We've moved...

we have cleaned up a bit and put on a new address that is a little more us...

and, if you've missed me as much as I've missed you, come join me....

www.theunseenparent.com

blessings seem to come in Michael's around here...

Michael Thompson, thankful for your creativity and heart. you are a mighty fine artist if i say so myself....

Square Peg, Round Hole

"Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained." C.S. Lewis

'I lead them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love' Hosea 11:4

Late summer morning breaks. I turn thirty-three.
Ten years this man has known me.
Years no longer defined by the me, but by the 'us.'
Heart is found where thoughts wander.

He returns. Ring forgotten. He didn't make it far.
Father's gift to me placed in a moment with the other.
I unwrap presence as he clasps band of gold.
This man wears sacrifice well.

Trees like paint brushes drip their beauty as fall covers the earth.
Fire crackles as nine years circle around.
I am just now learning to fight the good fight.
Marriage is about the wrestling, not the boxing.

Ring around the rosy; pocket full of posies. 
Ashes, ashes; we all fall down.
Form the ashes, we rise...

Our first dance barely over, I selfishly demanded fullness of heart on a platter.
I broke the sacred circle by dragging him into my ring of boxing.
This man was to be mine, instead of the 'us' being His.
I labelled, diagnosed, compartmentalized it all.
Each box dealt a decisive blow; my sharp edges dug deep.
Perceptions murdered intimacy.
Expectations created suffocating limits.
Discontentment bred isolation.
I retreated to the stoney-shadow of my corners.
Fighting to answer the 'me,' walls you in deep.
Life will not be tied up in neat little boxes.
For within the steady march of the Sacred, the walls come tumbling down.
He came to set-free.

Ring around the rosy; pocket full of posies. 
Ashes, ashes; we all fall down. 
From the ashes, we rise...

From behind, he grabs in playful wrestle.

Caught off my guard, I still like to play my way.
I relent. I turn. I see past the 'me.'
There is no fighting fair, only acceptance of Love poured out.
A beard of white and chestnut scratches deep.
Time has marched in, in spite of my demands.
This man wears our wrestling well.
Crumbling came with war-cries of joy. 
We enter the Dance.
Light shines fully.

Ring around the rosy; pocket full of posies. 
Ashes, ashes; we all fall down.
From the ashes, we rise...

When you fight the good fight, even battle becomes play.

After all, it is not about the 'me,' the 'us,' but about the I AM.

Wrestling to dancing; wrestling to dancing; wrestling to dancing...the rhythm of scared covenant.

'Pure gold put in the fire comes out of it proved pure...' 1 Peter 1:6 The Message

To my unseen parent and spouse: Thank you for the good gift of fighting. Thank you for wrestling with and for us. By your grace, teach us to fight well, forsaking the boxing, that Truth may flower through the upturned soil of humility. In your mercy, may we bravely face our struggles in the sanctity and sanctuary of the Dance. May our battles become your play. Thank you for Promise.

To my 'I-do' man: My greatest glories have been silently at your side, and at times it hurts when I am not used by Him to make your dreams come true. Forgive me for wanting to be part of all your dreams.  May our cherished memories together be of the Dance. Where would the fun be if you married the right person.

"In a word, live together in the forgiveness of your sins, for without it no human fellowship, least of all a marriage, can survive. Don’t insist on your rights, don’t blame each other, don’t judge or condemn each other, don’t find fault with each other, but accept each other as you are, and forgive each other every day from the bottom of your hearts…”  Deitrich Bonhoeffeur

I am a bit clingy...

"From the heights we leap and go
To the valleys down below
Always answering to the call
To the lowest place of all
From the heights we leap and go
To the valleys down below
Sweetest urge and sweetest will
To go lower, lower still." Hannah Hurnard's Hinds' Feet On High Places

 Early morning, I slip out of bed. Coffee brews; cinnamon rolls warm. Smells tingle and touch as Word stirs my quiet places.
Son speaks as sun rises, and the call has come for Life in motion.
Red-curls soundly sleeps in the solace of father.

I stop. I turn.

My cheek touches his. I breathe him in, the beginning of Holy Kiss.
Are we ever more precious to God than when we are resting in Him.
I breathe in to treasure, trying to hold on.
Yet, hold on to tightly, eternity suffocates.

If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, its yours forever.
Exhale haunts. I must breathe Red-curls out.

Motherhood feels like tight-rope walking. I delicately attempt to balance between the confidence of devotion and the humility of letting go. Holding breath, I walk a straight line grasping the bar of control and standards. My mission, to demonstrate God's secure foundation of Love while remembering that these littles are ultimately His, not mine. It seems impossible.

The eminence of breathing out is never more apparent than in the breathing in; One carves truest beauty out of the other.

Bird fidgets as the Body worships.
Discovering a perch, she nestles beneath my wing.
Prayer of adoration rings in cacophony to Voice...
'Let them praise his name with dancing, making melody to him with tambourine.'
This Meriam of mine, who cares for two brothers, I breathe her in. How Bird loves to hear her story. Generations of sisters to lead across the sea praising with tambourines.
Life cut short if she was to be only mine.
Word reminds, 'with man it is impossible, but not with God.'

Breathe in; Breathe out...the Life rhythm of faith...

There is no tight-rope, just the vertical line of grace.
Life is not about a climax, but about the downward spiral of humility.
The humility of letting go is confidence in His devotion.

Mother Mary kissed by the Spirit. She said yes to an angel.

Trust fall began.

She breathed child in deeply, 'treasuring up all these things in her heart, knowing 'a sword would pierce through her own soul.'

Purpose called. Word spoke, 'Who is my mother?'

Breathing out. I commit.

Mother exhaled fully in Son's last breath. The hard ground of humility quaked at the foot of the cross. The canopy of Truth dropped; the grace lines fell around a group of vagabond women. Iron sharpening iron grasping lines creating a net that would carry from last breath to New Life. Indeed, the lines fell in pleasant places. Theirs was a beautiful inheritance.

If you love something, let is go. If it comes back it will be yours forever.

Mary lost fullness of belly, gaining fullness of Heart.
Breathing out, mother became child.

Free-will, He let us go. We did not come back, so He carved the Way. Holy Kiss complete.

Breathe in; breathe out. I commit.

Cling to the cross; drop the bar.

To my unseen parent: Help me treasure deeply through the breathing in and breathing out of the Holy Kiss where the pain of your goodness and the transcendence of your peace mingle. Keep me in the sanctuary of your rest where it matters not if I make sense of it all. Thank you for the vagabond women who dare me to jump, push me to the edge of myself, and carry me from one breath to the next when the hard ground of humility has knocked the Wind right out of me.

