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...

Poetic Power

I sift through the "business" of a household...the returning of correspondance, the orchestrating of schedules and just as my self-pitying flesh rears its ugly head in the "drudgery" of details, a love note appears on my screen....

Inbox: "mae"

Bird's poem....these words for a "poetic power" contest sent by her teacher....

Spring

The flowers bloom.

The trees grow.

In Spring, it is Easter time.

Everything is beautiful.

We eat apples in Spring.

The birds sing.

Yes, Bird...you, indeed, sing....you are speaking the language of your Teacher...

Spring...

There is a spring of living water.....a fountain flowing from Emmanuel's veins....a flooding of grace and mercy making all things new...Hope rising...

The flowers bloom...

"The grass withers and the flowers fade, but the Word of our Lord stands forever"....when we meet the Word through the Word, we bloom wherever He plants us....wildflowers in His vast garden of eternity...Hope rising...

The trees grow...

From a tree, where sorrow and love flow mingled down, redemption....this love pouring on us "the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit; that we may be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord".... our roots deepen in His assurance; we offer His grace-shade to the weary...Hope rising...

In Spring, it is Easter time. Everything is beautiful....

Pink tutus, delicate fingers, swirling and twirling, hearts stretching, laughter bubbling...Bird dances in a fit of giggles....an outward expression of inward joy....Bird who once fearfully shivered behind my wings, now flies out...her esteem rising...the discovery of who He made her to be showing its first buds....new Life emerging outside of our nest...Hope rising...

We eat apples in Spring....

In the beginning, forbidden fruit was eaten, and all was spoiled...the winter of death emerged....But, Truth died and rose....the Way of Life made apparent, and now His unseen fruit hangs all around us ripe for the faith-picking...we feast on apples for He has come....we feast for we are the apple of His eye...Hope rising...

The birds sing.....

"For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them"....His workmanship....workmanship in greek: poema....His workmanship; His poem....Indeed, our Bird sings....for she is His workmanship, His poem....our Bird sings the melody of Her King...Hope rising...

Spring.

The flowers bloom.

The trees grow.

In Spring, it is Easter time.

Everything is beautiful.

We eat apples in Spring.

The birds sing.

Beautiful Bird,

Continue to sing and dance for your King...You are His poetic power.

In His Shadow

Red curls studies the black amorphous voids as he moves through his days, his fascination building....these shadows that follow us.....over and over the question, "What is a shadow?" Explanations come both scientific and artistic.....each one echoing back hollow....none satisfying his growing intensity for more....

Blue-eyes sits on the brick wall, a babbling of words, sharing his heart in the undertones, the explained in the unexplained of being. I see his self-inked "tattoo." I pray our King's cross is tattooed on his heart, not just his flesh; Red curls emerges in the shadow again asking....and suddenly, the Light became clear to the void....

How often the open spirits of children are used as a megaphone shouting His brilliance....this explained in the unexplained of being; humility training our ears to listen....

Red curls, this one who cannot be rushed....Red curls, this one who instinctively wrestles in order to understand....yes, Red curls needs an answer to shadow....my Teacher calls to me, 'let me show you'...Like a giddy schoolgirl, I race to the written-Truth asking the Ancient of Days to define shadow as He created it to be...

"And I have put my words in your mouth and covered you in the SHADOW of my hand, establishing the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth, and saying to Zion,'You are my people.'" Isaiah 51:16

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will ABIDE in the SHADOW of the Almighty." Psalm 91:1

"Keep me as the apple of your eye; Hide me in the SHADOW of your wings." Psalm 17:8

tsalal (hebrew): shadow, protection, shelter

Abiding in the Shadow....we live in the protective shadow of the cross...God's light, His holiness is so bright we cannot come face to face, "you cannot see my face, for man shall not see me and live"....His presence must shine through the Way casting a beautiful protective shadow around us....

We are His people...we are the apple of His eye...the haunting, misshapen, changing shadows of this world, the what-if's, if only's, the shame, the guilt, the despair may threaten, but they cannot overtake us....His was the victory, and we rest in the shelter of His unchanging shadow....

tsalal: shadow, protection, shelter

tsalal rooted in tselem (hebrew): hovering over

When the Ancient of Days was establishing the Heavens, the Spirit hovered over the waters....this same Spirit hovers over our hearts keeping us in the rest of our Mighty Mediator's shadow surrounded by the glory of our God....

