Buckling Into, Not Buckling Under

He sits belted in familiar confinement. 

Spying his worn blue car-seat downstairs earlier, he had heaved and tugged it partway up the stairs, clunking, crashing, and grunting until I helped him. 

“You want your car-seat upstairs?” I asked, surprised. The child seat had been left in the entryway temporarily, in between car shifts. 

“Yes! Tant you, Mom,” he squealed. 

Now, he munches a buttery bagel from deep within his belted blue car-seat, while cartoon ponies sing onscreen.  The buckles and clasps have been shut by him.

A doctor visit, long fever, and two naps later, we have learned that he has mono. I didn’t know that three year olds got mono! Fruit juice popsicles, couch cuddling, and Lego men dances and battles made the afternoon race by. 

A cuckoo clock jumps out the hour, and a blue sippy cup drains out last milk dredges. Robins outside warble continuously and sunshine lies long on the neighbor’s lawn. Summer twilights are leisurely and warm. 

Joining Ann and Michelle, I thank God for: 

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-a sick boy finding comfort in his mama’s arms, and in a blue car-seat that he buckles himself into

-an Abba Lord that I can clamber up on and buckle myself into too

-geese clamoring as they swoop overhead

-dandelion oceans bobbing fuzzy heads

-fresh-brewed coffee in my favorite cup

-God’s word laying open to Daniel

-hopeful news on houses and a chance to wait and trust again

-non-stop bird songs outside

Join me in counting gifts today, friend. Buckle into him and avoid buckling under. 

Dad's Driving

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Buttery salmon-avocado sushi pairs with spicy-sweet sliced ginger on my tongue. A delicious aftertaste spurs me eagerly on to the next slice. Mmm, fabulous. Scalding mint verbena tea from the coffee shop here scares me just seconds away from it touching my tongue and I lower the cup, preferring to wait.

I dropped my parents off at the airport again today. Wheeling boxy black suitcases wrapped in rainbow nylon straps, they walked away from me, after our repeated hugs. Off to Tasmania for six weeks of teaching, they watch the sky for rain, urging it to fall on their garden and flowers here at home. Dish-sized purple and white clematis had overwhelmed their climbing plant, blooming furiously as we drove away.

"You can live here, of course," my dad said, at their house as he showed me where the sheets and air mattresses were. My mom hugs me and heats me up a cup of coffee. Their house is lovely and already hosts a house-mate couple, but I am grateful for the option, and take note again of the little white disarm system.

I harvest mint from my mom's garden and hand my car keys to my dad. "Do you mind driving my car? You know this downtown area here better than I do." 

We load up the the car and he drives, my mom and I turning heads to talk over the air conditioning. It feels so safe to be a daughter loved. Resting my head on the seat, we talk and I watch cars and businesses flash by, bringing my parents up to date on the housing market.

Photo Credit: Michael Mingo

"We looked at five houses last night." They were getting further and further out from our epicenter of Mark's work, our church, and the kids' friends and bike range. "We put an offer on one of them--the second house-- but we aren't sure it's the right one for us or that we'll get the bid."

We had a little over a week left to find a home if we wanted to avoid renting after our house closed to its new buyer at the end of June. We tried not to feel frantic or rushed, but it loomed over us anyway.

"It's a chance to practice trust," I murmur back to my mom as highway traffic weaves around us. My dad expertly handles the stick shift, and changes lanes as needed, calmly driving us to the airport.

In my Thursday morning Bible study group, we are studying Francis Chan's The Forgotten God study. This week, Chan challenges about whether our lives truly reflect the truth that one of the reasons the Holy Spirit is in us is to help us realize and feel that we are sons and daughters of God. Thus, if we really are kids in God's family and he desires that intimacy too, are we talking with and relating to God as our Abba Daddy?

"Abba, we need a house," I pray silently. "We'd love one close to our community. Can you bring one, please? Is it possible to avoid renting too?"

At the airport, I hug my parents a second time, kissing them and breathing in their cheek scents. After years of international travel and several war-torn countries, good byes are always savored and regret-free.

"I love you. Safe travels," I tell them both. "Thanks for being a Daddy that helps me see Abba," I smile gently to my dad on the cement curb.

I watched them enter the airport, pulling boxy black suitcases behind them, as I drove away.

"Abba... thank you: for cars that run, for wonderful parents, for my family, for a chance to trust you... Abba, we need a house..." He and I talked on the highway home, smiling gently.

Romantic Gift Ideas Like a Dead Goat & Key Lime Pie

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“Oh, by the way,” as I kissed his cheek hello, “you bought me a slice of key lime pie and a coffee for Mother’s Day. Thank you,” I grinned. 

