Children live here.

You did not forbid them. They were welcomed. You embraced them, knew them by name. You genuinely loved them. They never inconvenienced You.

Does my home embrace? Are children welcome past the entry way? Children with their mess making abilities, sticky fingers, and kerfuffle? I wonder how You would have set up Your home, Lord? Could they have sat on the good furniture? Could they have put their fingers on the window to peer outside?

I want to invite my little ones to an atmosphere of grace. May they know they are wanted in this home, loved. Eyes that can’t yet see over the counter, doors too heavy, knobs too tall--  May I use stepping stools, Lord.

Help me not to hold them back, but let them grow, explore, create, have space to breathe. May they have a place to play, where toys can come out without frustration, have a place to belong.

May there be space for laughter, a place on the wall for their pictures, cups they can reach if they are thirsty, books at their fingertips to grow on.

May they have a comforting, soft and clean place to sleep, inviting them to the blessing of rest. May they have boundaries which protect, but not so many that quench their spirit. May I let them help stir up dinner, roll the color on their bedroom wall and pour the soap in the washing machine. Help me slow down when they are following and listen to their conversation with both ears. May they not just have fingerprints on the window, but fingerprints in the atmosphere. May I help them see where they belong.

Above all, may this home have an attitude of grace. May accidental spills, and I-didn’t-mean-to messes, and I-m-so-sorry breaks be easily forgiven. May they hear “yes” from my lips more then they hear, “no.” Discipline handled with love, given for their best, not my state of happiness. May I have a heart to enjoy these moments shared, and a home to embrace them. Even if I usher warning: children live here! to others, may these children be as welcome as guests and as love-thy-neighbors loved. May I treasure their presence always, for You did not forbid them. And, as a family may we always welcome Your presence here too.

Matthew 19:13-15

Then little children were brought to Him that He might put His hands on them and pray, but the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”

And He laid His hands on them…

                       I see Your love today, that even with my messes, You do not forbid me to come.

You might also like: Sweet Laughter, or  Story Time.

Beauty is Essential.

She saw the flowers and delighted in them. He saw the paths: running, exploring. She saw the water, a stream to float fairy boats upon. He saw the water, wetness his aim. She saw the butterflies. He saw the mud.  She saw the beauty. He saw the freedom. 

 Three  little shes, and one littlest he, all designed as uniquely as each flower, plant and tree we saw in their glory. Each creation breathtaking, a work of beauty and love.

Words from a favorite book were reminded yesterday: “Scripture says the created world is filled with the glory of God (Isaiah 6:3) In what way? Primarily through its beauty…Nature is not primarily functional. It is primarily beautiful. Which is to say, beauty is in and of itself a great and glorious good, something we need in large doses (for God has seen fit to arrange for this).  Nature at the height of its glory shouts, Beauty is Essential! Revealing that Beauty is the essence of God. The whole world is full of His glory…

                The one sitting on the throne was as brilliant as gemstones—jasper and carnelian. And the glow of an emerald encircled his throne like a rainbow…In front of the throne was a shiny sea of glass, sparkling like crystal… (Rev. 3,6)

                LORD, this is what I seek… that I may…gaze upon the beauty of the LORD. (Psalm 27:4)

                Then remember what it’s like to come into a beautiful place, a garden or a meadow or a quiet beach. There is room for your soul. It expands. You can breathe again. You can rest. It is good. All is well.  That is what beauty says, all shall be well….Beauty also invites. You want to enter in, explore, partake of it, feast upon it…Beauty reminds us of an Eden we have never known, but somehow know our hearts were created for. Beauty speaks of heaven to come, when all shall be beautiful. Beauty draws us to God“ (Captivating 34-38). 

Beauty—God’s essence revealed in the world around us. Beauty, given to us out of love, not necessity. Beauty, we saw You yesterday. We sought after it in the gardens, discovering.  We saw Your glory. We were invited in.

Lord, may I come to the garden each day with You. May I look for Your beauty in creation. May I be a beauty-seeker. May I be drawn into Your rest. May I be Your image bearer, bringing beauty into the world too. May I bring beauty into my home.

                  Your love, Lord, seen today in You beauty.

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

You might also like: Love Completes.

From the Altar.