"Steadfast love and faithfulness meet; righteousness and peace kiss each other. Faithfulness springs up from the ground and righteousness looks down from the sky. Yes, the Lord will give what is good, and our land will yield its increase. Righteousness will go before him and makes his footsteps a Way." Psalm 86:10-12

Forget-Me-Knots

"What is serious to men is often very trivial in the sight of God. What in God might appear to us as"play" is perhaps what He Himself takes most seriously. At any rate the Lord plays and diverts Himself in the garden of His creation, and if we could let go of our own obsession with what we think is the meaning of it all, we might be able to hear His call and follow Him in His mysterious, cosmic dance. We do not have to go very far to catch echoes of that game, and of that dancing. When we are alone on a starlit night; when by chance we see the migrating birds in autumn descending on a grove of junipers to rest and eat; when we see children in a moment where they are really children; when we know love in our own hearts; or when, like the Japanese poet Basho we hear an old frog land in a quiet pond with a solitary splash-at such times the awakening, the turning inside out of all values, the "newness," the emptiness and the purity of vision that make themselves evident, provide a glimpse of the cosmic dance.
For the world and time are the dance of the Lord in emptiness. The silence of the spheres is the music of a wedding feast. The more we persist in misunderstanding the phenomena of life, the more we analyze them out into strange finalities and complex purposes of our own, the more we involve ourselves in sadness, absurdity and despair. But it does not matter much, because no despair of ours can alter the reality of things, or stain the joy of the cosmic dance which is always there. Indeed, we are in the midst of it, and it is in the midst of us, for it beats in our very blood, whether we want it to or not.
Yet the fact remains that we are invited to forget ourselves on purpose, cast our awful solemnity to the winds and join in the general dance." Thomas Merton's New Seeds of Contemplation

Momnesia (urban dictionary): a condition in which memory is disturbed or lost due to having children.

"Come to me all of you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Matthew 11: 28, 30

Jesus universal call to all who chase after a gaggle of littles...

i am...
weary from toys that magically reproduce when collected...
weary from a laundry pile that gawks at me...
weary from the how-to's of getting 1, 2, and 3 to points A, B, and C...
heavy-laden from the whining of my mouth, more than theirs...
heavy-laden from my plans, perceptions, and expectations wreaking havoc on my Home...
heavy-laden from the office of my head with its lists of to-do's...

Momnesia...there is no cure...the condition only worsens the larger your gaggle grows...

i forget...
i forget if i have taken a shower.
i forget Blue-eyes' Jersey Days.
i forget which little i am calling..."Whitt. No, Mae. Bruce, Yes! I am talking to you."
i forget the date, sometimes the year.
i forget if I have ordered a book or not.
i even forget that I have forgotten.

No cure, but Promise.
'I will give you rest.'

Could our cure be in the forgetting? Is momnesia a grace blessing?
His Promise...I am giving you this beautiful, enormous, magnificent, overwhelming, thrilling, monumental, and scary call of feeding my lambs. Come to me. I will send that head of yours to hell in a hand basket. I will cast your performance of self as far as the east is to the west, that your heart may rise due north.

Momnesia just might be the recalling of God's Truth-memory in me, purpose of heart with renewal of mind. This upside-down God of mine uses the littles to raise me, and it is out of my raising up, my restoration, EVERY SINGLE DAY, that I parent. Motherhood demands nothing less than the collecting of Promise.

Forgetting to remember...
'my yoke is easy and my burden is light'

It is in the forgetting that I remember. I don't have to take myself so seriously because I have a God who is seriously in love with me.

In the forgetting, I remember to catch frogs and turtles who climb...to parade around as a pirate to capture Heaven's treasure for ice cream...to grow Red curls' hair for three years because God gives the boys the best hair and longest eyelashes so why not live out that glory just a bit longer...to let my Cindy-lou Who blow her nose in my coffee every morning as she asks 'What smell like?' (we have the same germs any way)...to soak in all the clothes in that gawking pile with their memories etched in grass stains, blood, and dirt...and, those extra books, well, they just might be for other gaggle-chasing friends who wow me with bravery in the forgetting...

In the forgetting, I remember that the best of Life has no agenda, but purpose.

In the forgetting, I remember Love abounds in His windows and details.

In the forgetting, I remember to play this game of hide and seek. He hides the 'me' as I seek Him in the surprise gifts of Truth bubble-bursting moments.

Blue-eyes sparkles, a willow wisp of a boy-man..."Mommy, Mommy! Did you see that spit bubble pop!?! It is just like a boat sailing on my tongue!"

Jesus' littles on this earth, his disciples, they were sailors; they knew what it was like to be blown by the wind.

"Truly, truly, I say to you, when you were young, you used to dress yourself and walk wherever you wanted, but when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will dress you and carry you."

When Peter was old, he became a child. He stretched his arms up as Jesus dressed him in robes of righteousness, then carried him place to place. He embraced the forgetting for the remembering. The familiar comfort of the Almighty wind filling his heart-sails blowing him about feeding lambs, building the church amongst the storms. The Rock found peace in the eye of the hurricane.

Momnesia...

Of course, I am crazy because Jesus is head over heels crazy for me.
He loves me so much He turned this world upside down that I may be in this world, not of it. Yes, I am crazy, and by His grace, I get crazier and crazier every day as He undoes the knots of forgetting...

And, all you gaggle-chasers who wow me and make my heart melt over and over with adoration...He is crazy head over heels for you too.

"God created us out of the laughter of the Trinity" Meister Eckhart

To my unseen parent: Create in me a mama who listens much, speaks little, and laughs easy with a willingness to go wherever the Wind takes me. Thank you for using the littles to make me your child day after day. Use them to move me from tasks to the freeing Life-rhythm of the Dance.

"Out of the mouths of infants and children, you declare praise..." Psalm 8:2

Big Boys Do Cry...

"So much is distilled in our tears, not the least of which is wisdom in living life. From my own tears I have learned that if you follow your tears, you will find your heart. If you find your heart, you will find what is dear to God. And if you find what is dear to God, you will find the answer to how you should live your life." Ken Gire's Windows of the Soul

"You have kept count of my tossings;
put my tears in your bottle.
Are they not in your book?" Psalm 56:8

It's a five-fire alarm as a steady stream of tears stings Blue-eyes cheeks; the siren of his voice blaring into my inner sanctuary. Head and heart throbbing; the walls of my inner 'peace' come crumbling down.