My man smirked at me, slightly quizzically, as I walked in the door from studying at a bookstore coffee shop last night. 

Now I have a very romantic husband. He woos me in roses, avocados, cheeses, books and baskets. This blue eyed man also takes turns cooking meals and helping with laundry and dishes. 

This week, though, as we had been waiting with bated breath to see if we’d get the house we put an offer on, and already presumptuously researching repair costs for the new place, we had been holding off spending money on other items. Mother’s Day was relaxing, sunny, celebrated with special cards, and savored by time with extended family. 

The key lime tart had looked so good through the glass at the coffee shop, though, that I knew he wouldn’t mind.  “Thank you,” I smiled again and kissed him. “You also bought me a birthday present of a book. See?”  

Don’t worry. Mark had already said that I could get a book with my birthday money. I had just been biding my time, and choosing a title. (Mary De Muth’s  memoir “Thin Places” waits for me even now in a white plastic bag.) 

Gift ideas. 

In finishing Ezekiel this week, I grinned when I came across God giving his people gift ideas. “This is the special gift you are to offer…”  Fractions of wheat, barley, oil, and one sheep from every two hundred are what he asked for in Ezekiel 45:13. Later, bulls and goats are talked about. Different occasions warranted different gift ideas, different sacrifices. 

God whispers his gift ideas to us also.

 “He has shown you, o man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8)

In the book of Acts we hear that God set up the ocean currents, artistically created the diverse and beautiful range of ethnic groups, and created minutes, hours, days, years. 

“God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, although he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:27, 28)

God writes: Here’s a gift idea. I want to connect with you… Here’s what I made for YOU. Do you like the oceans, waterfalls, bottomless caves? Did you see my mountain ranges, coral reefs, floating ice bergs, and still-unexplored jungles? Did you hear of the polka-dotted snake, and the black flower scientists are even now just finding…? Love, God. 

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I’m humbled and floored, and silently love him more. Nature screams his artist heart, and his ancient words speak of love and relationship with me, with you.

A Mother's Day Body Scrub

Okay, I admit. This is an older picture, but it looked a lot like this today.

Strolling down suburban side streets my daughter and I explored and dreamed. Clambering to the top of a patriotically red and blue jungle gym we leaned against the breeze and sucked in the warm summer air. Passing boxy little World War II bungalows, she grabbed my hand, and we swung our hands as we walked. "Ahh, I can't wait until Monday to see if they accept our offer on the house," she said.

An afternoon nap, some grilling in the sun, and children's blanket forts swarmed the deck. Tonight after a family supper, some speed Scrabble at the table, and a chilly twilight bike ride through shadowy wooded trails, the house is quiet. Two kids sleep, one teen emails, and my husband and I relax in the lamp-lit living room.

Inspired by a portion of Ann's post that linked to a DIY bath scrub, I researched several recipes and decided to mix up a large batch for mother's day gifts.

With only three ingredients, my final recipe was easy, healthy for your skin, and fragrant. Here is my recipe:

Mother's Day Brown Sugar and Olive Oil Body Scrub

-cold pressed olive oil, extra virgin, about four ounces.
-raw cane sugar, 24 ounces
-essential oils  (I used tangerine scent for a light, fresh fragrance, and shook in about 25 drops.)

Found at any co-op or fresh foods store, mix in large glass bowl about four ounces of olive oil, 24 ounces of raw cane sugar, and about 25-30 drops of essential oils. Store in air-tight containers and decorate as gifts.

Directions for use: Wet hands, feet, body. Massage sugar scrub into skin to exfoliate, smooth, and moisturize skin. Rinse with water and pat dry. Skin will feel silky smooth. Enjoy!

I am so thankful for the moms in my life. What is one thing you are thankful for from a mom-figure in your life?

And Then I Saw the Smoke

A verse has been tumbling through my mind since I read it a few days ago. One of the words was unexpected and I have been puzzling through how it works. 

And then, while driving this week, I saw the smoke. A towering four-story black smoke cloud tilted off-kilter from the horizon. The rest of the world seemed normal and calm. Grassy hills mounded lazily to the horizon. Cows and horses looked up stolidly as my car passed, and faint swirly cirrus clouds stretched across the afternoon sky. 

The black smoke swelled and grabbed my attention. Gripping the steering wheel, I stole quick glances off to the left, following the smoke down to its source. Tangerine tongues of fire burned from miles away. Flashing crimson and orange flames captured my focus until the car drove over a ridge and out of view. 

The verse I had been pondering clicked in my brain. “I will show myself holy through them in the sight of many nations,” stated the Godhead to his prophet Zeke, sometime between 585 – 573 BC. I have heard of God showing his glory through us, and definitely showing his love through us to the people around us. But this concept of showing his holiness through us struck and amazed me. 