Red blood draining into a bronze bowl. Death present, death required. Sacrifices given, one Sacrifice paid for all of humanity. God always gives more in return than what I could ever offer.

The peace offering, SHELEM, offering of completion-- always comes last.  The peace offering, a voluntary act of worship, an offering of pure thanksgiving. It is heaved before the Lord, lifted up on outstretched arms, just as the Son of God was lifted up to God and then brought back among us. So SHELEM is brought back down. It is brought to our lips, and He sups with us. This offering, given back to be eaten in His presence.

The bread is leavened. Give thanks for all things. Leaven, called, “the arch-symbol of fermentation, deterioration, and death…” Leaven, which God says to bake in the bread offering; our thanksgiving, not for just the blessings, but for the trials, the infirmities, the pain. Thanksgiving in all things, offered to Him.  Thankful hearts which give way to the joy in communion with Christ. Joy received when He sacrificed Himself in our stead.  Eucharisteō: to be thankful. Eucharist: Holy communion with the Lord, the Lord’s Supper—partaking of Him. Offering of Thankfulness, SHELEM, proceeds the ultimate offering. Holy Communion in thankfulness.

God always gives more in return. Offer thanksgiving-- He offers completion, peace, His life, broken for mine. Offer leavened bread—thanks in all things, He does not leave my hands empty. He fills me with the bread of life. Oh love, God's love sonnet penned to my seeing eyes this morning, what was written so long ago.

Lord, may You hear praise in my home, not complaint. May I be a sacrifice, a living sacrifice of thanksgiving. I hold my life up to you with extended arms, Yours.

I will offer to You the sacrifice of thanksgiving,

And will call upon the name of the LORD.  Psalm 116:17
_________________

I will freely sacrifice to You; I will praise Your name, O LORD,

for it is good. Psalm 54:6

 sources: 

* Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 1-16: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Anchor Bible; New York: Doubleday, 1991), p. 189.

* http://www.learnthebible.org/the-sacrifice-of-thanksgiving.html
* http://www3.telus.net/public/kstam/en/tabernacle/details/offerings.html

* http://philologos.org/__eb-ttms/temple06.htm#What%20Constituted%20Peace-offerings

 

Hold fast.

1Thessalonians 5:21

Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.

I am running away, not fast; I’m in heels. Jewelry has been pulled out for the occasion. My bible and journal are packed, a flashlight, and I have every anticipation of learning, laughing-- communion with women in the Word.

I will hold fast to that which is good.

And when I am home again, giving sweet missed-my-babies, missed-my- hubby hugs, I will hold them fast. For they are good too. Really good.

 

Handiwork.

My two hands are like your hands, plunged into the kitchen sink several times day, used for changing diapers, brushing out tangles, turning the pages of stories, making beds, holding little hands… My mother’s hands are soft hands, skin worn smooth from work. My grandmother’s hands, softer still; I’m still working on mine.

Lots of degrees, lots of schools, but are we only seeking knowledge? Less and less we see a willingness to work with our hands. There is something undervalued about it in our knowledge powered world. Still, one of the hardest degrees, that of a doctor or surgeon, relies upon it: work of the hands. Just like our Physician’s hands, Potter’s hands, Creator’s hands, Shepherd’s hands, they are at work-- on us.

The very first work we will ever read about is completed by Christ’s fingertips alone. Psalm 8:3 “When I consider Your heavens, the work of Your fingers,The moon and the stars, which You have ordained…”

I love when science coincides with scripture. And we know that scripture is always right, and science gets it wrong a lot, but a couple of years ago when they discovered chariots at the bottom of the Red Sea, I was excited. A part of me shouts, “See! told you so!”

Research is now backing up what God has said all along. It is good for us to work with our hands. A New York Times article states, “One shop teacher suggested to me that ‘in schools, we create artificial learning environments for our children that they know to be contrived and undeserving of their full attention and engagement. Without the opportunity to learn through the hands, the world remains abstract and distant, and the passions for learning will not be engaged.’ ”

So who’s to say that pulling out the glitter and glue and creating with your children isn’t as important as drilling multiplication tables, or learning to write papers at the computer? Who’s to say that the mess of cut paper under the table isn’t valuable for the art that adorns the fridge? And that the pom-pom critters sitting in the window sill are more than merely clutter. Working with our hands distracts us from worry. Working on a project, or craft, is a time when our minds can focus wholly into what we’re creating. My mind needs that break from this world. I’m sure my childrens' do too.  And this is how You are showing me Your love today, by reminding me that You made me to be creative with my hands. 

