An invitation to tenderness

Sometimes it hits me unexpectedly. This emptiness deep inside. A moment of connection spurs me into a place of longing and tenderness.

My seven year old son asked me to come. He told me that the cat was really sad and that I needed to go and see her. I was busy, but I was compelled to go to her. When we found her she didn't come out to greet us. She just stayed where she was. Pacing, pleading, searching. We didn't know for sure but we thought that she had had kittens a few weeks earlier. In all of the busyness of moving, I had not been able to find them in the big barn, but in that moment I knew. I knew she had born kittens. She had nurtured them for a short time. I knew it now. But it was too late. They were gone. I will never know for sure what happened but it is likely that they fell prey to a nearby animal. I went to her and spoke words that felt hollow. I told her I was sorry and my heart swelled with compassion.

She eventually accepted my touch. I petted her softly and looked tenderly at her sad face. I knew that there was no comfort, but still there was love. I offered her the only thing I knew, my sadness and love.

As the day wore on, I could feel the sad places opening up inside of me. I could feel a stirring. An invitation to tenderness.

As I thought about the cat who lost her kittens, I remembered the tiny baby I had lost. It's and odd place of thanks and hurt when I remember her. I hardly even knew of her, yet she touched me heart. I carried her for only a short time, yet I treasured her. And even so, there are six treasures right before my eyes. These gifts that I shepherd over. I am humbled by this moment and I reach into this labor of letting go.

There is a reason for the hurts that enter into our lives. Invitations into his heart. His heart that sees all of the pain of the world and does not crumble. His strong heart that will one day make all things right. Right now it hurts my childish heart to remember the kitty, and the tiny one, and all of the broken places I see. I crumble. And I am thankful that he holds me strong.

I went to bed with a deep sadness last night. I kept telling Ryan that I was sorry. If I said sorry enough then maybe it would make it better. It didn't. I wish I had known that she had them. I wish I could have protected them.

But there are some things we cannot know, some things we cannot control, some things we cannot make right. And yet there is hope.

Hope in the letting go. And hope in what is to come.

The Right Color

As we have been preparing our house for sale, I have been stressing over the paint colors. I want to get things just right. I want the paint lines to be straight. I want the colors to flow from one room to the next. I want to make things look good for the next person who will live here. Some of the colors are working out great! And some are just a little off.

But I really do not have time to be messing up! We have so much to do, and these precious moments when family and friends are watching our kids need to be spent wisely! Aaaaaaaaah! I feel like I cannot afford to choose the wrong colors. We need to get this houses listed, and we need to do it now! But then I stop and realize that I am doing it again. I am getting tunnel vision. I see the slight shade of some silly neutral color, and my eyes fixate on it.

But why don't I see that I am doing the best that I can? Why don't I see that the next person who moves in will probably just paint different colors anyhow? Why don't I see that these are all just externals, that the color of paint is only an outer layer of Low VOC, bought with the rebate, one color out of like 2 million different choices, that I brought home and put on the wall???

And even if I did get "just the right color," it would not look good painted on walls of striving and perfectionism. The right color looks all wrong when it means that I am snapping at my kids or neglecting the more important things.

I need to pause, take a deep breath, and let the lens focus outward. Let my eyes see bigger, let my heart see larger. Things will all come together, and I am going to need to keep my eyes focused on the one who colors my life with true beauty.

Love

Grace

Perspective

Gratitude

Joy

These are the colors that will look best. And how about a thankful heart? How about a spirit of gratitude that appreciates all of the hard work my husband is doing rather than grumbling about the flaws that I think I can see.

If you have taken the time to read this, would you please pray for me? Life is busy and stressful. I could use some help choosing the right color. Thank you!

Perspective

Zander was sitting at the table eating yogurt today, learning how to use a spoon, intent on doing it himself. He was working very hard at getting the yogurt from the cup into the spoon and up into his mouth. Each time I messed with his food or interfered with his learning, I could see his frustration welling up. Finally, he tensed up and said "don't." Which sounds very cute coming from a 15 month old.

I stopped to ponder how important it was for him to say no, for him to set limits. He was letting me know that my constant interruptions were really messing him up! He was trying so hard to feed himself, and he wanted to succeed.

Years ago I would have thought that I needed to stop to teach him to who was in charge, to show him how to be respectful. Those things are important. They do need to be taught. But there is something more important.

Perspective.

Saying "don't" was not only very humorous, since I have never heard him say that before, but it was also a reflection of his intense personality. He was becoming exasperated as I was fussing over him, and he wanted me to stop. Another more placid child may have willingly let me interfere, desiring to please, or willing to learn by watching me. This little boy needed to learn by doing it, by grabbing the spoon and getting it to his mouth.

