He Spoke Huskily

Photo credit to Keith M

This morning, we woke to celebrate eighteen years together, eighteen years of saying I do. 

Babysitter teen children watched the youngest as my man and I strolled by rose gardens, tinkling fountains, and clanking sailboats in mirrored city skyline lakes. He unfolded paper thin. 

“I woke up thinking these words this morning,” he spoke huskily. “They flowed easily, and I teared up remembering.” 

20 years ago I met you, and thought you were interesting, Jennifer from St. Cloud.

20 years ago I spent hours talking with you, getting to know you more, learning who you were.

20 years ago I would wait to see you, hoping you would come to a common place where we would meet.

20 years ago I looked into your eyes and you into mine, playing a game, involving our hearts.

20 years ago we started dating, searching to know if this was the one, enjoying a started commitment.

20 years ago we kissed, our hearts started to meld, our future started to be realized.

18 years ago we kissed again, on a bridge, over a waterfall, ring on hand, joy in our smiles.

18 years ago our future seemed to change, we wondered what was next, we were together and God was good.

18 years ago our life moving so fast, we cried once on the floor, we held each other, God held us too.

17 years ago we had John, then Morgan, now Daniel, family together.

0 years ago I remembered what was, we kissed, our lives together, we wondered about the future, it was good.

18 years from now…..   I Love you.

My throat filled and eyes blurred as I leaned close, kissing him beside the fountain, ignoring the tourists nearby. 

It hasn't been an easy road to get here. We have worked hard, apologized often, and needed God's power for softened hearts and gentle grace. 

This week even, I argued with God in the shower. I argued with him in the kitchen, slicing knife through tomatoes oozing red. Washing pasta spirals and cutting sultry basil strips, I talked with God. In the silence, a Voice whispered, massaging my heart.

A turned off heart was not allowed.

 

I obeyed.

Choices shape our lives. They shape mine. 

Choose your promises. Choose gentleness and grace. Choose to turn and invest again, anew. I chose my marriage that morning, grimping toes on bare linoleum. 

Gritty grace conversations and leaning-into hugs followed, but it started in my heart first. I chose my husband. In humble tones, we talked this week, apologizing, choosing gentle grace, loving anew.

Thank you, God, for your patience with me; for perseverance, and your extravagant grace. 

Linking with Imperfect Prose...

Start the Year off Right: Building Confident Kids Who See Others

In an eight am to two pm day of orientation for PSEO students (high school students taking free college classes for dual credits), we have been released for a social mingling time. My brown-haired John stretches long arms, arcing tired shoulders, and cracks his knuckles, in the arena where all students are to stay. Parents are making their way out to an atrium for coffee and discussions.

John expresses a very French mentality aloud to me when he says, “In my classes I plan on really getting to know the kids and look forward to it, but this time here…” he trails off and I understand. Why build too deep of conversations now with people you may never see again? We grin at each other and I repeat aloud what we have always done. “Well, you can use this time to look for the people who seem to be alone, and reach out to them.” He smiles and stands. 

As I step into the corridor, I hear his confident voice saying, “Hi, what’s your name?” and then his pleased response to a quiet voice, “Oh, Morgan? That’s my sister’s name!” He fades out of hearing as I close in with a throng of moms and dads heading for the styrofoam cups of coffee. Several minutes later, cradling a bulk-brewed cup of java, I scan the crowd, and take turns walking up to some women. “Hi…” 

The best advice I ever received about people – in addition to the truth that Jesus made them wonderfully and loves them—is the concept that everyone feels shy, nervous or insecure at times. 

I didn’t learn that until my first year of college. A tall blonde waitress at the Italian restaurant I worked at oozed confidence. All the male workers noticed her, and I shyly wondered if my new boyfriend at the time would succumb to her charms as well. God nudged me to reach out to her on several occasions, but I was sure I had misheard him. She didn’t look as if she needed any new friends. One afternoon shift, though, I found her crying in a back room. We talked for a while and hugged, and I realized how wrong I had been. Everyone needs kind smiles, a friendly hello, and sincerity, no matter how confident, successful, put-together or popular they look. Everyone needs to know that they have value.

So, the next time you are feeling shy… inhale, remember what God says about your value and their value, and then walk up to them, smiling. “Hi…” 

To build confident compassionate kids, whisper to them the truths of who God says they are. Help them see others in that same way. Let them in on the secret that everyone –no matter how confident they appear—is insecure at times about something. Then unleash them to love others with our Abba’s love.  

...I love talking with you. What advice would you pass on to new students this year? Or, what do you wish you had known about people earlier? (To join the discussion from email, click here.) 

The Chocolate Lied

 Rain clouds slide nearer, and a damp blue creeps across my lawn and window. The air cools visibly, and tree branches ruffle silently. Unfolded laundry stacks precariously on the couch behind me, and the house is still as naps or room-projects claim my children. 