Lord, may I not under value work of the hands, the work You have given me. May I be a mender, a maker, a mother, creative for Your glory.  May I take the time to instill a love for these things in my home. May I learn to work quietly, keeping my eyes on the affairs my own home, not interfering with others.  Beautiful are softened and roughened hands, hands that have known hard work, hands that have completed, healed, and repaired. Beautiful, Your nail-pierced hands.

1Thessalonians 4:11  And that ye study to be quiet, and to do your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you;

Sources:             

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/24/magazine/24labor-t.html?pagewanted=all

http://www.drstephaniesmith.com/?p=293

               

         http://www.drstephaniesmith.com/?p=293

http://wisdomofhands.blogspot.com/

http://members.net-tech.com.au/sggram/f439.htm

Story Time.

The first week I showed up in the midst of a circle of preschoolers, gathered round stories in the library, my girls sat quietly. Then, Ivy tiptoes to the center-- climbs into the librarian’s lap. Foreign was a story that was not shared in close communion, the pages not turned by her own hands, the words not read softly by her ear. 

 

Precious, the greatest story that we can read to our children, that we ourselves can study and pass down. This God authored book, still alive and at work each time we separate its covers. What more can we give them, our advice pale to God breathed wisdom?

 

My greatest moments as a mom are nothing but the moments that I enrich their lives with Him. My work rests in His. Great loss the days this Book is silent to their listening ears, lost-- the moments that aren’t comforted by dialogue with Him. 

 

Why do I try and take work out of God’s capable hands? Like Esme trying to carry daddy’s backpack filled with college textbooks. It belongs on a strong back. So does motherhood. Each time I insist on relying on my own strength to carry these moments, to pour into four lives from a jar that runs empty, I lessen their God made potential. 

 

Only He can finish the work He starts. And He starts this in the most simple of ways, story time.  He asks me to read quietly, gently into their lives even before they know their letters. He wants my home to open the pages and power of His word, where He can use little words to speak to little hearts in big ways. I do not yet read sanctification, I read, “grace.” I do not read imitation, I read, “be like Jesus,” I do not yet read justification, I read, “love. “

 

More powerful than the Never Ending Story, our blood bought book still speaks. More powerful than a two edged sword, it is the one Book that holds the power to change its reader forever. It is alive and changes my life each time I open up to its power.  If God’s Word is at work in me, then even without words, it ministers to my children. 

 

Lord, help this be the one book that wears out from often reading. The book that I can quote with my eyes closed. The story I can read as fast as they turn the pages; one that holds their name inside the cover too. Most of all, the one they learn to reach for most often.

 

1 Thessalonians  2:13  For this reason we also thank God without ceasing, because when you received the word of God which you heard from us, you welcomed it not as the word of men, but as it is in truth, the word of God, which also effectively works in you who believe.

 

 God showed me His love today in these moments, sweet in this mama's heart.

 

Lessons from a spoon.

Wooden spoons stand in a group, mismatched, in an old coffee percolator on my counter.  They are mixing spoons, ladling spoons, serving spoons, spanking spoons.  Different spoons, all gently dishing out love in its many forms. Wooden spoons, shaped from a tree. Old rugged tree shaping the cross He bore. His love, spooned to each of our hearts if we only accept it, accept Him.  Wooden spoons: punishment and love intertwined. Wooden cross: amazing grace, ultimate punishment paid for me, ultimate comfort, red blood-love poured out. 

Romans 5 :8

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners,

Christ died for us.

 Silly it may be, but God showed me love through this lumpy batch of cookies, hand-stirred by four little people I love so well, four little people He shared with me. Great love.

Manna in the Morning.