I feel as if I cannot bare the ear-piercing noise once again, but Truth reminds that it is my fear of helplessness leaving me defeated. The narcissism of my failure and the insecurities of being blind-sided with a torrent of emotion constrict Love's care.
Blue-eyes is hurt; I did not protect.
There is seemingly 'nothing' I can do except step in his storm calling to the One who quiets.
My cry of defeat, this nothing, releases the Power of everything to the hurt of Blue-eyes and the pity of me.

My boy lives; my boy loves; my boy spills.
Big Boys do cry...

I get lower and gather.
Tears magnify the beauty of bright Blue-eyes.
He takes my breath away as Breath of Life enters.
Crystal clear Blue-eyes entering a sea of cloudiness.
In a world controlled by science and logic, these eyes declare the fabric of Life.
His eyes bare his soul, reflecting the clarity and willingness with which this boy feels.

My boy lives; my boy loves; my boy spills.
Big Boys do cry...

His tears wet my feet washing me clean.
In the beginning, the springs from within rose up watering the land.
Somewhere I lost my way, and the purity of my tears ceased.
I forgot. I forgot.
I forgot that tears hollow out creating more room for the Son.
Dawn always breaks with dew on the grass.
The Son shone through Mary's tears bringing Life to Lazarus,
"Unbind him, and let him go." John 11:44
Over and over my son's tears unbind me; Blue-eyes revives the letting go in me.
Didn't my mama always say, "When you need to cry, let it all out!"
A reflected gift in a sea of many; My heart-eyes made clearer as the water rises.

My boy lives; my boy loves; my boy spills.
Big Boys do cry...

Through the lens of a camera, Blue-eyes ages to thirteen.
I have reawakened to fear, a future of hormonal confusion and a period of wall-building.
'In mercy, keep the wellspring open, Father. The water that flowed from Jesus' side must have been your tears. In your grace, give him tears, Father, that he might soak in the Son.'

Self-control is never in the not crying, but rather in allowing those tears to lead to the Father's heart.

Christ lives; Christ loves; Christ spilled...
Big Boys do cry...

"I have heard your prayer; I have seen your tears. Behold I will heal you." 2 Kings 20:5

"What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion's eyes. They were such a big, bright tears compared with Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself." C.S. Lewis' The Magician's Nephew

Blue-eyes, you are the bravest of boys. Truth warriors know that tears take you to the King's front lines. Thank you for recalling my tears...

Caught with his pants down...

Hesed is the consistent, ever-faithful, relentless, constantly-pursuing, lavish, extravagant, unrestrained, furious love of our Father God.

"Indeed, when we understand the true nature of His love for us, we will prefer to come to Him poor and helpless. We will never be ashamed of our distress. Distress is to our advantage when we have nothing to seek but mercy. We can be glad of our helplessness when we really believe that His power is made perfect in our infirmity." Thomas Merton's Thoughts in Solitude

"Come let us return to the Lord; for He has torn us, that He may heal us; He has struck us down, and He will bind us up...let us press on to know the Lord; His going out is sure as the dawn; He will come to us as the showers, as the spring rains that water the earth." Hosea 6:1,3

Red curls is a puddle of sorrow and anger at my feet. His words cut deeply into his brother's heart. Rebuked by his father that he might remember to honor.

Loving in grace always requires guarding the Truth in our hearts and others.

Behind closed doors, the bathroom had been the fighting arena; the filth of his words abusing another, "STUPID! STUPID! You are STUPID! STUPID-HEAD."

His father hears it all. Red curls has been caught with his pants down. His father proves jealous over guarding both son's heart.

Stripped of a love-coping, the anger of his loss has taken over any memory to cover. He races over, flinging himself at my feet. A mass of Red curls beautifully bare, naked as the day I first met him. He is taken back to the beginning.

"No creature is hidden from His sight, all are naked and exposed..." Hebrews 4:13

He never acknowledges, never looks at my eyes. Humiliation still lingers in his desperation. The pride of life is a layered mistress.

His sorrow becomes my joy for opportunity arises to cast off the chains of self-love for the Truth bond of Love's mercy.

Hesed transforms from the esteeming of self to expected confidence in the work and character of our God.

But, I must wait for my boy is stuck. Stuck in the middle ground. Anger consumes. Anger over circumstance, anger over his rebuke, anger with his father, and finally truth-pointing...anger with himself. His desperation calls for presence, but his humiliation will not allow Love's healing touch.

To often I have settled for the middle ground. The foolishness of my pride refusing His healing touch; the fear of my heart doubting His goodness.

The middle ground where I need, but cannot bare.

The middle ground where I resist, but desire.

The middle ground where I fear being undone, but long to be rid of 'me.'

The middle-ground is a most dangerous place to be; it is a mirage in the wastelands for Christ stands in the middle that we may never have to.

I slowly trace circles on Red curls back inviting him into the divine healing dance. He cringes, but remains. The letting go has begun. He slowly moves closer inch by inch until his head rests on my lap. I lift and cover as his father and I draw him in. Wholeness of relationship deepened and restored.

Time and time again, He lovingly rubs away the patterns of self in my life. He patiently waits as I inch closer and closer. He lifts with garments and covers with robes that I may feel the fullness of His embrace.

His love is radical, and His promises are true. His jealousy and mercy are the working agents of His Holiness in me. One magnifies the other, and sometimes the Light of His love is so great that I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass. It is in those moments that His grace both rains down and reigns over me.

He is a King of two touches. He subdues hearts by saving, and rules by healing. We must live dangerously that our hearts may recognize the fullness of our safety in Him.

"Without holiness, no one will see the Lord." Hebrews 12:14

'Here I am.' The Word in us He longs to hear.

Taking all of me...His Hesed.

"We must hide our unholiness in the wounds of Christ as Moses hid himself in the cleft of the rock while the glory of God passed by. We must take refuge from God in God. Above all we must believe that God sees us as perfect in His Son while He disciplines and chastens and purges us that we may be partakers of His holiness. A. W. Tozer's Knowledge of the Holy

Home is where the Heart is...

"Spiritual life seems to be about seeing and harvesting. Seeing the holy in the ordinary! Harvesting angels out of what appears to be the crumbs of daily existence! ...Holiness comes wrapped in the ordinary. There are burning bushes all around you. Every tree is full of angels. Hidden beauty is waiting in every crumb. Life wants to lead you from crumbs to angels, but this can only happen if you are willing to unwrap the ordinary by staying with it long enough to harvest its treasure." Macrina Wiederkehr's A Tree Full of Angels

"Cast your bread upon the waters, for you will find it again and again..." Ecclesiastes 11:1

She sits down, a little one barely walking upon her lap. My boys tumble past, in a dustball of boyhood ambition.

Barely-walking uses first words to love-name my whirlwind..."Baby! Baby!" She trumpets.

