Lately I've been feeling as though it's a difficult time just keeping my feet on the ground, or even as though life has any other purpose besides making it to the end of the day. I could easily blame it on the fact that I've been enduring yet another first trimester with three out-of-womb little ones scurrying underfoot. And, certainly, there is something to that excuse.
But I'd be lying if I blamed it all on the tiny critters over-running our home.
Truly, I've just been disconnected. From life, from my family and, most of all (and most importantly), from God.
I've been doing the basics - attending church (when we've been in town), pulling out the Bible once or twice a week to half-heartedly read a few verses or to get my "fix" so I'd feel better for just a little while. But it wasn't sustaining me, because I wasn't allowing it to. I was trying to get by on my own strength and this nausea, headache, trying-to-eat-right-for-the-baby-when-all-I-want-to-do-is-suck-down-all-the-gross-things-that-will-only-further-the-nausea-and-the-headaches time of my life was not giving me much strength with which to work.
Thus, when it was time to get back in the routine of Wednesday morning Bible Study with my favorite girls, I was very ready to have something specific to study that would encourage me to open the Word every day (because, let's be honest, I'm a rules-follower, and if someone gives me homework, I'm going to do it, because it would hurt my heart not to).
But I really wasn't prepared for Ms. Priscilla Shirer to go messing with my business on Day 1. I was ready for a soft intro before hitting the big guns. But that's just not her way.
We started Gideon's story before Gideon even enters the picture. To set the scene, she shows a little of life in his culture, but before that, even, she takes us back to Deuteronomy 7:1-2, where God is giving the Israelites specific instructions before they move to take their Promised Land - and the most basic of these instructions is that they are to wipe out EVERY people group in their way. It seems harsh, but God has His reasons. He knows that even a little of the enemy is enough to mess with their security and their future.
Fast forward to the beginning of Judges (1:21 and forward, to be exact), when we see the tribes of Israel flat out ignoring God. One after another, we visit the tribes in their new lands, still living with the Canaanites! They didn't wipe them out. Not even close. They're living side-by-side with the enemy. Now, in some territories, they forced the Canaanites into labor. So, of course, we can hear their justifications: "Everyone else is keeping them around. We can just cut them back a little; we'll make them work for us. We don't really need to cut them out altogether. That's just unnecessary - a little drastic, don't we agree?"
And at this point, I don't know about you, but I want to kick the Israelites (as we wanted back when they were whining in the desert and multiple other times in their history) - God told you to do something; so just do it! Don't you get it by now?!
Sigh. Some people.
Ms. Shirer goes on to summarize the effects of their disobedience to God's clear demands,
"Had Israel destroyed Canaan's inhabitants as instructed, the ungodly influence and infiltration of idolatry would have all but evaporated. Had there been no enemies left in their territory, the Israelites could have settled into the enjoyment of God's promised land instead of facing extended struggle and oppression from their neighbors."
Basically, life would have been amazing - as God intended it. But they thought they knew better. And they paid for it for the rest of history.
Stupid Israelites (pardon my frankness).
And then . . . THEN . . . Ms. Shirer has to go get all up in MY business: "Are you facing any battles today due to something you didn't destroy earlier?"
Wait, what?
I thought we were talking about the Israelites. Those guys are annoying. They're the ones not listening to God. I'm just over here living my life. God doesn't want or need me to wipe out any people groups. Thank you.
But there was something.
There was something he asked me to give up a long time ago. Something that should have been a far easier task than committing genocide. But I didn't. I rationalized it: "Everyone else does it - so it's not like it's really bad, right? And, besides, I know it's taking up a lot of my time, but I can just cut back. I can make it work for me. We don't really need to cut this out altogether. That's just unnecessary - a little drastic."
So I kept it around. To comfort me when I wasn't feeling well, to distract me when I didn't feel like thinking about anything deep. And, more and more, I was turning to outside sources to fill my time, my mind, my heart, rather than filling up on the Word of God and finding my satisfaction in Him.
And hear me, what God was asking me to cut out was not something anyone else, had they heard me struggle over the instructions, would have said was a necessity to get rid of. It's nothing inherently bad, nothing the Bible condemns.
But God had asked me to cut it cleanly out of my life. And I had ignored Him. And my heart was feeling the infiltration from the Enemy. I had been disconnected from God.
So, this time I'm listening. I'm taking a lesson from those stupid Israelites, and I'm cutting this virus out.