I sat at the Lord’s breakfast table this morning with questions. I partook, but I didn’t understand it all. It was my manna, which in Hebrews means, “What is it?” Sometimes I come to Him, like a little girl climbing into His lap with only questions. How do I feel joyful when I’m not? How can I be joyful when life is painful? Is joy a feeling? Or is it an action to be obeyed? It is merely given by the spirit, or grown in me? Does it come after the morning, or does the morning come when I choose joy? Sure, I can act joyful, but to be joyful, He’d know when I’m faking. I’m reading, thinking, learning…

And sometimes it’s the questions that bring me close. If I had the answers I would be tempted to run off and play. But the questions keep bringing me back. How Lord? Why Lord? They are not demanding questions, or ungrateful questions, just questions. Some have answers. And the hard ones: children starving to death, being abused, babies with cancer… those don’t. I know there will be a day when I will receive all the answers, face to face with my Rabboni.

“Mommy, what do moth’s eat?” “Can I play Barbies?” “What’s for breakfast?”…and that’s just the beginning of my day.  But questions are good. It’s the questions that bring us true knowledge. It’s the seeking, the curiosity that invites learning. I want a home of seeking, of asking.  Sometimes God wants to play hide and seek. "It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, But the glory of kings is to search out a matter." If I seek, He is always there to be found.

But seeking is not enough. I need to search out the answers, when they can be found. I want children who search out Your truth in this life. And when unanswered questions face me, I am grateful. I am grateful to worship a God who is much, much smarter than I am.  We’re not even on the same wave lengths.

My husband just started his next semester in engineering. After Calculus 3, he is now taking Discrete Math. I think they have to call it this because the authors knew that to people like me, people that have no idea what it’s talking about, it is discrete. He’s learning things that my brain could never understand. I do not exaggerate the word never. The thing is, I’m okay with that. I respect his work more because I know it’s something I could never do. But he doesn’t treat me like I’m dumb either.

God never chides me for not knowing, for asking. I’m pretty sure David asked God about almost everything, and God never seemed put out about it. There are a lot of Why’s? in his book of the Bible. Today, I see God’s love in manna—His provision, His sustenance, His heaven-sent food. And even if I’m asking, “what is it?”, it’s sweet to my tongue, filling to my soul, and growing food for my mind.

Lord, help me to not seek empty calorie answers, but seek Your whole truth. Help me to invite my children in to an atmosphere of learning. Help me to look to You when they have growing pains. Help me not to always drive the car, but give directions to You. Help me to see this life through a child’s eyes, with curiosity and fresh hope. Don’t let dust settle on my mind, on my theology. Help me look always to the author of the book where the questions come from, to look to You. 

Deuteronomy 4:29
But from there you will seek the LORD your God,

and you will find Him if you seek Him with all your heart and with all your soul.

Jeremiah 29:13
And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.

                                                                                         Seek and ye shall find...

               O LORD, You have searched me and known me.

                            Rejoice with me, for I have found the piece which I lost...

             Psalm 17:8 Keep me as the apple of Your eye; Hide me under the shadow of Your wings...

Colossians 4:6 Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt,

that you may know how you ought to answer each one.

Reaching. Pressing.

This page blurs a little. My eyes burn from tears. I pray with David, “Lord, all my desire is before You; And my sighing is not hidden from You.” Morning rises, and I sit here, empty before the Lord. Honestly, no joy. No anything, just empty. I have my phone voice, my fake voice, my smile, but on the inside I am spent. Only I cannot hide this from my Maker. And it’s a relief to be fully known by One, to be this open.  Lord, it’s a relief not to have to pretend anything with You.

Roses thrown down, crushed. You were thrown down and crushed. And I’m learning the best way to know You, is to have fellowship in Your sufferings. And if I have food for only one day, strength for only one day, love enough for others for only one day, then let me live this day well. Let me at all costs know You and the power of Your resurrection, the fellowship of Your sufferings, being conformed to Your death. Who said dying to self wouldn’t be bloody?

^{Ephesians 3:12-14} Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. ¹³ Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, ¹⁴ I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

I close my eyes and they burn still, dry and hot. Lord, help me to forget what lies behind. Only reach forward. I remembered I’d read this verse with the kids a few weeks ago. I sent them traipsing around the room backwards. I asked, “Is it easy to walk around this way?”  I pictured God watching me, like a little ant foolishly scurrying around backwards. I still walk around facing my past.

Reaching forward to those things which are ahead. Not simply moving forward, but reaching. Reaching to You, the prize of my calling.  Reaching to You, who shows me a love story-- all others pale. Reaching to You, who loved me enough to suffer for my soul. To suffer for me, even if I were the only one.

Lord, help me press into You, my Future, not the past.

