Baptized with tears...

My chest is heavy. My heart within thumps as if weighted down, and my breath feels thick and uncomfortable. Maybe that is why I find myself sprinting up the stairs to answer the cries coming from my little one's room, even though I am sure she is fine. I am not fearful she is hurt, or sick. She is over tired from the busy day, and always sleeps fitfully on such days. No, I sprint because being the comfort she craves soothes my troubled soul. Something about scooping her warm jammied body into my arms, feeling her hot tears brush my cheek as she nestles her head into my neck, where I breathe deeply the sweet scent of her slightly sweaty hair, and feel her sobs ebb, tears back the grip of sadness that has been building in me. Sadness for the loss of a dear friend, sadness for those near me who have yet to finish their battles, and for those who have just begun. Cancer. It is all around me lately. Swirling like a cyclone, pulling so many people I love into it's evil embrace. Too many, too soon. And, so, I am heavy. Yet, as I stand and sway with my girl in the darkness of her room, I come back to her tears and how it lifts me to collect them, hold them, until they have run dry. She so freely trusts in me, her imperfect mother, to hold her tight, and pour out the mighty love that burns in my core for her in such blessed moments. It feels sacred, being here with my sadness and her tears. This is how it must be for Jesus when my soul cries out to Him. When I let myself sink into His bosom, crying hot, messy tears. Pouring out my pain, my sorrow, my weakness. How my tears must bless Him the way my little one's bless me. For, like me, He, too, knows that there is nothing to fear from these tears I cry. He knows that sorrow lasts for a night, but joy comes in the morning. He is the morning star. So, I will cling to this precious girl, baptizing me with her tears tonight, and I will in turn, bend to wash my Lord's feet with mine until the morning comes.

Aunt Sylvia, Dad, Jaye, Caroline, Aunt Chris, Jen, Grandma Jan...

Adoption...

An old friend of mine shared photos of their adopted son's (long awaited) arrival recently on her blog. No words, just images, incredible moments captured revealing so much more than words ever could. An expectant mother's heart bursting with love, and hope, and joy, and pride. Brother's and sister's, friend's and family, gathered with excitement. Dad and son, hand in hand walking through the airport toward open hearts and arms. Brothers touching hands. And, finally, the son's own sweet smile. It was absolute beauty. When I see that last image, the thought, "he is theirs" swells in my spirit. They are his. Theirs. His. One. The whole thing made me ponder the miracle of adoption. For, it is truly miraculous. How two separate become one. One family. Joined together by choice. Chosen. Purposefully. And, then I began to think about how God has chosen me. How I was a stranger in a strange land. Lost, and wounded, and in need. I was desperate, and separate. Still, I was chosen. And, yet, my own adoption could not have been made complete had I not in turn chosen Him. God had already set His heart for me. He, too, just as my friend, waited in anticipation, expectation of me. He knew all about me. Where I was from, the circumstances of my desperation and need. He knew the traumas and hurts that I endured. He knew the hopes of my heart. The silliness of my humor. And, His heart beat with love for me. Yearning for me. Making plans, and setting things in order for the moment I would become His forever more. I had never looked at my relationship with God in such a way before. Being a Christian, I have heard so much about love, and grace, and sacrifice. Of sin and forgiveness. And, if I'm being honest, there have been mountain top moments in my journey with God, but, likewise, there have been moments of questioning and doubting, lacking the swell of the emotion of the mountain top. And, in the day to day, the truth of my closeness with Jesus fades into something less tangible, and easily marginalized to the corners of my consciousness. Some how, my friend and her new boy have awakened my heart anew to true love, and the miracle of my own adoption into the family of God. Which made Jesus not only my Savior, but my brother as well. I was chosen, accepted, longed for, desired, long before I in turn chose to love back. The love of God for His creation, all mankind, me, is marked by this same purposeful, persistent yearning, desiring, moving towards, as my friend for her boy. His heart is expectant for His children. He set out before us. Knowing us. Loving us. Extending His hopeful hand, just waiting for our hand to reach out and grab hold, making us bonded in relationship and love. Forever. Being a christian is being apart of a family. It is loving, and caring for, laughing and rejoicing, but it is also doubting and questioning, hurting and healing. To everything there is a season… It is family. Whole. And, it is beautiful. I am my beloved's and He is mine.

Sunshine and sisters...

Every thing started out fine this morning, but by the time we needed to head off to school, we were for sure going to be late. I hate being late. That is not the same as saying I am punctual. More just that I get stressed and anxious, and tend to lash out when running late. In fact, I am always rushing it seems. And today, the rush was on. So, as I pulled into the drop off circle I had to shoo the girls out of the car by themselves. Just as they got out, sure enough the bell rang. And even though, we've been late before, watching the two of them this morning made me feel like crying. Probably because I wasn't able to walk with them like normal, and I felt the tears well as I drove away. For the rest of the day, I felt unsettled, and worried that they started their day so stressed.