Spurgeon wrote, "The Holy Spirit consoles, but Jesus is the consolation. The Holy Spirit is the comforter, but Jesus is the comfort." The only Way to Life is living in the Truth-filled shadow of our Light's cross. Let us make Him the apple of our eyes through humilty and trust.

This is the Shadow, Red curls. Mercy and Grace fully lived; Bask in its glory. Remember where you stand. Love His Shadow

His Nest is Best

"Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O Lord of hosts, my King and my God. Blessed are those who dwell in your house, ever singing your praise!" Psalm 84

With curiosity I have watched her, this brown-breasted one....her frenzied, sporadic flights back and forth....her anxious toil building her nest....this robin making her home with us; from a distance, I notice him...his steady, patient gaze never moving from her....this strong one claiming his mate...he soaring with grace; she in a frenzy of works...

He comes to her, taking the burden of her nest, urging her out....her wings broaden; emboldened she flies out further into the world....over and over again, he swoops in despite her squawking, urging her forward.....her short, arduous flights transform into the freedom of soaring...

Now she serenely sits upon three blue gems waiting for them to hatch....her eyes fixed on the surety of the horizon, faithfully looking to him for guidance as he guards their nest...

Ten years ago....you were twenty-three, wiser than you knew, true, authentic....I was twenty-two; a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child, I had not yet given up my childish ways of loving....my wing span maddeningly short...

You watched the brevity of my love flights....you understood the stifling limitations of my "self" nest....the flimsy straw of control packed with the muddiness of who I thought I was, who I thought I should be...the drudgery of loving with expectation....gracefully you flew to me....

You gave of yourself to marry a child...You came into my noise, the endless flapping of my needs....you shifted my view from my nest to the endless horizon of His mercy and grace....you showed me the love of Christ, re-building our nest on the sure foundation of His sacrificial love....and, now I sit peacefully on this nest of ours, trusting your guidance....

On your thirty-third birthday, you should know that WHEREVER you soar this sparrow will find a nest to lay her young

Walkers of the Way

The smoky moutains......Bird and Blue-eyes giggle along with the stream as rocks dance across the water....a mass of Red-curls bounces upon his father's shoulders......tree roots play hop-scotch with one another along the path as rhodudendrum dip down in homage...thanksgiving pours forth naturally, easily....all parts of my flesh, all directions-north, south, east, west, point to Him....there is ease in this path...ease in the praise...

Further down, the path makes a sharp unexpected turn....a small abandoned schoolhouse and graveyard....the brood bounds ahead; my man-artist snaps photos capturing images of His Father's world...I walk amongst the dead....my heart carries the weight of life cut short....there in a line of four....the Walkers....J.H. and Mary's lost brood...

Infant Walker, August 11, 1912....their firstfruits plucked before even budding...

Roy Thomas, January 19, 1919-July 3, 1919....

Edith, September 10, 1920-July 4, 1925....

Irene, November 19, 1922-June 30, 1925...this one with a dove soaring over her name....this dove...this Spirit...this promise of Counsel and Comfort....

But, where could He be in this?

I have no words....What can you say to a mother who has watched the flesh of her flesh slip from her arms four times....no words...

this woman who has endured the labor pains of birthing life and the labor pains of watching it ebb away....no words....

this mother mourning one life while bravely carrying another in her womb.....no words...

this mother who buries one baby girl while fighting in futility to save another....no words...

this mother who watches soul sisters reunited just a week apart, leaving her behind...no words....

My three dance around the school house in a cacophony of laughter, imagingation, enthusiasm, energy....life...health....I dare not even speak it for in this season my life is the path of ease, but the ugliness of it passes through my heart....I must give it to Him for fear of separation from Him, this cost of leaning on my own understanding...I must give it to the Life who knows my ugliness deep inside yet still loves....I whisper it...How is this fair, Lord?....I have no words....

I enter the dark muskiness of the school house, but it is my heart that feels dark...it is my heart that is wrestling to see the Light....my body slumps into a bench, and my loving Teacher begins His lesson....as He lifts my eyes, I see light pour through a window shining on the edge of a teacher's desk...this light illuminating the Light....the Truth barely visible on the desk, "God loves you." J.H. Walker 10-5-1947.....