Lord, help me reach to You. Reach to me, my heart, be the peace I seek.

May Your work on the cross be the only past I seek out, the crossroads where my life and Yours intersected. May You be my trail guide; no backtracking. May I choose each step carefully, light the path with Your word. Press forward, step over the crushed roses. Hold my hand tightly. I’m scared of the dark.

Isaiah 35:10

And the ransomed of the LORD shall return,
      And come to Zion with singing,
      With everlasting joy on their heads.
      They shall obtain joy and gladness,
      And sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

Love Completes.

I am a painting, half brushed.

A song, with notes trailing silently off the page.

A story without an ending.

I am a garden, new seeds sown.

Threads, unwoven.

I am unfinished, but designed.

I am as unfinished as the work that surrounds me: unfolded laundry, sink full of dinner dishes, toys strewn, books half read, weeds unpulled, closets half organized…. I try, but it is never done.  My best efforts fail.  I wonder how God can be at work in me and you, and everyone else all at once. With souls, it is God who handles the multi-tasking.  And He never misses a call or puts me on hold. He never sets down the pen or the eraser in my life.  I can’t imagine how busy His day was.

I’m grasping Lord—but learning my unfinished earthly work isn’t failure. Your work in me, too, is unfinished, yet perfect. Your work on the cross is the only truly finished work I will see in this life. And with the unfinished, You don’t rush. You take Your time, perfect time to complete us all, to do it right.

I rush. I fret. I try to make finished things that can never be.  Parenting cannot be folded up and put away. Marriage doesn’t wash up in the kitchen sink. I cannot put myself in a spin cycle. God is patiently ever at work at me. He promises to finish in time.

As I write, little girls are beading at the table, colors and shapes rolling under small fingertips—a work in progress, creating beauty. Beads spill, but she starts again. Unrushed in this space of time, they are girls, beautiful as they are, but changing.  Growing up strains the bones, stretches the minds. May I not rush them, but nurture them. Help me to gently bring paint onto God’s canvas of their lives, according to His master design, not my own.  Help me to water the soil, cultivate, but not show impatience at the growth.

Lord, help me to soften, to mold. Help me to absorb Your paint, not tear beneath the eraser, not write with permanent marker. Help me to trust. Wait. Be workable. Help me to change my heart’s stigma: see that unfinished work is not failure, but a process. Help me to lessen the pressure on myself and others; let You be the perfector. Help me to love the process as it makes the completion even more beautiful. Help me to love me, unfinished piece that I am. Thank you for showing me Your deep love through a friend who sees Your handiwork in the swirling paint and smears of my life. Thank You for telling me, help me to listen.

^{Philippians 1:6} being confident of this very thing, that He who has

begun a good work in you will complete it

until the day of Jesus Christ;

Sincere Imitation.

“Mommy, are you ready for the show? Sit here, Mommy, watch.” One by one the little fashionistas come sashaying down their runway, dawned in layers of pink sparkly tulle, heels too big, and multiple hair bows pinned in for beauty’s sake. I remember hours of the same. Hours with cousins-- reemerging from the dress up closet in every kind of wear, Miss America pageant style: daywear, eveningwear. Then judging, usually getting the near last place ranking of being a younger cousin.

My girls spend hours in a day dressing up in imitation of a ballerina, a princess, a pioneer girl, mommy, a bride. We all imitate something. Even babies imitate; it’s how they learn.

I love to get ideas from other moms, ways to parent, new recipes, good habits to instill- and then I too imitate. And all this imitation pales to the real thing, real perfection. Every once in a while I catch glimpses of “real” things at a museum, a well known building, landmark, a voice over the radio--- and yet amidst my strife to find the best, be my best, the better version of me will always fail.

I have the real “real thing,” I have God living inside of me. I have the moment by moment choice to die to my imperfect fleshly self, so that He can live in me. I have the real work of my creator on display as far as my eye can see. Real. No imitation. 

Why do I try to resemble anything less than the character of the only perfect God-man I know?  It’s as if I try to imitate the scribbles on my fridge, rather then God’s Sistine Chapel. If I imitate anything less than God, then I set the bar too low. This intimidates. But imitating people, or worldly philosophies, means picking up flaws. God is the only flawless being I will ever know.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Not that God needs ours. Yet, what better way can I praise Him?