Mother speaks with cowered fear, "I am so sorry, ma'am! I am so sorry! She calls everyone a baby."

Gently moving forward, I churn the soil, "Well, those are my babies." Shoulders relax; her body opens. Yet, her eyes are still shadowed.

I bend down to my knees; bowing, this place to behold greatness. A shift in perspective creates opening; getting lower always precedes vision.

This beautiful mother living a stones throw away in a seemingly different world. Hers one of hardship and struggle; mine of ease and comfort. Worlds marked by the distinct polarization of haves and have-nots; both shadowlands to the soul.

The Light of the gospel is far brighter than the darkening confusion of this world.

A white-plastic barrett catches my eye...ANGEL. Mother allows me to soak in her Barely-walking.

Sitting at her feet, I shake this planting. "What is her name?"

Blooming with confidence. Her eyes full; she boldly unwraps. With a declaration of celebration, "Eden. Eden Zion."

She clings to Hope. She casts the grace-line ending the tug of war.

Tears choke. As if speaking to myself, I whisper, "Eden, where we came from. Zion, where we are going."

She nods. She recognizes. My heart full and longing.

"I cannot wait until we get there!"

She smiles, "Me too, sister! Me too!"

Could this be what washing of the feet is all about?

Sitting and listening, recognizing the Voice that you may walk a mile in another's shoes, seeing their trail to the Tree. The place where two worlds collide making all things new.

When I leave her, anxiety builds...as if I leave pieces of me behind. My heart recognized Home in this Marah-mother. She who wakes to bitter waters, and clings to the Branch; she who casts to make sweet. What if I never see her again...

The Light of the gospel is far brighter than the darkening confusion of this world.

Home is where the heart is, and we are not Home yet. Pieces are scattered throughout this world...sit, listen, recognize, wash, gather.

Where two or three are gathered...

I came to serve, but I received. I gave bread; she gave Presence. Two mothers in two worlds serving One. Two mothers in two worlds wanting the One thing that is everything for our children...the King of false polarities...Jesus.

We cling. We cast. We contend.

"in Him all things hold together." Colossians 1:17

Together. Gathered in Zion.

"Community cannot grow out of loneliness, but comes when the person who begins to recognize his or her belovedness greets the belovedness of the other. The God alive in me greets the God resident in you. When people can cease having to be for us everything, we can accept the fact they may still have a gift for us. They are partial reflections of the great love of God, but only once we give up requiring that person to be everything, to be God. We see him or her as limited expression of an unlimited love." Henri J. M. Nouwen's Turn My Mourning Into Dancing

Rushing to Time..

Sleep lingers in little eyes. The hustle and bustle of school serving as a rather rude awakening.

It is one of those mornings. Nerves are exposed dangerously close to the surface; raw emotions ripe for the picking. There is dissension amongst my troops. Agitation builds.

A whirlwind of to-do's consumes perspective. I look into the far to near future instead of persevering towards Eternity by remaining in the present.

"Please go ahead and eat. We need to get to school!!" My words ring hollow for I speak in the tongues of men not angels...my voice that of a noisy gong, a clanging cymbal.

They see the ugly in me all to vividly; my heart knows it. Frustration builds.

In a rush, I clumsily and callously chip both dishes and souls. I am in the sinking sand of the hourglass.

Rushing is the enemy's playground; a busy soul always speeds up a clock.

Hurry. Hurry. The enemy lies; chaos abounds.

Creativity stolen. The joy of Presence left behind.

More orders are barked. Then, I remember ORDER...

"Remember, O God, my life is but a breath." Job 7:7

My life is but a breath, and yet I am Eternity's breath.

Follow His order, and Time is for the taking.

Stop. Breath. Remember your God.

Time never flys when you are having His fun for you are living within the realm of eternity. Joshua, the warrior-mystique, watched the sun stand still on that majestic hill country as Time hailed victory down.

And, aren't we as mothers, warrior-mystiques? Aren't we doing battle everyday in this culture of busyness? Yet, Victory rains grace down. We have the Son not only over us, but in us. He calls us to play.

"Perhaps our most hidden sin is that we have so little time for one another. We need to relearn how to relate eye to eye, hand to hand, heart to heart. We have to encourage one another to keep walking toward Jesus, toward joy, toward truth. Edward Farrell's Free to be Nothing

Stop. Breathe. Remember your God.

I hit the ground running to the only Time and place a daughter of the King should be rushing to...the cross.

I bow before my three, look them in the eyes, and ask for forgiveness. Hands touch one another's hearts, and we enter the Presence. We reclaim the morning by dancing...dancing to Eternity. Red curls rocket through the air; Bird cuckoos in a caucaphony of laughter; Blue-eyes sparkles in a wave of break-dancing as we break the pressured time contraints of this world. Time stands still.

Stop. Breathe. Remember your God.

"Be still and know that I am God." Psalm 46:10

Live the Life of our King, a series of interruptions purposefully leading to the cross where Time is poured out.

"We redeem time when we allow a moment or a series of moments to become for us a vehicle of God's presence. To redeem time is to make time transparent so that we experience not as pressure, but as a sign of the Holy." James C. Fenhangen's Ministry and Solitude

Morning Flight

"Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing, you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect." Romans 12:2

metamorphoo (greek)-'transformed by the renewing of your mind'

metamorphosis

She sits in the car speaking of painted ladies as we make our way to a release...

"Monarchs, Muffins, and Moms"...they are not monarchs she proclaims; they are the species painted ladies...

Painted ladies...yes, I know that species far too well for in my caterpillar state there is much self-painting. Strokes of self-worth, coverings of self-image, concealers of self-protection all blending together into one ugly mess. His artwork covered over. I live in the dirt of an abandoned garden.

Caterpillar number eleven, Bird has taken for her own. This one falling short of the twelve. A number of imperfection and insufficiency, yet Bird sees value. She heralds eleven's transformation with a love-naming...Jewel...the sparkle of Hope; she anticipates change.

"In the same way I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born', says the Lord" Isaiah 66:9

Jerked from my womb in a torrent of confusion and noise, Bird entered the dirt. Fear choked as her heart rate dropped. Pain had worn me thin, and yet it was her glance that wrecked me. Breathless beauty anticipating growth.

This reflective stare of hers. She sees the caterpillars in me without judging. She mirrors the necessity of my change with a love-naming...mommy.

Bird rushes in the door. Jewel has entered chrysalis. A cocoon of silk thread ushering in transformation. She is ready to be more.

The stare convicts. Chrysalis begins. I enter the scarlet-threaded cocoon of His grace and truth. Darkness encloses, yet Light is there. I have entered the warmth of my God's womb. My unseen parent who is both father and mother giving birth to new Life in the garden. His breath drawing me from the dirt.

