

Awake, my soul!

Jennifer’s words challenge me to be deliberate in how I approach life—to be more attentive to the things that I hold dear. My goal is to order my life, and my thoughts, in such a way as to honor the things that I treasure.

This will require…

Structure.

(Screams of terror echo in background).

Ahem. This will require structure.

And a heckofa lot of creativity.

Because I live in a household that doesn’t respond well to structure.

I’ll keep you all posted on how it goes.

Pray for me!

Seeing

He was drawing a picture of a sunlit forest.

He drew a brown trunk.

Then a green lollypop top.



When he drew a black circle in the middle of the trunk with the word “hoo” coming out from it, I had to turn away to hide my smile.

The art teacher stood behind my six-year-old son with eyebrows raised, amusement thinly veiled.

“He likes to draw,” she said to me, with a smile.

What happened next, I cannot explain.

She knelt down beside him and gently directed his attention to the picture he was trying to recreate. She showed him how the trees deeper in the forest looked higher up on the page, and how to add horizon to ground them with the others. She showed him how the leafy foliage overlapped to create a beautiful umbrella and how to use light and shadow to create individual leaves.

“Do you see this trunk? There is brown in it, but look closer. What other colors do you see? There’s not only brown, is there?”

She moved around the table, making similar points for other students. Each time she directed attention to the image being copied.

“Look” she said, or “See”.

I was mesmerized.

She was not teaching how to draw.

She was teaching how to see.

I watched my son’s artwork come alive with shapes and colors. For that moment, he stopped seeing the world as flat...and began to see what it was really made of.

All because of a great teacher and some practice.

Sometimes we need a little help seeing.

We need a teacher to help adjust our vision.

Practice...practice seeing with His eyes.

This is what I do.

**artwork by Jeffrey Boggess at age 6.


For a lesson on seeing, visit L.L. Barkat and try her "close your eyes" challenge. Here is my offering:

The Long Ride Home

I close my eyes and I can still see
trees passing by through windows.
Dappled lights—leaf shadows--
pass over faces, like hands
dangling ribbons of sunshine.

And dusty veil rises to meet
as wheel gives wing to earthen road.

Steady thrum of engine--this lullaby--
and knees curl up
against the seat in front
as body jostles with the rocking
of this frenetic cradle.

The steady chatter
of childhood friends
a quiet song for the ride.

But this one stays
tucked down in seat--
invisible to searching eyes--
nose buried in book
to pass

the long ride home.

Into the hollow
where God’s hand has hidden
this treasure
inside of dusty roads
and scattered green.

When I close my eyes
I see it all as it used to be.

But I am not there.

This lost treasure has been found.