Imitation is all around, from the vanilla in my pantry to the artwork on my wall.  What love I see in Him, that He willingly reveals Himself to me, willingly invites me to copy Him. He isn’t copywrited. I saw His love yesterday in His willingness not only to let me know of His forgiveness, but to taste it. He demonstrates to me each day His great love and patience. He never taunts, “Stop copying Me,” from the backseat.

Lord, help me to teach my girls not to want to be beauty, but see His. Not to wish to be someone else, but only desire to be like Him. Not to imitate the giftings of others, but to share with the world their own uniqueness. To live in their own fingerprint of God.  Help me not just to teach, but to live this, so that they can imitate a mommy who is imitating the Lord.  

^{Ephesians 5:1-2} Therefore be imitators of God as dear children. 

And walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us,

an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling aroma.

Sweet Laughter.

It was late last night, dark as we left the auction house with my prize strapped overhead on the van. Anticipated Village Inn pie-for-dinner night had not come, as the auction carried on late. Outbid was the word of my night. Disappointments, many in this day. But there it was, the thing that would give a little meaning to our time spent in the boxes of oddities and rows of furniture. A tall chest of drawers, a lavish lingerie chest taller then me, with a beautiful Tiffany-box-blue crackly finish. It was the first thing I noticed that night. And, oh how I hoped to take it home. Sadly, I didn’t win the box of American girl dolls and their clothes and furniture. Sadly, I left the vintage cups, the old tin buckets that would have been darling planters. But, my hand rose decidedly up and up at the blue-green treasure.

It was mine, as well as the van full of tired, hungry children after Cinderella’s stroke of midnight. Even the drive thru was closed. We drove in the wrong direction. For a long way. My husband was tired, too tired. At last, with cheeseburgers, we were on the windy road back into the mountains. Brights on. A chubby black and white critter stood in the road, and made no attempts to move out of the way. “No!” I squealed, afraid of the lingering smell of impact, just having rid ourselves of the lingering smell on dog with skunk encounter. “Don’t hit it!”

Slow motion. We hit the brakes and the van did it’s best to stop, so close we could no longer see the skunk as it brushed the bumper. Slow motion, Pop! went the ropes holding the beautiful chest of drawers. We saw it fly off the van and into the curving road before us, crash! Landing right where the startled skunk stood. I winced my eyes, gasped. Then, the very frightened little animal waddled away, confused, heart-thumping. But we were skunked, and my early birthday present lay battered in the road, children gaping. The vision of flying furniture replaying in my shocked mind.

There was nothing for it. We stepped into the deep smelling, starry night and retrieved the piece, cramming it this time into the van. And as I smooshed back into my seat, in the few inches between the slender dresser and my door, remembering the dresser flying, seeing startled skunk running away, having escaped death twice in a matter of seconds I about died laughing till the tears came.  Melanie, daddy, looked at me with disbelief. There was nothing left but the hilarity of the days worth of mishaps.

And some days are like that. I know this very much first hand. Bad things happen, and sometimes all together. And if our hopes rest on the outcome of one day, we’d be skunked a lot.  Thankfully Jesus gives us much more to live for, to care for.  Our roots grow deep so that we can withstand flying dressers and smelly encounters, and two toddler boys smearing the contents of the trash can over your bathroom with the toilet brush just after self-hair-cutting.  Some days we need much deeper roots. Roots that not only hold our ground, but drink deeper of His water. Roots that make us bloom for His glory.

^{Ephesians 3:17} that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love,  may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height—to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

Bad days pass. But the God, who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, is always there. He loved me through laughter yesterday, sweet hilarious laughter. And I supposed He loved that little skunk too.

Lord, may I bring laughter into my home where grumpiness lurks. May I show my children cheerfulness in trying moments, rather then harshness. May I live life chip-free, with a watering can in hand, drawing from Your living water. 

Love Grows.

I ask earnestly this morning, “What season is it, Lord? How far away is harvest?”

Seeds of prayer have been planted long ago, watered with my tears, will I soon see the fruit? I wait, and it feels like I’ve waited as long as I can-- held out hope longer than I should, plowed over my heart more than it can take. Yet, harvest has not come. How, on days like today, I long to see the fields from your vantage point, long to know when? Why? Why not? Long to know how I can keep planting, praying, and not see any yield.