The smoke on the afternoon horizon cleared my eyes. 

At first all I saw was the thick column of black smoke. It stood out so differently from the surrounding horizon. It caught my attention, and I turned to watch it more. The smoke led my eye naturally down to the source. Molten orange and crimson fire danced hypnotically in my sight, and the smoke was forgotten. All I wanted was to stare into the Light. 

Lord, help me to be smoke that stands out from the surroundings and points to your Light. 

What verse have you been thinking about this week?

Snakes, Church, and How to Be Beautiful

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A song on Sunday sent me into snake ponderings. 

The worship song surged around me in the church pew and I lifted my writhing three year old onto my hip. Unaccustomed to being with us in the service, he was a whirl of energy and motion. Hanging off the chair with one hand and shoulder draped off the edge, he had peered at the floor. Spinning over he cuddled onto his sister’s lap, squeezing her arms for a hug. A grey sandaled shoe jabbed into my side, and I quickly readjusted my shirt.

It wasn’t his writhings that turned my mind to snakes, though. The worship song that we stood and sung back to God said wonderingly,

You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the dust

You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of us.

…

You make me new, you are making me new.

You make me new, you are making me new.

My oldest son has an eighteen inch garter snake that he found and tamed. Now the snake often coils comfortably up my son’s arm as he walks the house, or hangs harmlessly around my seventeen year old’s neck as my son corrects his math problems.

“Did you know,” my dad said, “that a snake is nearly blind right before it sheds its skin? With eyes that are clouded, it is fearful and aggressive. Feeling vulnerable, it will often strike at the hand bringing it food too.”  

My son built a reptile habitat in a glass aquarium, with cedar wood chips and an overturned log.

In order to rid itself of the old skin that is constraining and hindering it, the snake has to be intentional. It can’t hole up in a safe corner with blinded eyes. Rather the snake has to purposely lean into the hard places between the log and the glass window, and push through the rough patches, intentionally poking into and through dark places. It’s the pressure and the pulling that tug off the dead to reveal beauty below.

We're standing in the pews and singing and I'm holding my three-year-old in my arms and he's writhing, and I picture my oldest’s newly-gleaming snake. Pearlescent emerald and gleaming amber striped down the snake’s back, leaving behind a faded, transparent wraith in the aquarium.  

I sang, You make things new, you are making me new...

You make beautiful things….

And I realize that it’s me that God has been pressing through the tight places, poking into the dark corners, and leaning me into the rough patches to tear off the old, revealing beauty below. 

How do we be beautiful? We lean into the rough places. We dare to walk with our Creator through the dark corners, through the tight spaces that'll pull off the old and make all things new.

You make beautiful things out of the dust

 you make beautiful things out of us 

Linking with Ann, Michelle, Shanda, and Emily.

Newly-Washed Joy in the Day to Day

The dryer whirrs, and teens’ voices meld in guitar and vocal practice. 

Sunshine and breeze pour through my open windows and deck doors. Last night’s rain splashed color and vivid hues on every leaf and lawn. The heat surprised me when I stepped out onto the deck just a few minutes ago. 

John, my oldest, biked back from his morning daycare job, exclaiming, “It’s so nice out there! Ahhh, I have spring fever!” After grabbing a snack, he headed to his room for school.  His sister Morgan is finishing up her math lesson. 

Daniel is on the deck, driving a yellow bus through puddles, and digging his toes in deep to the water surrounding a large pot. “Mom, can I take a bath?” he asks. I think he means in the basin there. 

After a busy weekend, life resumes its normal pace. 

In between the the flow of family meals, homework helps, and other swirling currents, we women sneak away for time in God’s word. That looks different for all of us on any day, I know. This morning, I brewed coffee, grabbed my favorite cup, and pulled a chair up to the kitchen table with my Bible and Bible study book.

Like my son, I want to dig my toes in deep to this Water.

"...And the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters..." (Gen 1:2b).

What is your normal pace on a weekday morning? How do you enjoy setting up time to spend in God’s word? 

Thank you for your kind comments and for sharing prayer requests on the last post. I have been reading them and praying with you, even though I haven’t replied to you yet. It was a busy weekend with a senior high youth retreat, speaking at a workshop on missions, and a bout of mild food poisoning. 

Today, though, life is again back to normal, and I pour another cup of coffee, dictate an assignment, and pull my Bible close.

Rejoice with me, like the ancient Israeli King David who said, "Surely you have granted him eternal blessings and made him glad with the joy of your presence" (Psalm 21:6).

What is your normal pace on a weekday morning? How do you enjoy setting up time to spend in God’s word?