Because when God speaks, we need to listen. #LessonsFromGideon
29 August 2013
12 August 2013
Of More Milestones
Our home has reached a few milestones in just 24 hours.
The first occurred yesterday evening when we flushed Micaiah's first pet (well the first that belonged to just her). However, lest you be concerned for her overall emotional state, she still hasn't even realized poor Embien's demise. I thought, certainly, our little observant one would be sure to notice a gaping hole on her art table where once her colorful fish sat. But, no. She colored quite happily this morning with no mention of a missing fish. I'm thinking she'll handle the grieving process just fine when his death has finally been uncovered.
It's a sign of maturity (I'm sure). Besides, we ordered her Kindergarten curriculum this morning (she sure is growing up fast!), so, clearly, this big girl can handle saying good-bye to a floating creature to whom she rarely gave more than a passing glance (right?).
And we reached yet another milestone last night in the development of our newest member of the family. We reached the point in the pregnancy when Fred had to make his appearance. Fred is my candy-cane shaped body pillow which eases the transition for this belly-sleeper into the side-sleeping position when the belly starts getting in the way. I really thought I'd be able to last longer without Fred in my bed, but it turns out, just as I'm transitioning out of the first trimester, his time has come.
Philip is really a good sport about this giant interloper in our sleeping/cuddling space (though, let's be honest, I'm not much of a cuddler so Fred isn't much to blame in the lack of pre-sleep snuggle in our home), though as I hugged my sleeping buddy for the first time in over two years, my living/breathing partner had to grumpily declare, "Wipe that silly grin off your face!" Yeah, Fred definitely gets a lot more snuggles than my patient husband. But we all know who I really love, so it's alright.
After all, Fred doesn't change diapers or cook me dinner when the morning sickness settles in.
The first occurred yesterday evening when we flushed Micaiah's first pet (well the first that belonged to just her). However, lest you be concerned for her overall emotional state, she still hasn't even realized poor Embien's demise. I thought, certainly, our little observant one would be sure to notice a gaping hole on her art table where once her colorful fish sat. But, no. She colored quite happily this morning with no mention of a missing fish. I'm thinking she'll handle the grieving process just fine when his death has finally been uncovered.
It's a sign of maturity (I'm sure). Besides, we ordered her Kindergarten curriculum this morning (she sure is growing up fast!), so, clearly, this big girl can handle saying good-bye to a floating creature to whom she rarely gave more than a passing glance (right?).
And we reached yet another milestone last night in the development of our newest member of the family. We reached the point in the pregnancy when Fred had to make his appearance. Fred is my candy-cane shaped body pillow which eases the transition for this belly-sleeper into the side-sleeping position when the belly starts getting in the way. I really thought I'd be able to last longer without Fred in my bed, but it turns out, just as I'm transitioning out of the first trimester, his time has come.
Philip is really a good sport about this giant interloper in our sleeping/cuddling space (though, let's be honest, I'm not much of a cuddler so Fred isn't much to blame in the lack of pre-sleep snuggle in our home), though as I hugged my sleeping buddy for the first time in over two years, my living/breathing partner had to grumpily declare, "Wipe that silly grin off your face!" Yeah, Fred definitely gets a lot more snuggles than my patient husband. But we all know who I really love, so it's alright.
After all, Fred doesn't change diapers or cook me dinner when the morning sickness settles in.
10 July 2013
Of the Sibling Connection
Gram and Grandy have spirited Micaiah away this week for some quality grand-daughter time (given they'll have quality grand-son time while she is adventuring in Ecuador later this month). They have spent an amazing amount of time tuckering that girl out on one excursion after another - I'm sure she won't even want to come home (I probably wouldn't).
Meanwhile, Philip and I have been doing our best to soak up every minute with these precious boys, particularly with the middle child who is currently enjoying the benefits of being the oldest at home. Thus, last night we took him, just him, on a special date with Mommy and Daddy while Joey enjoyed some quality Aunt Dia time.
We took the little guy first to the library, as we typically go on Tuesday mornings but tiny one slept until noon that morning (no, I'm not complaining about the glorious amount of sleep allotted to me with the early riser out of the house). Emmett was quite happy to meander the library, picking out movies and books and playing with trains. Of course, after selecting the trains to borrow, he went through his ritual of testing their size, a routine established after a particularly sad instance when his chosen vehicle could not pass through the tunnel on the train table. Ever since, that's the first place his trains go, just to be sure. Philip, who rarely gets the pleasure of accompanying us to the library, found this deliberate action quite humorous.