                                                                                                                                                  

A whisper. I may not be growing fruit where you are looking, but I am growing it in you.

…”But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.”

Longsuffering: enduring pain, unhappiness, etc., without complaint n also long-sufferance: long and patient endurance

I feel right now as if my longsuffering fruit is the size of a grape, shriveled and tough. I’ve complained to You plenty, Lord. But I guess You already know that. And I’ve watered those complaints, held them in tight fists. I feel the hardness of my own soil, the hardness of my soul, not wanting to suffer long. I want the harvest, tired of waiting for the fruit.

…Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control…

This is a long enough list of fruits to try and grow in me, Lord, so why I am so hurt when I don’t see some of these in others? I am so thirsty for the lemonade that I forget that I myself am a lemon tree. I grow weary of waiting. Weary of trying. Weary of hoping that lemons grow easier for others than they do for me.

“And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”

And while I sit here, discouraged over my own black thumb, I thank You, Lord that You are the cultivator, not me. And while I live in this clod covered earth, help me to be patient. For I know there is a garden in full bloom, more beautiful than Eden, blossoming in heaven. Help me to rest in Your peace. ^{Ephesians 2:14} For He Himself is our peace… Help me to remember that You are the only peace I will find on this earth. Help me to look to You, to grow up towards the sun. Help me to stop bending away from Your pruning tools. Help me to stop looking for peace in the groves.  

Thank You for showing me Your love in Your word today. Thank You for the loving truth.

Quiet Love.

Be still and know that I am God.

I left my house in a flurry. Work at nine meant children dropped off, a long drive, an early morning. I was running, speeding a little.

Be still and know that I am God.

The lake, usually rippling with wind and wakes was still. Its beauty so wholly reflected the heavens above—glorious, mirroring the morning sky, muted colors and mash potato clouds. I stared. Still, it reflected.

Be still and know that I am God.

My multi-tasking brain cells stopped in their tracks. God, am I just ripples, choppy little reflections of You?  Am I swayed by the winds of life, waiting for You to calm the storm before I can really see You?

Be still and know that I am God.

In that brief moment of my busy day, it dawned on me, slow learner that I am, that until I am still, quiet, almost breathless in His presence I cannot see truly who He is, what He whispers. I cannot rise and swell with emotions, feelings, thoughts, plans, worries, insecurities-- looking inward, and see and

mirror beautifully my Creator.  Only when I too am still.

Be still and know that I am God.

Lord, how can I be still when I am running? When life is full? When there is much to do? Much You have given me to do?

Still heart, still moments.

I Peter 3: 3-4

Do not let your adornment be merely outward—arranging the hair, wearing gold,

or putting on fine apparel—  rather let it be the hidden person of the heart,

with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit,

which is very precious in the sight of God.

Let it be the hidden person of the heart, a gentle and quiet spirit.

Precious in His sight.

Lord, may I be still and know my children: look them in their eyes, listen. Show them my full attention. Spend time wholly with them. No phone interruptions, no obligation--just love. 

May I be still and know my marriage. Dedicate my heart to tuning into his. Put togetherness into my day. Put knowing him better, his wants, his needs, fully my priority. Wholly love him. 

Be still and know my family and friends. Not simply squeeze in our time, make the time. My family and friends, one of God’s great gifts in my life, make sure they know it. Know their hearts, their lives, wholly pray for them.

May this reflect You and the way You seek us out Lord, the way You love us. But mostly, may I be still and know my Jesus. Lord, may I hold that hidden beauty. May the eyes of my heart see You, ears of my soul hear. May I grasp quiet moments in my day to come before Your throne and listen. Let my beauty be incorruptible because it is not mine, but merely the reflection of Yours in a still quiet heart. Help me to slow down and grasp for what is most important—You, Jesus. Thank You for the love I saw in upon that glass like surface of the lake. Thank  You for  being in that moment, for being in every moment. Thank you for helping me to be there with You too. For letting me see You once again.

   

                                                                                      Be still and see...

                                    Seek after Him...

Experience His love...

                                          Listen to His still, small voice...

Zephaniah 3:17
The LORD your God in your midst,

The Mighty One, will save;

He will rejoice over you with gladness,

He will quiet you with His love,

He will rejoice over you with singing.