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...