Saturday, November 12, 2011

A mother's heart bursts.

So while my son screams at me {you see Asperger's mixed with anxiety disorder mixed with puberty tends to mean acting out when stress enters in} . . .

and my daughter shares that she wants to be a foster care mom and housewife when she grows up . . .

and my tiny peanut of a little girl, who wears Indian lean features like a champ, cannot stop braggin' because she is beating us all in bowling . . .

I almost begin to get taken in.  I come to the edge of the cliff where I think perhaps I'll jump.  I'll take credit for the amazing and blame myself for the struggles.  And then I remember.

All is grace.

It makes sense.  And so, I lower my head and thank God for this wild adventure.  I remember that not one piece of this is because of me. 

It is all his.

Reaching for his hem,

Sunday, November 6, 2011

cutting ourselves some slack.

My hair was 4 different colors . . . darker brown growing in, reddish on the ends, lighter brown in between, and gray.  Kinda like this little guy.


My toenails desperately needed to be trimmed.  I was ever aware of the extra 10 pounds that have found their way to me.  And, I was {okay, I am} beating myself up for not taking care of myself.

And then, he whispers . . . you are mine.  You are my beloved

I am kinder to myself.

I whisper back, I am sorry.  I settle in to the fact that this is the causality of a different stretch of this life.  Crafting and chiseling and strengthening a soul is worth this causality.  Carry on, my King, and please ignore my vain complaining.

Reaching for his hem,

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

the small.

The small has always had a hold on me, drawn me in.  I loved anything miniature as a child and let me tell you, as an adult, it is no different.  Give me my girls' miniature erasers, tiny little doll house sets, a barbie house to set up, a fairy house to create, and I am in my own paradise.  I love the small.

The small can become a world unto its own, a safe haven.

And so, these days, as life feels big, I crave the small.  Family issues, disagreement, big decisions loom.
  I want to feel small, safe, simple, uncomplicated.

As I crave this smallness, this blessed simplicity, I start to become hard on myself.  I begin to wonder.  Would that be running from challenges?  Could that mean playing it too safe?  Does God ask us to be small for him?  Or, is it that God asks us to be small so he can consume the space remaining?

And then, I remember a favorite passage of mine. 

The LORD said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD,
for the LORD is about to pass by.”
   Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake.
 After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire.
And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

I remember that if I am too big, I won't hear the whisper, the whisper that breathes life and hope and feedom.  I decide it might be just what I need to become small in the ways God needs me to, because that smallness might be the only place I can hear his whisper.  And, I could use a really loud whisper from God right about now.

Reaching for his hem,

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

tea party.

You just never know what is going to happen when little girls have tea parties.   Dolls attended.  Tea was shared.  Our dog attended and drank milk from an small tea cup.  And then, there was this little girl who drank out of an itty bitty porcelein Barbie cup.  {Did I mention she's a rat?}

If we can love a rat, who couldn't we love?

Reaching for his hem,