"God loves you"....this couple from long ago....this couple who lost much ministering from the grave to a woman who has seemingly lost so little...urging a woman of little faith through their great faith in the Word, stirring her soul....my community in Him from the past pointing me back to my future, my Hope...this is the God I love....the God who turns this world upside down...who turns sackcloth to singing....this is the redeeming power of the cross....

For the Sarahs who watched their Isaacs leave for worship with no other sacrifice, for the Rachels whose Josephs were led away to bloom elsewhere, for the Hannahs who gave their young Samuels to the service of the Lord, for the Elizabeths who watched their Johns prepare the way, for the Mary Walkers.... I will honor you in the moments when there seem to be no words, when the uphill climb of motherhood seems to overtake me, when the weight of "responsibilities" and "decisions" seem to be crushing me, when my chest tightens under the suffocation of circumstances....I will take a breathe allowing my heart to beat the Truth, "God loves you"....

I will honor you by celebrating the Life in life....

By celebrating the life given to me five years ago today....the Walkers bringing me deeper gratitude of my own Walker....my Walker Whittington Stockburger....the vibrant life of my soul-searching Blue-eyes...this boy who lives his life boldly, giving each moment his all...our unexpected good and perfect gift....this boy who daily reminds me that I want none of my decisions, but only His.

Happy 5th Birthday, my beautiful Blue-eyes!! Remember to let all the "I"s and "decisions" fall away, my love, and breathe in deeply "God loves you!"

"For a people shall dwell in Zion, in Jerusalem; you shall weep no more. He will surely be gracious to you at the sound of your cry. As soon as he hears it, he answers you. And though the Lord give you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, yet your Teacher will not hide himself anymore, but your eyes shall see your Teacher. And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, "This is the way, walk in it,"" Isaiah 30: 19-21

The Dare

"When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our toungue with shouts of joy.... Restore our fortunes, O Lord. like streams in the Negeb! Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him." Psalm 126

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, the burning sensation in a failed attempt to hold back tears... the refreshing sting as the floodgates open....a place where fire and water meet drawing beauty from one another...tears of joy....a moment when pain and blessing naturally flow from the same fount....when the self-protecting walls in our heart of stone are destroyed and His Beauty, the purity of His love, emerges from its ashes...the sanctification of loving bodly, moving towards another counting it all as loss to honor our King...

This is the Dare...to love as He loves

the fiery pain of it searing our flesh as the living water flows into our heart....the severing of our thick heart callouses and the forging of iron sharpening iron soul ties...did isaiah not feel the sweet comingling of pain and joy when the seraph touched the live coal to his lips...yes, there is freedom in the relinquishing of our "rights" as we love in the Way, as we love by His power...

This is the Dare...

His Way is the only way to really love...it is our sanctification, our metamorphosis, as we reach Him by reaching out to the so-called "unlovable"...and, isn't it in the reach we often discover that we indeed are the true "unlovable" in desperate need of His Life-giving grace....this reach that uncovers our treasure, richer communion with Him, through the deepening of earthly relationships...

This is the Dare...

I watch as soul-seaching blue-eyes walks towards me, tears brimming, choked words spilling out....his stuffed tiger maimed by the dog...I listen to Bird softly sing comforting Truth to him, "You can still love it, Whitt. It won't look the same or be the same, but you can still love it. Mommy, will sew it back together with blue thread, your favorite color. You will love it even more."

this world is messy, this world chews-up and spits back out over and over again, and in the midst He gives us grace blessings, the privilege to show His Scarlet thread through kindness and humility while watching Him knit souls back together....yes, we can still love for His was the Victory

This is the Dare...

I sit in a room listening to dear friends, these women who wave His love-banner over me, these women who dare....there is grief, there is suffering, there are tears, and amongst it, there is the overwhelming resonance of laughter, the different notes rooted in holy joy all coming together to create the sweet symphony of fellowship all for the Father's glory...the laughter, this is what I remember; all else falls away...this is the redeeming power of the cross...His work...Jesus...

This is the Dare...

Let us dare to live fully in relationship, resisting the numbness. Let us receive our grace blessings through the shower of our tears, accepting the momentary pain for more knowledge and insight in the depth of His love.....the tears washing away the stoney self, leaving a reflective pool for His light to shine forth creating a rainbow of laughter arching over the weight of this world....our Hope in Him

"I will cause the shower to come down in his season; there shall be showers of blessings." Ezekial 34:26

Praise His Name! Here comes the flood...

Praise Him by loving and count all else as loss...