Bird announces the time is near. The cocoon is becoming transparent; the thinning out making way for Jewel's re-emergence.

I hand over my painted ladies one by one. There is confusion in what I am becoming; the pain sears as the "me" becomes thinner. Transparency grows, Truth shines in. I shed the self-skins in exchange for His wings of righteousness. His Love-flight made known.

Transparency draws the heart to worship; worship is our metamorphosis.

Jewel emerges fully encompassing her name; she is artwork ready to shine. Metamorphosis complete. Bird watches in astonishment as Jewel takes morning flight.

Morning by morning new mercies I see...

"We are all pregnant with possibilities of spiritual growth and moral beauty so great that they cannot be adequately described as anything less than the formation of Jesus Christ in our lives." John Ortberg

Bird: Thank you for challenging my painted ladies. I pray you see more butterfly days in the future.

To my mother: Thank you for sharing each step of your flight in Him this year with me.

A Whole Bunch of Awesomeness

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick; but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

Four days and counting, Red curls has morphed into spiderman...a spiderman, that is, with an uncanny resemblance to Bozo the clown in fireman boots.

Without a care in the world, he marches through stores, playgrounds, carpool lines, and school leaving a trail of smiles.

"A desire fulfilled is sweet to the soul." Proverbs 13:19

I watch as hearts skip a beat; I watch eyes feast on my boy in laughter, and yet I see something deeper in the gazes...a recognition...a longing...a return for what once was.

A time when Hope reigned over our existence...

A time when it was natural to be a whole bunch of awesomeness parading through the Life spreading joy...

When is the shift...

When does it become a battle...

To lovingly live into the unique, intricate, beautiful beings each one of us was made to be...

To stop taking ourselves so seriously that we forget the great intentionality of laughter...

To stop listening to other's thoughts of us intead of our Creator...

When does laughter transform into self-deprecation instead of rejoicing?

When do we start seeing everything in black and white instead of the Grace-filled rainbow of His Kingdom?

When do we lose the mission of Hope?

When do we stop daring?

"Left to ourselves, we can never handle our own uniqueness. We have to give the burden of "being me" to God's care and nurture. But in doing this, we discover more of the greatness of our loving Father. For if God is indeed God, then he has a separate perception and thought for everything that exists. Every creature at every moment is specifically known and sustained by him. An infinite love has an infinite attention to loving each creature in its own specific way. As Jesus said, not a hair on our head goes unnoticed by our heavenly Father. Because of this, it is no idle pretense of false arrogance on our part to believe that each one of us has a unique journey to make in the company of God. It is this profound individuation of our whole life before God that gives us substance to the reality: He loved me; he gave himself for me." James Houston's The Transforming Power of Prayer

Sanctification is a recognition...a longing...a return to what once was.

Our superhero has come, and He did not just come to save the day. Jesus moved heaven and hell that we may share the riches of eternity with Him.

Dare to see yourself through the Truth of His eyes...

Dare to laugh...

Dare to Hope...

Dare to fulfill the true desire of your heart...

Dare to live the mission...

Know who you are, then you will know what you can give...

A whole bunch of awesomeness parading through the Life spreading joy...

The Many Faces of Red

"Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened. Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil know how to give good gifts to your children,how much more will your Father in heaven give..." Luke 11:9-13

I see no place to rest his head. I search for more; there must be more. Racing past the Answer. My haste makes waste. I refuse to open the door of the moment.

Boy-mine finds rest within His Father's world. A bed of wood on a porch with a breeze. And, wasn't a stone-cold manger room enough for the baby-King. This King who stands at the door and knocks.

Red curls accepts the offering before him; he honors the secret. Acceptance creates room for Magnificence. For when there was no room, Mercy made the Way.

My haste has made waste. I have handed out snakes in a world-wind of rushing. In a search for more, I have slammed the door to endless possibility.

How much more will the Father give...

A morning with a breeze finds me humbling heart, body, and soul. Every inch gets lower as my door-opening son teaches the art of contentedness. We use every God-given sense to explore the created that we may receive the full blessing of the Creator. As I physically get lower, I see the richness of Life. Contentedness is not a brave face, but a myriad of moments all displaying the face of the one, true God.

Acceptance creates room for Magnificence. For when there was no room, Mercy made the Way.

"The secret of being in love, of falling in love with life as it was meant to be, is to befriend our yearning instead of avoiding it, to live into our longing rather than trying to resolve it, to enter the spaciousness of our emptiness rather than trying to fill it up." Gerald May's The Awakened Heart

Beautiful Dreamer

"There is nothing-no thing, no person, no experience, no thought, no joy or pain-that cannot be harvested and used for nourishment on our journey to God." Macrina Wiederkehr's A Tree Full of Angels

"As they pass through the Valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs..." Psalm 84:6

"Passing through the Valley of Weeping, look for the springs, confident of the season of healing..." Prayer Portions

On the way to school, Bird dons a pink dress with white daisies, captivating beauty chattering in the back seat.

Upon arrival, chatter ceases as a steady stream of uniforms pours into school. Mama sparrow has mixed up picture day.

I face Bird with "I am so sorry."

With amazing grace, her brown eyes meet mine with a reflective response, "No big deal."

She bravely jumps out of the car, her tiny body framed by a giant backpack, moving forward.

I pull away feeling helpless. The constricting snake of anxiety coils around my heart. The "what-ifs" and "if only's" multiply...What if other girls tease her? What if she is embarrassed? What are the costs to her heart for my failure? If only, I had remembered? If only, I were more organized? The final blow...If only, I were a better mom?

The next moment I remember a friend's words, "Mae is a unique combination of humility and quiet confidence..."

Hurt humbles; His love heals...Confidence grows...Amazing Grace...

I felt helpless upon her birth as she arrived six weeks early. I felt helpless a week before her first birthday as I was placed on bed rest. The memory of her mind may have no record, but her heart recalls. These moments when a mother's touch seems like everything, and her mother wasn't there.

I have seen her hurt, and I have hurt as I patiently waited for her to dare to trust again. He has been the parent behind the scenes as He taught me to parent in the unseen.

Hurt humbles; His love heals...Confidence grows...Amazing Grace...

Over the next hour, I pray for my girl in all the details and "what-if" scenarios; I allow my Father to be the parent until I am able to arrive uniform in hand.

My heart recognizes His familiar refrain for me...Helplessness is the beginning of true power, and grace is the beginning of glory. Live in my mercy; serve by my grace.