He will need a lot of teaching. We all do. But there is a time for teaching, and a time for learning. This time we were learning together. And I am happy to say that he did finish his yogurt, and when he was done, he looked very pleased.

And then, right after that, he brought his froggy rain boots and looked up at me asking for help with the look in his eyes. No words, just a look which said "mommy can you help me? I can't do this myself."

Precious, the dance of raising little ones.

I snapped a few quick pictures, and I really love this one. It reminds me that we need each other, and that we need perspective.

Here is one more picture of Mr. Zander who is now walking with a happy step!

Tangled

Breathtaking!

I was completely *taken* by this movie! I went with Violet, and Caleb and Jairus came for the popcorn. They thought it was okay, we thought it was amazing!

First of all, let me just say that when your name means "princess" and you have spent years longing for "what else is out there" you cannot help but feel drawn to the movie's plot.

The princess was stolen and locked away, and she stayed in a tower a good long time. She was told that the outside world was not safe. She wanted to be a good girl. She wanted to do the right thing. So she stayed.

But eventually, through a moment of destiny, her isolation was broken by a criminal who happened upon her tower. She knocked him out and hid his bag of loot. In exchange for the return of his stolen goods, he was eventually persuaded to bring her to the city where she could see the lights.

Every year on her birthday, the sky had illuminated with little lights. She had always been drawn to these lights. She didn't know why, but she knew that she had to see them!

These lights.

Little rays of hope that told her there was more. Oh, and you can guess what happens next. But please don't guess. Watch the movie! Without saying more about the plot, I wonder, can anyone else relate to this?

What is your tower? What is it that keeps you locked up? What leaves you immobilized from fulfilling your purpose, from living your life?

For me it has been many things, but one that stands out is rejection. When I was little I was teased by my school mates. I was regularly reminded that I was unacceptable, I knew that I stood out from the rest. I remember feeling crushed when they would taunt me. It set my life on a pattern of wanting to run into a tower and stay there. I wanted a safe place where no one could tease me, where no one could wound the broken places inside of me.

And I did find a tower, a place of hiding where no one could tease me, no one could crush me. But it's walls left me empty, longing, wanting. Wanting more.

Eventually my life became such an anxious mess that I decided in my heart to leave the tower. I did not do it with as much grace as Rapunzel, but I did leave.

I was desperate.

I remember sitting in a mother's group and listening to a friend tell me about these church meetings she was attending. She asked if I wanted to see a person get up out of a wheel chair and walk. Wow, I thought those things only happened in bible times. I honestly wasn't looking to see that, but something deep inside of me was stirred. Could there be more than what we are used to? Could something like that be real?

So I went to these church meetings. And while I did see many people come for physical healing, I also saw people come for healing of their souls, healing deep inside. I began to feel the love of God, and I was swept off of my feet! Me! He wanted me! Even if I was unacceptable, he still wanted me! If fact, because I was unacceptable he wanted me. He saw so much more than what I saw, than what they saw. He saw me, his daughter, his.

And I began to see. I saw myself for who I really was...

Princess
His
Loved

He began to speak to me and to call me to life. He started to heal me and he gave me a picture of my purpose. I remember one night when the minister was praying for people, he stopped and prayed for me! He spoke to me and told me many things that God wanted to share with me. It was such a precious time. I had never felt God speak to me before. I only remember a little bit of what he said because I was just so touched that God reached out to me. He showed me the lights and I will never be the same!

And as for the princess part, well I have some thoughts on that too. I know why God gave me the name Sara, which means princess. He knew that I would need a reminder of who I really am. I am his daughter. And it feels good to know who I really am.

Healing in the Token

We got home around midnight last night. It was a long evening at Children's Hospital with our little Elijah. It all started around 5:00 in the afternoon on Saturday. I heard him crying and went into the other room to see what was wrong. I could see that he was grabbing over his mouth and asked him if he needed to throw up. I took his hand and rushed to the bathroom.

We had just gone to a CPR training session the night before, and I quickly realized that I was going to have to use that training...right away. He was getting panicky and kept saying something about the coins. He was gagging but he could talk and breathe. I put my arms around him and said exactly what we had learned the night before "it's okay, I know what to do and I can help you." I was surprised that I was not panicking, but I was not. I knew that I was not being truthful. I didn't know what to do! But that class had given me the confidence to figure it out and stay calm.

I reached my arms around his belly and pushed upward, trying to help him. He managed to cough up a penny, but was still panicky and trying very hard to expel something else. It was not working. He could still breathe, but he could not get it out. We called and asked what to do next.

