Archive for May, 2012

Ice cream and Big birthday girl

Monday, May 28th, 2012

Carly’s four this year. The poor chickie is pretty confused! If you are a year older each time you’re given a party, this year she should be turning 4, 5 and 6. First, “It’s your birthday!” was at school. Second, “Happy birthday, Carly!” was yesterday at Grandpa and Gramma’s, and on Saturday we’re having friends over for a little bbq and cake time.
Carly’s actual birthday is tomorrow, we’ll give her one of her presents from Mommy and Daddy then. So I guess between all of those, it would only make sense that by the end of the month that my big girl will be seven years old.

I love this picture of her. Standing on an upside down flower pot with a drippy vanilla with raspberry waffle cone. In a minute she’ll reach her arm out to show the cone to the neighbor boy. She’s been calling to him and he finally turned to look at her. In eagerness she’ll reach a little too far and let her toes slip on the flowerpot losing balance. As she steadies, the melty yummy part will fall leaving just a soggy waffle in her hand.

Life sure is full of drippy waffle cones, isn’t it. And upside down flowerpots to stand on for that matter. Happy birthday, Carly.

I feel you, man.

Monday, May 21st, 2012

It’s the Common and Similar that bind people together. And would you agree that Different between peoples often causes Intrigues, and Offence?

My life’s about Jesus and what he’s done for me.

It’s about Hope on the other side (Psalm 31).

My love is see my children fold their hands look up and say, “God, please make my ouchy better” then with Carly, the way she follows this with a look to me and, “Don’t worry, God heard me. Sometimes he heals fast, and sometimes it takes forever.” All I have to say is, Thank you Lord for letting me be here now.

I treasure my kids and just can’t stop but tell stories about them. When other parents have stories, I always (even when I try to hold back) have a story to exchange.

The story doesn’t start and end in preschool.

It started many many years ago with one man and woman who could have anything, except one thing.
There was a beautiful tree orchard filled with phenomenal fruit, and even a humongous zoo chock full of incredible animals ready for th naming.
Out of all of this, there was one tree to be left untouched.

It happened that the forbidden fruit was munched into, the woman who had gotten the idea to eat had been talking to a very bad snake. Eve agreed with the snake that this was indeed fruit to be shared.

Then the second bite. And then the looking down to notice nudity. The first clothing designers, Adam and Eve weaving olive branches together to hide their parts from God (Gen 3:7).
And voila! Women are afraid of snakes and cry out in child birth (Gen 3:16), sweat of the brow is required for good food to be put on the table (Gen 3:19), and snakes no longer have legs (Gen 3:14).
Big woop. It was, and that fruit is still hurting us. The world changed, things got rough.
Know what? Sin is still attractive, after that first account of how disobedience shatters lives for even unseen generations it happens and again, and again.

So you’re hating your Monday, struggling with the weekend pile up of clothing and the clutter that seems to creep overnight through your well swept floor boards. May I laugh and say that I understand your frustration?
Can I say, “Yeah, I like dark roast better than french roast.” When I see you make a face of disgust directly following your taking a big swig of weak coffee? Perhaps yes. Or, maybe I’m just looking to be a self conceited ass.

My guess though, is that you’d shrug this off much easier than if I said I understand how you feel after you lose a child to a miscarriage. That’s a time when you might rather prefer an “I’ll pray for you” or just a friendly hug. It’s not the time to share an, “I feel you, man.”

One out of Three woman will experience a miscarriage somewhere in the span of fertility.

Miscarriage was so hard for me. I failed someone who I loved. I made that person, and then my body killed that child. Life and death are in the hand of the Lord. But do you want to hear that I understand your pain?
I thought this would be a girl; she was to have dark hair, be a little large at birth, tall and thin. She’d have a dancy smile in her eyes that would amaze everyone. I’d be her mommy and she’d be my first daughter. I felt her the moment she was made in me and I loved every second of her seven weeks. I held her in my hands, and cried for her.
So many people have this sadness. If it’s been your sadness, I do want to hug you, cry with you and tell you that it’s OK to love someone so little. That child can’t be replaced. I hold my story back now, it’s a 4 1/2 year old story. It’s covered neatly by time. When I met Abegayle I thought of Little One, that’s what I called my baby. Abbies eyes glow in that way that I imagined.

If your life is lived unto Christ, for Jesus, all of those stories and sadnesses are to be shared. Told. Cried over. And healed. Because through Christ we are equal.
Your cut is deeper than mine? Our Great Physician is the same.

I am honored to be next to you, whoever you are.

Abegayle is 3 Months Old

Friday, May 18th, 2012

She smiles sweetly and says, “Ahh goooo” in the most pleasant way for anyone who gives her a moment of attention. My Abbie weighs in just a little over 12lbs. She doesn’t mind wearing big dresses for church or playing dress up.

Morning Snuggles

Tuesday, May 15th, 2012

Call it Love

Monday, May 14th, 2012

Tonight I’m sitting amid a mess, the usual mess. There’s more down the stairs, and then more stacked around the washer in my basement and through the playroom and office. In the next hour I’ll have it all put in order to be turned over again tomorrow.

Sticky counter tops, table with dinner remnents.
We had left over white rice with a can of store brand tomato soup added in with the rice and a lb of ground beef. Nothing fancy, but good enough for my kids and the neighbor boy to enjoy.

After dinner I went outside to water plants, then I had to feed the baby and give the kids their baths.
Laundry waited, rice dried up, tomato dried on the microwave safe dishes. There’s honey on the floor, maybe from breakfast toast.

I just dumped out the left over half pot of coffee that I made this morning at 6. This is my night, every night. All I want to do is crash in bed, but I wont.

Why? It’s love, I call it Love.

Dang I wish I had a maid.

It’s been three weeks since I cleaned my bathroom. And I don’t even know how long since I cleaned the fridge top to bottom. It blends together if I let it.

Last night as my clean up pace was slowing I decided I ought to just sit down and seek the Lord. I reached for a nearby Bible and as I turned the pages out fell a piece of paper, somewhere around Isaiah 2.
I opened the paper and have read it so many times over.
The whir whir whir of the washer in my ears mixed with the sounds of my kids just above quabbling over something.
This was another moment that Jesus knew just what I needed and showed me.

The paper had three even crease folds as one put neatly in an envelope. It was a note from my husband, a poem actually.

Why didn’t I know that he wrote? Maybe because I never asked.

The more I read it the further away the noice of my life were. I felt sad. Kind of in a tired way.

What do you call Love? And have you taken the time to know your love.

Life isn’t over. Every morning is a new beginning, isn’t it.

This is the day the LORD hath made. Let us rejoice.

I am glad in it.