Earlier this week, four year old Daniel holds up tiny chocolate squares, reading them like fortune cookies. Even though I know the words scripted into melting chocolate say “Hershey,” he is convinced they predict his future. And the future is always the same. “Daniel can go to my friend David’s house today!” “Mom, Mom! Yook! It says, ‘Daniel can go to my friend David’s house!’” 

“Your chocolate is wrong. Sorry, bud. That’s not today. On Wednesday you can go to your friend David’s house.” 

“No, see?” He hands me the chocolate square, pointing to the letters. “Daniel can go to his friend David’s house today” looks remarkably like a location in Pennsylvania, but I smile. “Pretty soon, huh?” 

Today, his chocolate fortune is coming true. 

His nap winds wonderfully long right now though, and I wipe batter off kitchen counters after zucchini muffins and chocolate chip cookies. Traffic hums in the distance, and I ponder what my pleasures promise me, and how often they are wrong. 

It's a deep thought for me today, and I save, hit publish, and walk away, still pondering.

Photo credit

What to Wear Every Day

Good morning! Grab a cup of coffee and join me. Moist pear tart mingles with dark roast coffee, and I admit that this is my second pastry this morning, leftovers from a Bridal Shower this last Saturday.

Nine women, old and young, circled in an off-white parlor. Delicate dried lavender sprigs crested our rolled napkins, and our plates struggled valiantly to hold up the scrumptious brunch. 

The Bride’s neck and shoulders became increasingly hidden under vivid scarves during an object lesson of the devotional. Attendees stood, draped a new colorful scarf around her, and read aloud the words on their slips of paper. Forgiven, Redeemed, Bought with a price, Not my own, Lavished with love, Daughter of the king, Work of art, God’s masterpiece, Created, Chosen, Good things planned for in advance, Co-heirs with Jesus, Partners in the Gospel, Reconciler, Ambassador, Jesus’ Bride. By the end, we were all a bit quiet as the words sunk deep into us.

Linking with Ann and Duane, I’m counting God's gifts today:

• A sunny youth group bike trip and camp-out this last Friday
• Midnight talks in canvas tents
• Seeing the stars through a screened tent ceiling
• Time with old friends on Saturday, walks in the dark, and car conversations
• Moist tarts, caramel pear halves, and amazingly artistic friends
• Laughter, hugs and conversations with my kids
• Hammock hideaways in tall leafy trees

 “I delight greatly in the Lord;

My soul rejoices in my God.

For he has clothed me with garments of salvation

And arrayed me in a robe of righteousness

As a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest,

And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”(Isaiah 61:10)

Hi, I love talking with you. What has your weekend been like? Want to count gifts here with me today? 

How to Melt an Angry Heart

“The lies grow big in me when I’m angry,” he admits. Slight shoulders hunch high near black hair on a honey-colored neck. His mom listens, and they talk side by side, as the miles hum below them.

My boy yells loud from a tall cream-colored loft. “Noooo, me not sleep, Mom!  Me get up!” Tantrums erupt from tiny lungs. Tirades and angry tears rage. In between bouts, I affirm good choices, and deal with bad choices. After one explosive outburst, while tears still fall, I hold him close. Kissing his sandy hair, I murmur in his ear, “Even when you are naughty, I love you. Even when you make bad choices, I love you.” The fight surprises me by how rapidly it leaves his body. Muscles and limbs soften, and his back presses in tight against my stomach. He leans his forehead against my forearm, and we snuggle in silence for a moment. “Sorry a being mean, mom.”

He works with me the same way, my Creator. My tantrums erupt from tiny lungs, and tearful tirades follow. “Did you hear what they said, God…?” or “But he…” and in between bouts my Abba affirms good choices and deals with my bad ones. 

“The lies grow big in me when I’m angry,” I confess to him, “and I am afraid to trust it all completely. What if…?” 

He grabs me close. Whispering against stick-straight auburn hair, or through letters in time, he says, 

“The Lord is slow to anger and great in power..."

"…The Lord is good,

A refuge in times of trouble.

He cares for those who trust in him…”

Isn’t our God a gentle teacher? Through our tirades, or our kids’, or friends’, he is patient, loving, tender, and safe. I am striving to model that in my own interactions. 

What helps to melt your angry heart, or helps to disarm another’s angry heart? (For those in email, you can join the discussion here.) 

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The Slushie from a Stranger

“Remember me?” he asked. The biker in yellow reflective jacket parked his bike at the end of the driveway, and started towards me. 

“Hi, I do.” I grinned amicably to the older gentleman behind me. I first met Carl the Can Man a few weeks ago—then too I was prying stubborn weeds from between my driveway’s stone pavers. That day, he had pointed to a can protruding from the recycling bin behind me. “Can I have that can?” he asked. 

“Sure,” I stammered, taken aback by a stranger marching up my walkway. 

Striding to me, he placed a business card in my hand. “Carl the Can Man,” it read with an address and phone number as well. 