By the time school was out, I was prepared to apologize to them for being late, and for lecturing them about being late while reassuring them that being late is not the end of the world. And, ok, the thought of a trip to the snack shop for some chocolate forgiveness had entered my mind. But that proved to not be necessary, as both girls came out of class happy and cheerful. I blame the sun actually. Because today I totally expected it to be cold and gloomy like it has been for days, like I was this morning, but it turned out to be bright and sunny. I decided to not mention the snack shop, and opted to ride the wave of their good cheer home, through homework packets, and out into the back yard, where they drank up the sun eagerly, and I marveled as I watched it feed their souls. Watching them at play, blew the cobwebs of my own gloominess away in a flash, and I felt filled as well.











Sunny afternoons are the perfect time to learn something new.... Like how to stick your tongue out at someone. (Thanks, big sister. I'm sure this new talent won't come back to haunt you)

Oh my...we brought Audrey to the ER the day after Christmas, on the heels of a blur of a drive home after a busy trip to Idaho. She was so sick. I started this journey already worn out and really should have been terrified but truly before fear set in my dear friend Lisa was there by my side. Through out this whole week members of our church body have come forward and became the physical, tangible hands of God holding us all. It is as if a safety net was thrown beneath us and all I needed to was lean into it. To rest in it. God wove that net using the prayers and words and bodies of so many of our friends and acquaintances. It wasn't long ago that I would not have known how to rest in His arms like this. Oh the sweetness of resting there... How strange to be this exhausted, yet feel the blessing of His rest. What a mystery. I am glad of the mysteries of God. I am glad to shake off the strife of straining to understand His ways. Rest. It is a word spoken to me years ago, and I am still amazed by what God has done in my rest. When I let my fists, worn out and tired of fighting, fall to my sides, and lean into rest. Oh, how sweet the rest feels. It is the honey to my lips; the coolness of still waters; the calm in middle of the storm. Praise you, Father, Sustainer, Lifter of my head. Praise you for your rest. Praise you for your body. Praise your name for healing my child.

Tis the season...

One of the truest joys of the Christmas season is baking all things yummy! The joy is made all the better when you have this cute little cookie monster to help.

I let her taste the creamed butter and sugar, and she eagerly asked for "more, more peas". Then I asked her if she really was a cookie monster, to which she promptly ROARED! Man, I love this girl!

And then there was this...


The big girls had just finished walking with their Girls Scout troop in our little town's Christmas parade, and afterwards we happened upon these gorgeous Ginko leaves in luscious, tempting drifts. Princess Buttercup leading the charge in true Linus Van Pelt style. It was fantastic fun!

More...

Tonight I cried myself to sleep from the wanting more... more peace, more of me to go around, more energy to say yes when Princess Sunshine Buttercup asks me to read to her, or when Princess Me Too says in her sweet baby way, "pawk, pawk."

It was one of those days, only it seems those days keep coming in, like waves crashing the shore during a storm. I want to be a better Mom. I want to do homework with the big girls without frustration biting the edge of my voice, because dinner needs to be made, baby needs attention, laundry needs doing, and the garbage is over flowing. Not to mention, we need to leave for dance or Girl Scouts in about 5 minutes, and someone lost a shoe. We are always rushing it seems. The threat of lateness looming heavy on my head. My old mantra of one foot in front of the other isn't cutting it right now. The waves keep coming. I need a break in the action. Some time to come up for air. Thank God Thanksgiving break is coming. We'll be traveling, but at least it'll be a different kind of busy, that'll include some real ocean waves, and maybe a bit of snow. We'll be with family, and someone else will be cooking. All of which, I am already thankful for.

So, for today, I will be adding just breathe to my one foot in front of the other, and will pray for grace to cover the rest.

Peace. {exhale}

This is how we do it...

Truth be told, I was not feeling "it" this weekend. Didn't even need a costume to be scary because I was grumpy and short tempered all week. But, then this happened...



And, it pulled me out of my funk. Love watching Little Miss Me, too get in on the action. Love how the big girls totally knew the drill this year. Carve the jagged top, scoop the guts, save the seeds. They were even reciting lines from It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Made me smile. So proud. Definitely ready for the big night now.

Speaking of...

How cute are they? The Librarian (her idea all the way), The Pumpkin, and Her Highness, Princess Peach.









I heard a statistic that put Halloween second only to Christmas on the Big Ten of Holidays. Surprising, and yet, not at the same time. There's nothing in particular that is celebrated by the costumes or the going door to door, giving and receiving candy. But then again maybe there is. Maybe it is the celebration of being with family and friends. The celebration of community. Of knocking on a neighbor's door for the first time all year. Of holding your little one's hand through the crisp night air of Fall. Soaking up the thrill of it all. At least that is how we do it.