The lady on the phone asked if he could swallow. I didn't know for sure, but said he seemed okay. I didn't understand at that time, but now I do. If they have something blocking their esophagus, they will continue to drool and will not be able to swallow. It was still too early to tell.

Elijah wore himself out and put his head down on daddy's shoulder. We were told to go to Children's and give him nothing to eat or drink. In the short time that it took to get out the door, Ryan's shirt had gotten all wet. And on the way to the hospital Elijah looked like a squirrel who was storing food in his cheeks. I was hoping that they would say that there was nothing down there, but at this point I doubted it.

My mind went back to the last time I had to bring Elijah to the hospital. That was an awful experience. I remember watching him turn dead-like. He was squeaking and gasping for air and they assured me that he would be in good hands and told me I could leave now. Apparently they normally prep parents for the experience of watching their child be put under general anesthesia, but this time they must have forgotten.

The surgeon came out shortly after, cracking jokes about my baby, and told me he wanted to do something a little different. I was at the hospital alone, my body was aching from not nursing my baby for several hours, and I was scared. I signed papers and the doctor went back to begin working on my baby. I felt anxious. I tried to be calm, but inside of me there was a raging battle of mistrust and worry.

I later shared my experience with friends and they said they wished I would have told them. They would have come with me! Why didn't I just ask? I don't know. I wish I had. I am learning to ask. I am learning to need people. Learning to be dependent.

We - do - need - people.

After the fact, I realized that the surgery did not work, and I felt the pain of having done this for nothing. The decision had been made quickly. We knew that if we did it before the end of the year it would be covered by insurance. I asked our pediatrician. She said we should do it. I asked the specialist. He said we should do it. So we did. It made sense.

Or did it?

Learning to trust your deep down gut makes more sense than what other people tell you. Other people's opinions can be invaluable. We NEED others. For sure. But there are times when we need to trust in a stronger voice, when we need to believe in the voice of God speaking gently to us, leading us in the way we should go.

Now back to 3 year old Elijah. With the coin....

Everything takes forever in the ER. But this forever was so much different from the previous experience I had with Elijah. It was night and day! The nurses at Children's Hospital in Minneapolis are amazing! They did everything possible to make us feel calm. They explained everything. They were kind, compassionate and thorough.

When they put the IV in, Elijah did not even care. He was so excited about watching his favorite movie, and they had done such a great job of explaining things to him, that he didn't worry at all. He was not worried about them putting the "straw" into his hand.

Most of the time while we were there, I laid on the bed with Elijah so that he would not feel scared. And when it was time to wheel us down the hall they would tell me "you stay right there." I felt bad because the bed is much heavier with mom on it, but they said "don't even worry about that, you just stay cuddled up with him." They knew he needed me and I needed him.

When it was time to put him to sleep they did part of it with me cuddled up with him, and then they took him away. That was when I wanted to freak out, but I couldn't. Something was different. The whole experience leading up to this was calm, kind, helpful. I trusted them. It was good to trust them.

I did fight off worry that they would not come and get me when he woke up. When Elijah was a baby they said they would come and get me, but they didn't. He was awake for over 20 minutes before they came and got me. They told me that he seemed thirsty so they gave him a bottle. What?! I was out in the waiting room about to burst from not nursing him for hours and hours, but they gave him a bottle of sugar water. Why? I don't know. Maybe with the shift change they forgot. It was a holiday. There is grace for that. But it was hard for him. Hard for me.

But this time they did come and get me.

They came before he was fully awake. They let me help wake him up. They let me be there with him. They did what they said they would do. They even offered me food and drinks. They cared for us. I was so so thankful.

As we were sitting there I remember telling Ryan that I can see now that I have had a skewed view of what it means to put your kids under anesthesia. When friends would say that their child had to be put under, I had a skewed view of how "awful" it is. It is not without risks, and I understand that, but the picture I had painted in my head was not an accurate picture. It had extra images, painted there by fear and mistrust. I am thankful that some of those were erased. They didn't belong there.

Elijah is fine now. He had a Chuck-E-Cheese coin stuck in his esophagus. They fished it out with a net. And I really believe that they took out more than that. I think that they took a piece of fear that had been planted in my child, and in me, and they pulled it out!

It was a costly token. But this time it was worth it. The surgery was worth it. I wouldn't have chosen it, but I really believe that God ordains healing through times like these.

And I am so thankful.

Thankful that my Elijah is okay.
Thankful for the CPR class at our church.
Thankful that the nurses and doctor were so kind and trustworthy.
Thankful for healing and for God's beautiful way of weaving our lives together.