“Nice business cards,” I told him, smiling. 

“My wife ordered these as a birthday present for me,” he replied. All business, he reached into my bin, retrieved the can, and headed back to the street. We spoke for a few more minutes while I introduced myself and asked him more about himself, and then he pedaled away, the yellow jacket bouncing sunshine as he disappeared down the road. 

Today, he stood at the foot of my driveway, asking if I remembered him. Yes, I did. Turning to look behind me, I scanned my recycle bin for any visible cans. 

“I don’t think I have any cans for you though today. Sorry.” I swiveled back to face him, expecting to see him. Instead he had walked up behind me already and was setting something down on the asphalt near me. A tall red gas station slushie stood beside my dusty metal trowel. 

“That’s for me?!” 

“Yep.” With no further explanation, he hopped on his bike, picked up his own gas station cardboard coffee, and steadied his bike.

“Wow, thank you. That's really sweet of you.” I picked up the plastic cup, felt the fresh chill of it hitting my fingers, and turned to look at him as he biked away. 

Food from a stranger. Childhood and parental warnings raced through my head, and yet I couldn’t discern any possible motive for danger. Three and a half hours of heavy weeding and landscaping had passed in a flash for me, while bikers and cars hummed forgotten behind me. Suddenly, it was 6:45 pm, a stranger had handed me a slushie and it was time for me to go inside and make a fast supper.

Grabbing the cherry slushie, I laughed, called Daniel in, and put the tools away, all while wondering, “Food from a stranger… to drink or not to drink…?”

What do you think I did? What would you have done?

Hi, friends. I enjoy sharing life with you, and always love hearing from you.  If you are reading this from an email and wish to join the conversation, click here.

How have you been enjoying your August weekend? 

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My Court Case

It's the court case of the century, of the millennium.

Standing tall, he addresses the jury, calling out to them as impartial silent witnesses. 

It’s a three-part conversation, playing out on a grand scale. 

God speaks first. 

The witnesses he appeals to are the strong silent type: stalwart, of few words, fly-on-the-walls–types for centuries.  

“Hear, o mountains, the Lord’s accusation; listen, you everlasting foundations of the earth. For the Lord has a case against his people; he is lodging a charge against Israel.” 

The Creator builds his case, bringing out Exhibit A. 

“My people, what have I done to you? How have I burdened you? Answer me.

I brought you up out of Egypt and redeemed you from the land of slavery. I sent Moses to lead you, also Aaron and Miriam.” 

Exhibit B. 

“My people, remember what Balak king of Moab counseled and what Balaam son of Beor answered.” 

Exhibit C. 

“Remember your journey from Shittim to Gilgal…” 

In a quick climax, he ends his case with the clinching phrase: “…that you may know the righteous acts of the Lord.” 

As a lover of history and cultures, this section of ancient Micah had me flipping back in my Bible to read up on Moses and the Exodus (circa 1446 BC) and Balak and Balaam’s conversations (“I can only bless Israel, no matter how much you pay me otherwise,” the mercenary mouth-for-hire Balaam finally realized and told the enemy king). 

In this court case we’re eavesdropping into, God was angry at his people. Study notes say that the nation had become extremely corrupt, judges were accepting bribes, and the elite were preying on widows, orphans, and the poor. 

The nation of Israel is the second party to speak in this panoramic court case. 

They wonder aloud what God wants from them to fix this, and they start to write big checks and make large promises. Like defendants at arraignment, they calculate how much this is going to cost them before they can get back to real life. Heart changes aren’t happening, though, and a third voice enters the conversation. 

Stepping up between prosecutor and the gum-chewing, nonchalant defendants, the small-town prophet Micah interjects. 

“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.”

These verses have been on mind this week. It intrigues me that God sees history in such panoramic chunks and expects me, and his people, to step back and look for his actions. Step back and see, Jen. What does the last seven hundred years show you about who I am? I pause and wrinkle my forehead, thinking…

• of Gutenberg’s printing press that allowed Bibles and books to be printed for everyone, not just those who could afford elaborate hand-drawn pages;

• Of the reformation, of liberty battles, of brave thinkers and speakers;

• Of my long-haired hippie dad encountering Jesus who snapped him out of a drug-haze and transformed his life, and my artistic brunette mom young, and following Jesus.

So my God tells me to look back over history, see his acts, and notice that his hands are clean, pure, righteous -- “that you may know the righteous acts of the Lord.” 

And what does he want from me? To make sure that my obedience, church involvement, money, and serving isn’t just going through the motions, or trying to look moral and proper. 

He wants my hands to be involved in acts of justice; my heart to feel and bleed mercy, not just perform it; and this all should leave me in a humble relationship with him, not full of pride.

It’s my court case now and I’m on the stand…

 …but he wields his case with affection in his eyes as he gently – in unconditional love-- says, “How are you doing at this today, my girl?” 

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