That afternoon as we venture in Narnia, those brown eyes look to me, "Mommy, this morning was kind of bad. It was annoying; everyone asked me why I didn't have my uniform on."

I listen; I acknowledge the pain; I thank her for her generous, forgiving, ever-growing heart. Then, I ask, "Did you remember in those moments before I got there that God loves you head to toe, heart and soul, just the way you are, all the time, and He could care less what you have on?!?"

She sweetly chirps, as a slight grin broadens into a gap-toothed smile, "Yes, mommy, I did, and thanks for bringing my uniform later." Just like that, she flits away.

Hurt humbles; His love heals...Confidence grows...Amazing Grace...

Moments later Bird busily begins work on a masterpiece. Moments turn into almost an hour, and then I hear her call. Her work is done; she hands over her offering, a stain-glassed picture of her love and her family.

I notice a small corner facet, "What does that say, Bird?"

"I love myself!" she replies...tears sting my eyes.

A friend's Truth,"Mae is a unique combination of humility and quiet confidence."

Hurt humbles; His love heals...Confidence grows...Amazing Grace...

She is His song; she is a beautiful dreamer growing before my very eyes...

From Bird's favorite of the summer... "He finally decided to play 'Beautiful Dreamer, Wake Unto Me.' He had always loved that song. It was sad and sweet. 'She is a beautiful dreamer,' thought Louis,'and she will wake unto me.' E.B. White's Trumpet of the Swan

Bird, when the hurt of this world tempts you to close off pieces of your heart, take your hurt to His love, beautiful dreamer, that you may trumpet His glory into eternity.

33

Saturday night, a friend says with loving excitement,"Your birthday is in a few days, right!?!.."

I respond nonchalantly,"yeah, thirty-three...no big deal, just another birthday."

An hour later, I go through my bedtime routine. With a mouth full of toothpaste, I hear Him..."I was thirty-three when I went to the cross for you. You are a big deal to me."

In a instant, I am humbled to tears and loved more deeply than I could imagine.

Thirty-three...

Thirty-three...

He was thirty-three when He made our Way...

Thirty-three will never be the same...

"Pleasing is the fragrance of your perfumes; your name is like perfume poured out." Song of Songs 1:3

He is the sweetness in the journey for at thirty-three He poured himself out...

And, His Truth resounds to all, 'You are a big deal to the I AM.'

I am a bit of a Masochist...

July is spent by His ocean, the beautiful beaches of North Carolina and Florida (thanks to the generosity of grandparents).

Each day a cycle of pjs to swimsuit to pjs again...

Each day a reminder of who He is as we stand at water's edge...His breadth and length and height and depth...His power-filled love...

I soak my three in fully. I am covered by them day after day like garments of praise. I stand in awe of my God as I caste my cares upon His water...

Simplicity and majesty...

As the lazy days of summer end, the intensity of togetherness makes re-entry all the more painful; a shift in life rhythm ushering in the sadness of change. I have loved the little years.

Yet, an eager anticipation stirs. For sadness and delight are lovers in the crazy heart of a daughter of the King.

For in my sadness, I know where to run, and I delight in the comfort of my Father's lap.

Time itself gives me the blessing of time. He listens to my heart and catches my tears, without ever letting my foot slip into self-pity...

His words wash over me...

His Truth, "These are my children given to you for a time. Remember I made them. I love them. I take care of them."

And, His Amazing grace, "This here and now, the comfort of my Presence, is yours for the taking. I AM yours, and you are mine. The best is yet to come."

My unchanging God amongst the changes whispers, "There is no managing, just faith in the mystery."

His peace is always full of passion for it was His passion that brought us everlasting peace.

Joy is daring to passionately "feel" again with our King. True Treasure that I wouldn't have any other Way.

Beginning to Fill

First days of summer, Blue-eyes sits at the kitchen counter, his legs lazily swing back and forth, words tumbling one after the other, "Mommy, make sure the cheese oozes out the side. Mommy, Mommy, you know I like it gooey. Mommy, Mommy guess what!? guess what!?"

He comes up for air, and I offer the afternoon plans...swim lessons.

Silence threatens...nine months without swimming has left Blue-eyes pregnant with anxiety...those crystal windows to his soul betray him, giving his heart away.

I pause to let the moment settle, sliding his grill cheese in front of him, figuring I will dive into this pool of fear with him after we pray.

Blue-eyes starts into his blessings "rhythm"....

"Dear God, You are good. You are great. Thank you for this food. Thank you for my family. Thank you for dogs..."

Suddenly transparency breaks "rhythm" as true blessings spill over, this beautiful boy humbles himself. His voice quivers; he chokes back tears...

"and, God, Can you please help me today during swim lessons. I am really scared. Can you please take the fear away? Can you help me be brave?"

Blue-eyes moves forward without me on his first wobbly legs of faith. God moves in the moment I give Him as His child shares raw emotion...

Living water beginning to fill...

Last days of summer, sun-kissed cheeks splash in the water. Blue-eyes practices diving, the fluid motion coming together.

I yell, "Good dive, love!" He quickly reprimands, "Say 'great' next time mommy, not 'good.'Say 'great!'"

This passionate boy of mine who knows no half-way with an insatiable desire to fill...

He scales rocks, then dives into the cool water. As he comes up for air, he faces an unexpected wall; Bird's raft square over him, and no breath to be found. My boy hits the raft in panicked attempts. My heart jumps to my throat anticipating a rescue. I pause, but for a moment. Blue-eyes suddenly swims out from under and moves through the water. Living water providing a Way.

That night, dinner comes with a familiar question, "What did God give you today?" Transparency breaks "rhythm" with an unexpected answer, "Calm in the water." True blessings spill over. My boy recognizes the power that quieted his storm.

Living water beginning to fill...

Blue-eyes, What I long for most is that you may know the saving and healing touch of Jesus, and yet there are moments I am tempted to "take you back," to "protect" you from pain, and moments I selfishly long to fill you with me. Always remember you long for great, not just good...

"Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised. His greatness is unsearchable." Psalm 145:3

Wash me Clean...

We are all covered in dirt...

How often we attempt to ignore the filth, turning the dirt to quick sand...

How often we cringe under the stain, curling our toes under in an attempt to cover. Pride turning to paranoia as we stare at self.

But, if we stare at Him, we get smaller...a childlike faith emerges...we come running, "Wash me clean, Abba,"...His mercy abounds as His grace covers it all...

Joy is accepting the wonders of His love, and wonder awaits in the heart of His child.

Beauty in the Gaps

Bird is now a beautiful gap-toothed girl; a wide space forming just below the crinkle in her nose with each rich, broad smile.

Two games birthed from this newfound treasure.