As were were praying for Elijah I saw a picture of Elijah in surgery. I saw wings around him and above him. Then I saw scared little boy sitting up, and he was lifted up with the angels. Then just my Elijah was there laying down and asleep. Thanks be to God!

Here are some pictures of Elijah playing outside the next day. Happy, swallowing, free!

To Be Near

Oh to be near
to the one that I love.
Drawing me close
I feel his embrace.
Stealing away
before breakfast is made.
Longing to be
with the one who loves me.
Comforted, held,
Bringing me there
to the place where my heart is complete.

Enjoying a beautiful moment with my Lord this morning.
He is beauty.

Just clouds outside this morning,
but there is more behind those clouds.

Beautiful sunshine. Beautiful Jesus.

When my own words cut

I do not want to write. I want to back away.

Stay sad.

Down.

I read my own words and they cut.

"A little seed was planted in my heart"

When I wrote that post about "Becoming Beautiful" there really was a seed planted inside of me. When I found out that we were expecting another little miracle from God, I was so thankful!

One of the things that made this news so special to me is that this little baby was due so close to Ryan's Grandma's birthday. She is dear to me. A kindred spirit. Youthful. Full of life. She laughs. I really like her. I felt so honored to be expecting a baby the day before her birthday.

And there were more reasons for the joy that I felt. Things that made me bubble with gratitude. We only knew for a short time, yet I had already embraced and treasured this in my heart. But it was not to be. Not how I thought.

"crushing the seed's shell will only bring more hope. Hope of redemption! Hope of new life!"

I thought this little life would be mine to hold. Born into my arms, smiled at, held. But this one was not to be here in that way. Not to cry or crawl or walk. Not to dance. Not here. Not now. Those words are hard to read.

"The force that cracks the seed open is called suffering"

I do not know why. I only know that this preciousness has passed into the hands of God. I didn't know this pain. I didn't know this empty feeling. Until now.

"Many things remind us that we do not live in that Eden place"

There are a lot of questions that spin. A lot of doubts and a lot of sadness. But in the end, there are just some things we cannot control. We cannot know.

"But when it happens, when we are crushed yet we still have joy, we have found the face of mercy once again. As we gaze into the eyes of mercy, we discover that it is only the outer shell which was crushed. The inner seed is preserved in a protective place called God's love. This is beauty."

Me? I do not feel very beautiful right now. I feel sad. And down. It was tempting not to write about this. Not to go there. But something compels me. Something urges me to draw close to this place of togetherness with God.

Held.
Close.
And near.

When I write I can feel him drawing close to me. Or maybe it is just me drawing closer to him. He was always there.

He will always be there.

The voice of hope calls to me. To stay. To trust. Even when I do not understand.

Putting down my towel

While listening to a beautiful friend speak about joy on Monday evening, some thoughts stumbled across my mind. She was joking about how many times in life we may want to throw in the towel, but as moms, we soon realize we can't! Ever been there?

We are exhausted, basking in overwhelm, towel in hand, hand in air, ready to give up! And then we see a pair or eyes, or two. Little eyes. Searching. Expecting. Needing. And, no matter how much we want to throw in the towel, deep down we know there is more grace to carry on.

But it doesn't always look pretty like that. Sometimes, as moms, we give in to the voices of anger and pride. Short tempers serge, harsh words fly. What causes this? What are we really believing when this happens? Do we have an underlying lack of hope? Is it possible that we are listening to the voice of defeat which hollers "This will never change!" "Things cannot get better!" "I cannot handle this!" "Life is too much!"

I wonder, what does hope say?

Does hope say that I am not so big. My life is not so important. I do not matter that much. But I do matter a whole lot. I need love, not pride. Mistakes are opportunities to learn. I can try again. There is another way. There is another way. There is another way.

What if I stopped grasping at the little surge of control I feel when I give in to the voice of despair. What if I just let things fall apart? What is the worst that could happen? On those yucky days, things were already broken. Maybe if I let the pieces fall to the floor we could pick them up and play with them! LOL! Play with brokenness. How about that? It would sure be better than despair. And I think my kids would be glad.

Why do I carry the towel around anyway? Does it make me feel better to grasp my phony security blanket of defeat? Do I really think it will make my life better when I have the towel in hand, ready to give up when things get too hard? What if I folded it and put it away, leaving my hands free to praise him?

Becoming Beautiful

This week I have been reflecting on the process of becoming beautiful. Last weekend, I listened to the Pastor speak about God's love. I listened to him speak about God's pursuit of us. I listened to him speak about beauty. A little seed was planted in my heart that inspired me to believe in the way that God shapes me, the way that God molds me, the way that He loves me.

