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