After the first rescue

On Sunday as I sat in the waiting room of the ER I tried to guess at the personal story of everyone waiting with me.  I could feel the tension of a few folks that must have been waiting on the big guy that coded 3 times in the room across from Isaac.  There was the poor woman that need about 3 stitches on her finger.  I remember thinking her wound would be healed by the time she worked her way up the line of triage.

There were people with a mild cough, 3 ladies with a set of twins - one of which looked like he (she?) had pinkeye, and a vagrant looking for a bed and breakfast by way of a stomach pain that kept him moaning in the corner with one eye on the nurses station and the other eye on the T.V.

The saddest face was the one on a septuagenarian who jumped up eagerly to greet her obviously anorexic daughter.  She had sat there patiently for 3 hours, reading with the practiced nonchalance of a women accustomed to noisy waiting rooms.  What really killed me was her look of relief as she stood facing her ugly, angry, shriveled up 50 year old child.  Clearly they were walking a well worn path, clearly they had played these roles for years.  The mother trying to put her arm around a woman who chose hunger as her only friend.  The arm was brushed away, but that loving arm swung back again each time as they left the hospital.

It made me wonder: what happened after the first rescue?  Did mom resign herself to anguish or align herself with unshakeable hope?  How often did she get the call?  Did 911 have her on speed dial?  How do you love an imploding heart that turns inward and slowly sucks itself dry?

"This is the gospel",  I thought.  This is Christ's love for me extended, reaching even as I brush it away.  I grasp at everything but heaven and as I look down at my handfuls of earth I realize that I am only dust and my only hope is in a God who is always there, stretching out His hand.

"When he falls, he will not be hurled headlong, Because the LORD is the One who holds his hand."  Ps. 37:24

I made this picture (notice I didn't say I drew it, lol) of my hand this week to put up in my bedroom as a reminder of my eternal grasping at things beyond my reach and God's eternal hand held out to catch me when I fall.

The Giver

I was talking to a friend today who was in the midst of a midlife crisis.

"I want to do something big, I want to go somewhere, hug some orphans, dig wells.  Anything!"

I totally feel the same way sometimes.

I want to make people see the world differently, love the beauty of nature, of motherhood, of salvation. I want them to see God as the center of all things good and lovely - with the understanding that all we see is His shadow, all we hear is his echo, that His substance is something we cannot understand and could not bear to look at.  It is too great for us.

I still want to change the world.  It's hard when your soul is on fire to do something great and then you reach out, take a tiny hand and change a child.

I feel like the greatest thing I will ever do is release 5 fragile little souls into the wind and weep as a dandelion must, to see them blown about until they find their place in the world and take root to blossom into sunshine for a season.

The majesty of motherhood is not in gathering up a body of work, a collection of art, nobel prizes or trophies, but in giving our selves piece by piece to our children, in planting a seed, a hope, a life.

And I struggle over this.

There is a piece of me that wants to be me - apart from being a mother, a wife, a friend.  And I want to get to know that other me that wants to write and be good at it, sing until it breaks a soul open to God, speak and challenge thinkers to think their noblest thoughts.

And so I write, and sing and speak in the humble theater of my home.  And I do my work of praising God through 5 little megaphones.

When I Consider How My Light Is Spent

BY JOHN MILTON

When I consider how my light is spent,

   Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

   And that one Talent which is death to hide

   Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present

   My true account, lest he returning chide;

   “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”

   I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

   Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best

   Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

   And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:

   They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Entirely Naked

The neighborhood that we live in is quite familiar with every anatomical detail of my two year old.  Let's just say potty training has been quite a drawn out process and sometimes in his excitement to play outside with the other children, Isaac skips a few steps.

"Naked and unashamed".

I've been thinking a lot lately about what that phrase means.  Before I got married I was very concerned about standing in front of another person without anything to hide behind, completely unprotected from inspection and criticism.  In many ways I'm still like that.

I hide behind my clothes, don't you?  "Modest is hottest" - or so my niece tells me but I didn't put that bikini away until I had my fourth child.  I have quite a bit more to hide these days.

In contemplating my growing modesty and sense of propriety I've been struck by the thought that while my body needs more clothing these days, my relationships need less -- figuratively speaking of course.

We all wrap ourselves up in layer upon layer of protection, wanting to look our best to one another when we really ought to be vulnerable, to open our lives up for inspection, loving criticism and mutual edification.  How can a friend share a burden if it is covered in self reliance and pride?

Our culture tells us to be self reliant, to never allow another person to judge us, to not accept input from anyone and to make our own path  - the exact opposite of what I read in the Bible.  I John 4:18 says that "There is no fear where love exists.  Rather, perfect love banishes fear, for fear involves punishment, and the person who lives in fear has not been perfected in love."

I know that being vulnerable is dangerous.  That I will get hurt, heck, the passage in I John 4:18 tells us that we need to love as God did when he sent his Son.  God gave his very best: a naked, vulnerable little baby to be abused and rejected by the world and ultimately tortured and put to death.


God's love was risky, He knew it would be painful.  He gave us a taste of heaven and we spit it out.  Every time that we offer or reject intimacy with another person what we are ultimately rejecting is God, his example and his way of doing things.

Whenever I think about Isaac running around outside just as free as anything and happy as could be I wonder if instead of worrying about the pain of love, I could just hang onto the joy of holding nothing back, I too might be able to go skipping merrily down the hill like a two year old with his behind glistening in the sun.

My Happily Ever After

This is a repost of something I posted 5 years ago.  I had to publish it again because I found the perfect printable to go with it!


Eliannah:  I can't wait to grow up and get to wear a beautiful dress and meet my prince.
Me: Do you know who my prince is?
Eliannah: Of course I do.  His name is Daddy you know.
Me: But what happens after you get married?
(Eliannah looks stumped and doesn't answer)

I gaze around at the loads of laundry, dozens of dishes and mobs of dust bunnies silently proliferating in their den under the couch.  I thought about all I had hoped for, all I had dreamed of when I was a child and all I had hoped to be.  Then, turning from the chaos to look into her eyes I smiled and answered, "This is what happens after you get married.  This is my Happily Ever After. "