Finally, as we had a movie to head to, I suggested Emmett go put the sticker on his summer-reading-program calendar so he could pick out the prize he gets just for coming to the library every week. Philip was surprised, figuring we could squeeze out at least five more minutes before heading out. He doesn't know the process that is picking a prize out of that small bucket. In fact, because of this lengthy process, in which Emmett pulls out every possible toy in every possible color, with varying degrees of enthusiasm which suggests he might actually want a few of them, before putting them back and causing my head to droop with exasperation, we were still ten minutes late to the theater. What he finally walked out of the library with, proudly in his pocket, was an orange pencil sharpener in the shape of a puppy. Because the yellow and blue ones weren't good enough.
After the movie, which included indulging in too much popcorn and too much soda, we headed home to tell Aunt Dia all about his exciting adventures. And even though he had already headed to bed by the time we were talking to her, when he heard his sister's voice on the speakerphone in the living room, he rushed out to say hello.
"Do you want to tell her what you did today?" I encouraged him, knowing he saw the same movie she had seen with Gram a few weeks ago and thinking he might be excited to tell her. Instead, what came out in his slurred and halting three-year-old speech was,
"Caiah, I got a sharpener!"
Now, had this been an adult on the other end of the phone, I probably would have translated, considering they actually care about carrying on a conversation, but I knew it would take longer to explain the entire story to the four-year-old than was necessary for anyone. Besides, she just wanted off the phone, anyway, since she'd already told us all good-bye.
There was a long pause while she processed the sounds he'd made, which I'm sure were even less clear after traversing the airwaves. I waited for an, "Oh, ok" that would have come from any older listener that would indicate, "I have no idea what that meant, but I'll pretend" or even a, "What, Bubba?" because she hasn't yet learned the art of the polite pretending.
After the few moments of silence, what she finally responded with was, "Oh . . . did you get that at the library?"
Philip and I dropped our jaws in shock. She not only understood what he said, but actually followed the thought process back to its source?!
Clearly children truly do have their own language. Or maybe it's just the sibling connection.
Either way, these kids are great.
Meanwhile, Philip and I have been doing our best to soak up every minute with these precious boys, particularly with the middle child who is currently enjoying the benefits of being the oldest at home. Thus, last night we took him, just him, on a special date with Mommy and Daddy while Joey enjoyed some quality Aunt Dia time.
We took the little guy first to the library, as we typically go on Tuesday mornings but tiny one slept until noon that morning (no, I'm not complaining about the glorious amount of sleep allotted to me with the early riser out of the house). Emmett was quite happy to meander the library, picking out movies and books and playing with trains. Of course, after selecting the trains to borrow, he went through his ritual of testing their size, a routine established after a particularly sad instance when his chosen vehicle could not pass through the tunnel on the train table. Ever since, that's the first place his trains go, just to be sure. Philip, who rarely gets the pleasure of accompanying us to the library, found this deliberate action quite humorous.
Finally, as we had a movie to head to, I suggested Emmett go put the sticker on his summer-reading-program calendar so he could pick out the prize he gets just for coming to the library every week. Philip was surprised, figuring we could squeeze out at least five more minutes before heading out. He doesn't know the process that is picking a prize out of that small bucket. In fact, because of this lengthy process, in which Emmett pulls out every possible toy in every possible color, with varying degrees of enthusiasm which suggests he might actually want a few of them, before putting them back and causing my head to droop with exasperation, we were still ten minutes late to the theater. What he finally walked out of the library with, proudly in his pocket, was an orange pencil sharpener in the shape of a puppy. Because the yellow and blue ones weren't good enough.
After the movie, which included indulging in too much popcorn and too much soda, we headed home to tell Aunt Dia all about his exciting adventures. And even though he had already headed to bed by the time we were talking to her, when he heard his sister's voice on the speakerphone in the living room, he rushed out to say hello.
"Do you want to tell her what you did today?" I encouraged him, knowing he saw the same movie she had seen with Gram a few weeks ago and thinking he might be excited to tell her. Instead, what came out in his slurred and halting three-year-old speech was,
"Caiah, I got a sharpener!"
Now, had this been an adult on the other end of the phone, I probably would have translated, considering they actually care about carrying on a conversation, but I knew it would take longer to explain the entire story to the four-year-old than was necessary for anyone. Besides, she just wanted off the phone, anyway, since she'd already told us all good-bye.