One of getting her to say, "Sister Susie sitting on a thistle" and "Sally sold seashells by the seashore," just to hear the sweet lisp created by absence.

The other, Bird's personal game of discovery, placing her tongue and every other object in the gap to see what might fill the void.

Time and time again this summer, I stare at Bird's beautiful gap, as the eyes of my heart slowly learn more of Magnificence in the gaps.

I have felt the divine push to "love well," to sacrifice more of my ugly self by loving, to serve out of the overwhelming mercy and grace He daily shows me...those who are forgiven much, love much.

As I work to fill in gaps, a questions must be asked, "Do I need their gaps to be filled?"

Am I demanding change by the pride of my own control, bombarding with questions, spelling out truths, and internally screaming with servant actions? or Am I exercising faith in the gaps with a blunt refusal to stop speaking into the divine "silence," as I wait at His feet for His invitation into the gap?

Am I giving time to Time itself to move in His child? or, Am I over-serving that I might see the momentary change I necessitate?

This "need" in me revealing the depths of my own gaps, a search for cooperation when an extension in patience is necessary.

This "need" is more of me, and less of Him...enabling, not empowering.

My enabling seeks cooperation for self, leading to an eventual cycle of fatigue in relationship, yet His empowering bears without "change," anticipating transformation. Enabling is flesh; empowering is Holy influence.

I wrestle in the gaps with those I love most; the controlling arms of fear attempting to strangle faith as I try to bring happiness. Happiness is Holiness, and I have pursued holiness in the gaps so fervently that I have missed Holiness Himself.

I come across this poem,

"The grief you cry out from draws you toward union.

Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup.

Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection.

There are love dogs no one knows the names of.

Give your life to be one of them." the Sufi mystic poet Rumi

Then, the Word draws me to His words, the Syrophoenician Woman's faith...

"But she answered him, 'Yes Lord; yet even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs.' And He said to her, 'For this statement you may go your way...

With this Word, I long more deeply than ever to be His love dog that no one knows the name of, a love dog whining to the Master, drawing the union, waiting for the crumb of Life Bread from the Master's hand...

The Master is good, and He rejoices in my lisp limitations as I whine. The whining bringing the game of discovery, for it is at His feet that I discover if it is truly my crumb or another's to carry...

In His grace, may I be a love dog no one knows the name of...

In His mercy, may I go on my way only after I receive His crumb.

His is the true beauty in the gaps.

A Cherry-picked spoon full of sugar

The beach wind blows; Red curls sways in the breeze as cherry drips from lips to sand...the stain of red forming a clown smile on this boy of ours.

This boy of ours, turning three...this boy who makes time stand still...this boy who was cherry-picked just for us for a time by the One who is time.

"In His love, He will rest in silent satisfaction."

We all make time stand still when we accept the love of the One who is both Alpha and Omega; I have accepted His love with this boy blessing who cannot be rushed.

I simply, I fully delight in this boy of ours...

A day later, we sit in the airport as Bird squawks over earphones. She marches over to Red curls and Blue-eyes demanding an exchange. "Mary Poppins" and her bag captivating them. Without hesitation, Red curls gallantly hands over his earphones as if they were keys to the Kingdom...this boy who is not easily won over...and, yet when he loves, he gives everything to honor another with fierce loyalty.

As the three settle into the singing bliss of "a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down," Red curls quietly looks at his prize possessions of brother and sister wrapping his arms around, pulling them closer.

The old familiar lump forms in my throat...the hard pill to swallow... the pill of this boy very possibly being our last...and yet, he is the sugar that makes that medicine go down.

I simply, I fully delight in this boy of ours...

Red curls, you are a cherry-picked spoon full of sugar, made by and for Him. We have delighted in you since the day of your birth; He has delighted in you since the beginning of time.

We couldn't love you more, but He does.

Happy 3rd Birthday, beautiful boy!

The Lord your God is in the midst of you, a mighty One, a Savior. He will take great delight in you. In His love, He will rest in silent satisfaction. He will rejoice over you with joyful singing.Zephaniah 3:17

Let Freedom Ring

"A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out, till He leads justice to Victory." Matthew 12:20

Thick, hot summer air...red, ripe watermelon dripping down tender faces...tiny dancers running through firetruck waterworks...laughter and firecrackers lighting the air...

Banners of red, white, and blue...

Independence Day...

Let freedom ring...

But, from where does true freedom ring?

Independence (by definition) is when someone or something is free from the influence or control of another.

But if you are independent of someone or something, are you still not under the control of oneself?...

As Keller writes,"perhaps the most damaging statements that have ever been said about us are those things we have said about ourselves. Most have a never-ending loop of self-talk that berates them for being foolish, stupid, a failure, a loser."

Self can be a most viscious, fear-filled taskmaster, a place of distorted perception lacking Truth.

True freedom is always rooted in dependence. In total surrender to the One who gracefully waves His Banner of Love over us as He mercifully teaches us to glance at self and stare at Him.

Total surrender to the One who says, 'Come as you are, broken, messy, and bruised. Just come to me'...

Independence destroys intimacy, and transparency generates humility.

The opposite of self-anxiety is humility, and His humility paves the Way to our freedom.

Humility allows the One to shine His Light into our self-deprecating inner monologue replacing it with His Truth, 'You are redeemed, accepted, cherished, gifted, blessed beyond measure.'

"Spiritual maturity is more like returning to the embrace of the Father you have been missing than growing out of need for your father's presence and touch. Our posture toward God the Father is to be that of Christ in us: increasingly, simply, and humbly seeking to embrace him for all of who he is and to allow his heart to reform our hearts with his love." Richard R. Dunn

When true freedom rings, you no longer want to be an independent, just a slave to Christ...a steward of His grace-blessings...

When true freedom rings, you can no longer play it "safe" with your heart, but long to live dangerously...to love as He loves...

"Is he-quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion," said Lucy.

"That you will dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver, "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without his knees knocking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."

"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy.

"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver. "Don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you."C.S. Lewis, The Lion, The Witch, and the Wadrobe

This world is indeed a reckless world full of unimaginable pain and suffering, and yet when we stay in the seemingly "safe" confines of self, we find a reckless end.

True freedom is living dangerously for Him that we might see more of His unimaginable mercy, grace, and glory...

For He is not safe, but He is good and He has come to set the captives free...

Every day an offering to Him, to love as He loves

May He give me the faith-filled courage...

Let Freedom Ring...

The Other Spouse

"The kiss of daily, present communion, is that which we pant after to be repeated day after day...O lover of our souls, be not strange to us; let the lips of Thy blessing meet the lips of our asking; let the lips of Thy fullness touch the lips of our need, and straightway the kiss will be effected." Spurgeon

Father's Day morning, I awake to a mop of Red curls tickling my nose as tiny toes brush softly against his father's chest.