The soil that nurtures this seed is called mercy. It embraces the seed. It offers strength to the seed. It believes in the seed, even when life deals it a hard lot. Even when the seed is crushed by broken promises or failures. It gently knows that crushing the seed's shell will only bring more hope. Hope of redemption! Hope of new life! Hope of bursting forth!

The force that cracks the seed open is called suffering. Suffering wears on the protective shells that we wear. Suffering loosens the masks which we hold over our faces. Suffering reveals our true face. Suffering makes us long for Eden where we were naked and unashamed. Where we walked with God in the cool of the day.

But that Eden place is not here. Not now. This life has many sorrows. It has many challenges. Much disappointment. When our masks are worn down, we may look into the faces of striving, envy and pride. They will not deal gently with us. They will never be appeased. No, they will not be satisfied. If we see only those faces, we will becomes blind to the very face of mercy. The face who smiles at us with kind eyes and gives us the confidence to become beautiful.

Sometimes that face is easily seen. It appears constantly, like a mother tending to her newborn babe. It doesn't let her cry very long. Hold her close. Stays constantly near. But as the child grows and learns to walk, and then begins to venture out, this child will need to learn things like wisdom and trust. Things like faith and hope.

Many things remind us that we do not live in that Eden place. When we are held back in our callings because of the failures of those we rely on, then it can be easier to listen to the faces of bitterness and pride. When we are crushed by those we long to be close to, the voices of fear and striving ring more loudly than gentle mercy.

But when it happens, when we are crushed yet we still have joy, we have found the face of mercy once again. As we gaze into the eyes of mercy, we discover that it is only the outer shell which was crushed. The inner seed is preserved in a protective place called God's love. This is beauty.

When we trust in His love.

When we hope in His promises.

When we know the face of mercy.

Mercy has not only a face, but also strong arms and a steadfast love. Mercy is Jesus Christ.

The giver.

The redeemer.

The lover.

"Arise my darling, my beautiful one. Come with me" (Song of Songs 2.)

You will find courage and strength.

Delight and joy.

Mercy and beauty.

Try again

This morning, while making muffins with my almost 3 year old, I was given some insight into the kingdom of God.

Unless we become like little children, we cannot enter in. But if we do, we have so much to gain.

Mr Elijah, who is a determined little boy, pleaded with me to let him help make muffins today. I reluctantly agreed to his request and let him pull up a stool. As he stood there, ready and waiting to help, I mechanically grabbed the ingredients. Quickly I placed them on the counter and began measuring and dumping, trying to hurry through the process. I'll let him do the baking powder. Or the salt.

But when I began cracking the eggs, he said "cun I quack one?" I thought about how so often I say no, and how I have purposed to say yes more often. "Oh, all right" I said.

And the egg went splat!

Actually, it dripped off of the counter, some of it oozing into the silverware drawer. Yuck! At this point I am thinking "okay, enough of that. I will take care of the rest."

Undisturbed, he smiled all big and said "we hasta twy again!" My patience was less than optimal and I wanted so badly to say "not now" and tell him to go play. But something inside of me knew that I needed to say "yes."

So I did.

But this time I put my hand on his as he cracked the egg, thinking I had better make sure we don't have to clean THAT up again. And do you know what happened? The egg went SPLAT. Right on the floor. Again! And why did this happen? Because I was pressing too hard. Trying too hard.

Oh, boy! Two eggs on the floor, and five other kids are awake and getting hungry. And by now, my patience was really challenged. And what do you suppose he said to me? "We hasta twy again mama."

And he was right.

Then there was a pause in me. A heavenly pause. And I knew that a child had taught me. The image of God was shining through my little boy, bringing light into my heart. Showing me that failure is just an opportunity to try again.

Let them come unto me. Do not hinder them. For to such belongs the kingdom of God.

Moments in life

There are moments in life when our heart swells full, and the world is right. We are being held and loved. We set aside our worries and troubles, and we fix our gaze upon the Father of all.

When we are living in these moments, something amazing happens. We cry, we smile, we rest. And from above He gazes at us with loving eyes, so glad we have come.

He holds us in his secure arms, and he restores our strength. He takes our burdens, and he lifts our weary faces up so that we can see what he sees. A beautiful child. Made to bring beauty. Made to carry life. Made to carry love. Walking the path of sacrifice and greatness, just as he did.

Just a little while in this place, and our souls can carry on. These are the moments when hope grows. Such beautiful, precious moments.