There was a long pause while she processed the sounds he'd made, which I'm sure were even less clear after traversing the airwaves. I waited for an, "Oh, ok" that would have come from any older listener that would indicate, "I have no idea what that meant, but I'll pretend" or even a, "What, Bubba?" because she hasn't yet learned the art of the polite pretending.
After the few moments of silence, what she finally responded with was, "Oh . . . did you get that at the library?"
Philip and I dropped our jaws in shock. She not only understood what he said, but actually followed the thought process back to its source?!
Clearly children truly do have their own language. Or maybe it's just the sibling connection.
Either way, these kids are great.
14 June 2013
Of Our Future Mommy
About a month or longer ago, during one of her infamous "I-don't-want-to-leave-wherever-we-are-because-wherever-we're-going-certainly-won't-be-as-much-fun" breakdowns, Micaiah declared, "I'm going to have a new Mommy and a new Daddy who won't let me go home and won't let me go to sleep!" Apparently she meant this as a threat - it really sounded to me like her new parents were sadistic, but whatever helps her sleep at night - or not.
Clearly, when she began to realize New Mommy and New Daddy weren't coming for her on their white horses, she changed tactics. Her new goal is simply making the world a better place for her own off-spring. This includes consoling herself about the fact that Joey did not come out a baby girl by declaring, "When I'm bigger, I will have a baby girl. When I'm a mommy." She is also already begging to buy baby clothes for this future daughter when we pass the racks at Wal-Mart. "Mommy, can we please buy this for my baby?!" "What baby?" "You know, the one I'm going to have when I'm a mommy."
What can I say? She's a planner (and I have no idea where she got that trait - certainly not from her parents who just got finished throwing together plans for celebrating their soon-to-be-three-year-old's birthday party the night before the festivities are to take place).
But more than settling with God just what these beloved children will look like or be named or even planning their wardrobes, she has already begun taking notes about how she will behave as a mother. Primarily by not doing what I do.
"My kids won't have to go to bed when I'm a mommy!"*
"When I'm a mommy, I won't give my children squash!" (yes, that's a direct quote, as are all of the above).
My feeling on these ground-breaking methods is, "When you're a mommy, I'll try my best not to judge your parenting choices so long as you stop judging mine."
Respect, that's all I gotta say, girl. Respect.
*I felt it crucial to document these declarations for the day when my grandchildren are sobbing over being sent to bed early for not eating their squash. Not that I'll be rubbing her nose in what she said as a four-year-old. I'm way too mature for that.
Clearly, when she began to realize New Mommy and New Daddy weren't coming for her on their white horses, she changed tactics. Her new goal is simply making the world a better place for her own off-spring. This includes consoling herself about the fact that Joey did not come out a baby girl by declaring, "When I'm bigger, I will have a baby girl. When I'm a mommy." She is also already begging to buy baby clothes for this future daughter when we pass the racks at Wal-Mart. "Mommy, can we please buy this for my baby?!" "What baby?" "You know, the one I'm going to have when I'm a mommy."
What can I say? She's a planner (and I have no idea where she got that trait - certainly not from her parents who just got finished throwing together plans for celebrating their soon-to-be-three-year-old's birthday party the night before the festivities are to take place).
But more than settling with God just what these beloved children will look like or be named or even planning their wardrobes, she has already begun taking notes about how she will behave as a mother. Primarily by not doing what I do.
"My kids won't have to go to bed when I'm a mommy!"*
"When I'm a mommy, I won't give my children squash!" (yes, that's a direct quote, as are all of the above).
My feeling on these ground-breaking methods is, "When you're a mommy, I'll try my best not to judge your parenting choices so long as you stop judging mine."
Respect, that's all I gotta say, girl. Respect.
*I felt it crucial to document these declarations for the day when my grandchildren are sobbing over being sent to bed early for not eating their squash. Not that I'll be rubbing her nose in what she said as a four-year-old. I'm way too mature for that.
07 June 2013
Of a Morning at the Movies
A few years ago I started seeing advertisements on various money-saving blogs for a summer movie series that various theaters across the country do - one children's movie a week, during the day, at a wonderfully reduced rate. Yes, they're old releases, but who doesn't love watching a movie on the big screen? Of course, I've come to realize with small(-ish) town living that the terms "regional" or "select theaters" generally rule us out. And such has been the case since I first learned of this summery movie extravaganza.