True to her early bird-nature, our Bird's brown eyes peer through tussled hair as she chirps from her roll-away bed perch.

Blue-eyes, our warrior boy, emerges from his closet cave in need of some wrestling.

I breathe in these three in a hotel room in Virginia, as I look to my "I do" man. In them, I cannot see where I begin and he ends; they are one flesh pointing to the Heavens displaying the divine mystery of us.

Each beautiful child giving me a larger picture of the man I love.

This man who began our story by choosing me has always understood that he married a woman with an untamed heart who longs to love hard and more often than not falls short; he has left space for the Lover of my soul, the other spouse...the Bridegroom.

And yet, my greatest lasting joys on this earth reside in the moments of refining relationship with this man as we love each other in His grace, with His Truth, and by His sacrifice, as we painfully lose more of ourself to gain more of Him...the mystery of one flesh...one flesh where I no longer see where I begin and he ends just more of our Father.

A marriage of three...this place where Red curls, Blue-eyes, and Bird get their first glimpses of worship within the body of Christ...our family...broken and messy in us; a divine mystery in Him.

Manna Moments

Three weeks ago, my knees hit the cold, sterile floor of the hospital ER; my body taking on the posture of my heart after a myriad of words rush towards me, "chest pains, heart rate is at 180, it is an attack, we will try to shock his heart back in rhythm."

I cry out for my Father's perspective. I grieve the momentary losses of this world with the lover of my soul. I offer thanksgiving that my dad's fate is sealed in Him. I mercifully ask for tears and laughter.

They put my earthly father to sleep, and uncertain if he will wake up in our arms or the glory of His Father's embrace, I cling all the tighter to my Heavenly Father's promises, shakily asking for His will to be done, not mine.

Out of words, I allow His Word to rain down on my soul through tears. I hold fast to the words of Isaiah; I sing His psalms.

For a moment, I look up from the solace of His Word, and through blurry eyes, I see bright white teeth framed by ebony skin walk past me boldly urging, "Don't stop what you are doing. It is working." Words spoken by a doctor who knew not why I was there. The Father moving to me through another; the eyes of my heart a little less blurry, receiving His divine message to me. The unseen becomes so clear when the seen is chaos. His comfort not only surrounds, it abounds. Thank you, Abba.

Shocked back to rhythm. My father awakes cracking jokes; his ER room erupts in laughter. The Father answers me in grace, laughter amongst tears. Thank you, Abba.

I sit in the ICU soothed by the steady beep of machines and cherished memories. I drift to peanut butter-banana sandwiches; worn-out moccasin house-shoes; the brown leather Bible on the nightstand copyright 1978, the year before I was born; your "yes" must be "yes" and "no" must be "no;" promises are never meant to be broken...constants of my dad; lessons learned.

Lewis Smedes writes, "that promising is the means to freedom. In promising, you limit options now, in order to have wonderful, fuller options later. You curb your freedom now, so that you can be free to be there in the future for people who trust you. 'You have created a small sanctuary of trust within the jungle of unpredictability.'"

My promise-keeping dad with the unpredictable heartbeat.

Every heartbeat can be an attack...an attack on the continually changing seen in exchange for the constant of the unseen...an attack on the fearful and fallible self-protection for the further understanding of the provision of Christ...He is our Sanctuary within the jungle of unpredictability.

Within each heartbeat is a divine mystery, a manna moment for the soul, just as the Israelites nourished themselves on the mystery that rained down from the Heavens.

The unknown of each heartbeat holds the possibility of faith-picking with the Great Promise Keeper...

His Promise is our freedom if we but trust the mystery of the manna.

"He that has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith to the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna." Revelation 2:17

Brokedown Palace

Delicate fingers tiptoe across my hand settling into a steady grip; this trust-lock of her hand and heart. I glance behind...

Bird is crowned in baby's breath, and my baby-mine takes my breath away with one look...

She dons a dress with angel-wings for all to see as a myriad of unseen angels' wings surround her, His baby-mine...

Framed in lily of the valley, this same intricate lace wrapped around her six years ago as the water-sign was made declaring her heritage in Him. Indeed, she is a daughter of the King, and beautifully intricate are His blessings for her...

In all white with piercing, reflective brown eyes that seek beyond words, she is a vision of all that is lovely, honorable, and pure in a single breath...could these soul-searching eyes of hers be an inherited trait of our King!?...the Kingdom belongs to such as these...

Suddenly her trust-lock tightens as she looks to me, and the ugly snake of self contricts my heart...

The self-loathing question threatens, "How can I lead this beautiful double portion of His when I am just a broke-down palace?"

The whisper, "my grace is sufficient"...

In His mercy, He lifts my eyes...

In His mercy, He reminds me of who He is...He has crushed the snake's head....

The Lover of souls whispers, "my grace is sufficient...you are my palace"

I am a broke-down palace, yet...

By His mercy, I am His palace; I refuse to settle for a cottage.

It is my posture that leads, not perfection; His grace is sufficient for the rest.

By His mercy, I am learning to love the pain of His rebuilding.

"Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you understand what He is doing. He is letting the drains right, and stopping the leaks in the roof, and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably, and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to?

The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of-throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself."

C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

Birth Pains

"Hear, my son, your father's instruction, and forsake not the teaching of your mother." Proverbs 1:8

A baby is born; the spilling of blood heralding first breaths. Christ's blood heralds new Life. Blood, this symbol of sacrifice. Yet, it is not the mother's blood that binds, but her sacrifices. Mother-child, there is no other earthly relationship quite as tangled and messy yet beautifully bound; the first moments of motherhood true to its continued nature. Only His blood makes sense of it all.

A mother sacrifices and a mother damages. His Mercy and Grace fill in the gaps; Forgiveness paving the Way.

All who mother learn true joy is always birthed out of pain, and every moment is a teachable moment, more so of self than child...the birth pains never end...the birth pains are His grace-blessings where the controlling-self is sacrificed, that the anointed oil of faith may flow down...the birth pains are the letting go...

Forsake not the teaching of your mother...the love sacrifice, this place where pain and joy reside in the faith worship of Him...this is the courageous teaching of a mother...

Our little ones will outgrow our nest, and yet, they will never outgrow the unbreaking Truth bond, the sacrificial love of Christ.

My prayer today and every day is that I leave more of the indelible marks of Him and less of the marks of "me." Praise Him whose blood covers it ALL.

To all who mother, to all the unsung heroes:

I am continually humbled by your courage...