Not so this year, my friends. Not so this year.
This year our town joins the ranks, screening various children's favorites for only $4 - sure it's not free as others do, but the price of admission includes popcorn, a drink and fruit snacks. You won't hear any complaining about that from our kids (especially since they're not paying for it).
As soon as I caught wind of the excitement to come, I loaded up my calendar - each and every Thursday morning screening is prominently labeled, so I'll know which days we need to be lining up at the ticket counter.
Yesterday was the first of these much-anticipated days.
I loaded up the kids - a little concerned about how Joey would do, but also recognizing I was going to a movie theater at 10am to watch an animated movie everyone probably already owned on DVD - I doubted a squawky toddler would receive much attention. I knew I'd have my hands full, but it's not like I'm completely clueless at this point when it comes to toting around three children under the age of five.
I've got this.
What I forgot to factor in was toting around three children under the age of five (one on my hip) and three kids' boxes filled with popcorn and soda cups to spring-loaded theater seats not equipped for the meager weight of pre-schoolers and the inability to take bathroom breaks with the above mentioned munchkins and their snacks.
Let's just say, I have quite a few mental notes of how to do it better next time. These include not handing Emmett his popcorn tray until he has figured out how not to get scrunched by the chair, not arriving early so as to cut down on the time needed to hold a 15-month-old's attention (well, and just plain hold him - especially when he's using all his squirmy might to escape to the floor) and not having to share my (aka the baby's) popcorn with older brother (which includes a side-note of making sure his doesn't get spilled) - because when the popcorn is gone, so is that fidgety baby boy.
All things considered, we all had a fairly enjoyable morning. Joey finally resolved himself to the fact that Mommy wasn't letting go (no matter how good the popcorn on the floor looked) and, thumb in his mouth, settled his tiny head on my arm. Emmett learned how to hold his seat in place and made sure to point out to me all the parts that were funny. Micaiah leaned over at one point, to snuggle with Momma, and had a great time laughing when the other kids laughed (even if she didn't always get the joke).
The kids and I agreed, a morning at the movies is definitely not a bad way to pass the summer time.
Not so this year, my friends. Not so this year.
This year our town joins the ranks, screening various children's favorites for only $4 - sure it's not free as others do, but the price of admission includes popcorn, a drink and fruit snacks. You won't hear any complaining about that from our kids (especially since they're not paying for it).
As soon as I caught wind of the excitement to come, I loaded up my calendar - each and every Thursday morning screening is prominently labeled, so I'll know which days we need to be lining up at the ticket counter.
Yesterday was the first of these much-anticipated days.
I loaded up the kids - a little concerned about how Joey would do, but also recognizing I was going to a movie theater at 10am to watch an animated movie everyone probably already owned on DVD - I doubted a squawky toddler would receive much attention. I knew I'd have my hands full, but it's not like I'm completely clueless at this point when it comes to toting around three children under the age of five.
I've got this.
What I forgot to factor in was toting around three children under the age of five (one on my hip) and three kids' boxes filled with popcorn and soda cups to spring-loaded theater seats not equipped for the meager weight of pre-schoolers and the inability to take bathroom breaks with the above mentioned munchkins and their snacks.
Let's just say, I have quite a few mental notes of how to do it better next time. These include not handing Emmett his popcorn tray until he has figured out how not to get scrunched by the chair, not arriving early so as to cut down on the time needed to hold a 15-month-old's attention (well, and just plain hold him - especially when he's using all his squirmy might to escape to the floor) and not having to share my (aka the baby's) popcorn with older brother (which includes a side-note of making sure his doesn't get spilled) - because when the popcorn is gone, so is that fidgety baby boy.
All things considered, we all had a fairly enjoyable morning. Joey finally resolved himself to the fact that Mommy wasn't letting go (no matter how good the popcorn on the floor looked) and, thumb in his mouth, settled his tiny head on my arm. Emmett learned how to hold his seat in place and made sure to point out to me all the parts that were funny. Micaiah leaned over at one point, to snuggle with Momma, and had a great time laughing when the other kids laughed (even if she didn't always get the joke).
The kids and I agreed, a morning at the movies is definitely not a bad way to pass the summer time.
05 May 2013
Of the Glory Hole
A few weeks ago, I attended a retreat for the Baptist ladies of Oklahoma. It was a powerful time for many, including myself.
During our time there, they showed a video (which I had seen previously, thanks to a wonderful friend who had already shared on her blog how God had touched her through the same message - He sure does make beautiful things, regardless of the distance). The video likens the process of blowing glass, particularly the molding of previously broken pieces into a beautiful work of art, redeemed elegance they call it, to our lives in Christ - as pieces broken through the process of life, molded together into something more precious than we could have imagined.
As the artist described the process, he emphasized the name for the heating chamber into which the work-in-progress is placed - the Glory hole. And he says this, "You put a piece of glass inside that glory hole, I promise you this: it's going to change."
We never step away from His Glory unchanged.
What none of us knew as we watched that video in the auditorium on Saturday, speaking of the changing power of this extreme heat, was that before the week was over, we would all be put through the fire.
One week later, after tragedy coursed through our veins, spilled our tears, I found myself physically in a glass-blowing shop, remembering those words and realizing just how differently I was feeling them now.
And as I watched, these artisans took a firm, brittle, immutable stick of solid glass and put it into that Glory hole for one purpose. It wasn't to punish the glass, it was so they could transform it into something new, something use-able. What was once simple and straight and ordinary was shaped by their careful hands, arced into something of beauty and, still burning with the heat of the fire, was attached as the handle to a pitcher. The purpose-less became purposeful. The ordinary became indispensable. And in joining together through the heat, the pitcher and the handle became one - a beautiful, yet functional, piece of art.
What God spoke to me in that moment was this - we must go through the fire if He is going to change us for His purpose.
Where we are unbending, the fires of life make us moldable, they allow Him to shape us. Some of these fires are stoked by God Himself, others are brought on by the darkness of our fallen world, but God can always use the heat to form us, if we allow Him.
If we are to be used by Him, we must be molded by Him.
It is our choice - will we permit the fires of this life to melt us into an inglorious heap, or will we place ourselves into the hands of the master Craftsman, the only One Who can make us into something beautiful - His redeemed elegance?
During our time there, they showed a video (which I had seen previously, thanks to a wonderful friend who had already shared on her blog how God had touched her through the same message - He sure does make beautiful things, regardless of the distance). The video likens the process of blowing glass, particularly the molding of previously broken pieces into a beautiful work of art, redeemed elegance they call it, to our lives in Christ - as pieces broken through the process of life, molded together into something more precious than we could have imagined.
As the artist described the process, he emphasized the name for the heating chamber into which the work-in-progress is placed - the Glory hole. And he says this, "You put a piece of glass inside that glory hole, I promise you this: it's going to change."
We never step away from His Glory unchanged.
What none of us knew as we watched that video in the auditorium on Saturday, speaking of the changing power of this extreme heat, was that before the week was over, we would all be put through the fire.
One week later, after tragedy coursed through our veins, spilled our tears, I found myself physically in a glass-blowing shop, remembering those words and realizing just how differently I was feeling them now.
And as I watched, these artisans took a firm, brittle, immutable stick of solid glass and put it into that Glory hole for one purpose. It wasn't to punish the glass, it was so they could transform it into something new, something use-able. What was once simple and straight and ordinary was shaped by their careful hands, arced into something of beauty and, still burning with the heat of the fire, was attached as the handle to a pitcher. The purpose-less became purposeful. The ordinary became indispensable. And in joining together through the heat, the pitcher and the handle became one - a beautiful, yet functional, piece of art.
What God spoke to me in that moment was this - we must go through the fire if He is going to change us for His purpose.
Where we are unbending, the fires of life make us moldable, they allow Him to shape us. Some of these fires are stoked by God Himself, others are brought on by the darkness of our fallen world, but God can always use the heat to form us, if we allow Him.
If we are to be used by Him, we must be molded by Him.
It is our choice - will we permit the fires of this life to melt us into an inglorious heap, or will we place ourselves into the hands of the master Craftsman, the only One Who can make us into something beautiful - His redeemed elegance?
29 April 2013
Of Loss
I have struggled with whether I should write this post, whether I have "the right." My husband and I both, as we grieve for a man with whom we can count the number of individual conversations we've had on one had, have struggled with the burden of a pain we feel unjustified in having. Not because we have not been impacted, but because we know there are those whose sorrow runs much deeper.
Yet, justified or not, there are two scenes running a constant loop in my mind. The first being the moment on Wednesday night, when I stood in the hall of our church and heard the words I would never have imagined in my entire life. From the tone of the voice in the question, "Have you heard?" I knew I was facing something serious. The name that came next flooded me with dread - not this, not one of ours - and the rest of the sentence, the means by which his life ended much too soon, were unthinkable. And though I stood strong at the time, painted on the face of ignorance for those who did not yet know and carried on, I have since fallen to my knees at reliving that one moment.
Almost immediately after, my brain brings to mind the image, for some reason, of his boots. The cowboy boots that were his Sunday best, peeking out under his jeans as he casually crossed his ankle over his knee in the second row of our Sunday School class less than three days before. A semi-photographic memory clings to the strangest images at times and this is one of them. I see those crossed legs, the arm wrapped around the back of his wife's chair, his easy laugh as he shares his plans for the week. A week that was never finished.
And though I know our personal interaction had been limited, I also know we were family, in a way I would never have thought possible until I entered this Sunday School class - a class with whom we live our daily struggles and celebrate our joys, where the word "Unspoken" is rarely spoken and transparency is par for the course. We share our flaws, we praise the Lord for our successes. Though introverts like Philip and I are rarely known for actively participating in discussion, we are there. When we speak we are heard, but more often, we are listening. We know each and every person that has come to share life in our circle.
This "class" isn't confined to four walls or a certain time on Sunday mornings. We have traveled together from first years of marriage to first pregnancies, through losses and gains, joining together at that precious time in our lives when we are learning who we are, both as adults and, more importantly, as followers of Christ. Rarely are we all in one place at one time, but always our hearts are together.
So how could we lose one of our own? And how can we continue to rejoice with one another when this is where living life together has carried us? How can the overwhelming joy at his announcement at the class Christmas party over their coming blessing turn to such sorrow before we've even welcomed the baby into our arms?
And, most of all, how could anyone who hasn't met him even begin to understand what we have lost? We have lost a passion that ignites us, a motivating force to action when many of us only ask, "What can we do?", a contagious love for life and for people. All of this contained in the spirit of one person. One person who has left us.
This is how two people, who rarely spoke with such a man one-on-one, find ourselves grieving - tears on the floor, prayers lifted up, sorrow poured out - grieving. Because he was one of our own and his presence will always be felt.
Yet, justified or not, there are two scenes running a constant loop in my mind. The first being the moment on Wednesday night, when I stood in the hall of our church and heard the words I would never have imagined in my entire life. From the tone of the voice in the question, "Have you heard?" I knew I was facing something serious. The name that came next flooded me with dread - not this, not one of ours - and the rest of the sentence, the means by which his life ended much too soon, were unthinkable. And though I stood strong at the time, painted on the face of ignorance for those who did not yet know and carried on, I have since fallen to my knees at reliving that one moment.
Almost immediately after, my brain brings to mind the image, for some reason, of his boots. The cowboy boots that were his Sunday best, peeking out under his jeans as he casually crossed his ankle over his knee in the second row of our Sunday School class less than three days before. A semi-photographic memory clings to the strangest images at times and this is one of them. I see those crossed legs, the arm wrapped around the back of his wife's chair, his easy laugh as he shares his plans for the week. A week that was never finished.
And though I know our personal interaction had been limited, I also know we were family, in a way I would never have thought possible until I entered this Sunday School class - a class with whom we live our daily struggles and celebrate our joys, where the word "Unspoken" is rarely spoken and transparency is par for the course. We share our flaws, we praise the Lord for our successes. Though introverts like Philip and I are rarely known for actively participating in discussion, we are there. When we speak we are heard, but more often, we are listening. We know each and every person that has come to share life in our circle.
This "class" isn't confined to four walls or a certain time on Sunday mornings. We have traveled together from first years of marriage to first pregnancies, through losses and gains, joining together at that precious time in our lives when we are learning who we are, both as adults and, more importantly, as followers of Christ. Rarely are we all in one place at one time, but always our hearts are together.
So how could we lose one of our own? And how can we continue to rejoice with one another when this is where living life together has carried us? How can the overwhelming joy at his announcement at the class Christmas party over their coming blessing turn to such sorrow before we've even welcomed the baby into our arms?
And, most of all, how could anyone who hasn't met him even begin to understand what we have lost? We have lost a passion that ignites us, a motivating force to action when many of us only ask, "What can we do?", a contagious love for life and for people. All of this contained in the spirit of one person. One person who has left us.
This is how two people, who rarely spoke with such a man one-on-one, find ourselves grieving - tears on the floor, prayers lifted up, sorrow poured out - grieving. Because he was one of our own and his presence will always be felt.
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