New shoes

It's been such a busy week.

Field trips, track & field and a couple teacher meetings for the kids.

A grant photo op., 2 lunch appointments, and a tour of the facility.

A safety on one vehicle, a repair on another, and a trade-in for a different car.

Those are the little extras that we added to the regular activities of school, Dean's work, my 2 jobs and a final week of piano teaching. 

Oh... and the most wonderful part of all - it's been sunny!  So I've been turning up all my flower beds and barbecuing. 

There's Carson's birthday to celebrate this weekend, and of course we want to make time to go down to the lake for the holiday Monday.

However, beneath it all has been an underlying longing.

I'm waiting, and it's such a familiar waiting to me.  I've been pregnant 4 times, and while of course I always wanted the perfect timing because I wanted a healthy baby, there were definitely times of great impatience.   My arms already imagined the weight of a little bundle.  I wanted to see what the new little person looked like, and find out what that personality would all hold.

So my waiting is familiar, but a little less confident.  There's no maximum 9-month time guarantee on this addition to our family. 

Sometimes it seems like a far-off dream.  We've been deliberating and in process for so many months...

Sometimes in my early months of pregnancy, I would go shopping and buy odds and ends - whether I needed them or not, just so I could have some solid evidence of the child we were waiting for.  I'd pick up extra plug-in covers, a mini pair of socks, or a silly toy.  When I brought that home, I felt one step closer to having my baby.

This week Dean's parents arrived from California for the summer, and brought up all the things we'd received for Christmas, or purchased while we were down south, and  and couldn't fly home with earlier this year.

One of our must-visit stores in SoCal is the Skechers Outlet - and on impulse back in March I had picked out our little daughter's first Skechers.

As I began to plow through the suitcases and bags, I found these little shoes... and I suddenly realized that I had been doing it all over again - picking up something to help me feel the reality of an idea too big to simply accept.

I hope she likes them...

Just for the kids

I've often played around with stories that I think up just for my kids. I've almost never written any of the silly ideas down - it's usually only snippets of a character or situation.  Just over a year ago I finally began to throw one of the stories down on paper so I could read an entire thing to my little people.   

Here's the opening to a piece called "A Summer of Changes" from Stories from Bredon.

A sigh escaped young Maddie Whitson’s lower lip, puffing blond wisps off her forehead for a moment. Her shoulders bounced against the back of the carriage seat as she tried to cradle the twins on either side. At 5 years of age, Jace and James were her darlings, but even they were trying her patience. A small, hard shoe kicked her shin on the left, and a bony elbow dug into her right hip as the boys struggled against the stuffy, cramped space.



Life was a series of adventures and events to Maddie’s cheerful disposition, so when Papa told the family two weeks ago that they would be leaving Penrith by the end of June, the only home they had all ever known, she took it in stride. Ten-year-old Joel had fussed about the loss of his friends and favorite fishing hole, and the twins had fretted Mother with questions about the bustle of trunks and satchels being bandied about the small parsonage. But Maddie’s imagination had taken flight with the possibilities of the unknown. In her mind she had already made a wonderful friend, and the two girls explored the river and hills under a cheerful sun in the new place called Bredon. Of course this new friend had only brothers in her family, or perhaps she was an only child – it mattered not. The important thing was that both girls longed for a sister, and had found a kindred spirit in each other. Often during the two frantic weeks of packing and repacking, Anne Whitson found her daughter with an absent-minded smile on her face, or quietly speaking to herself as she boxed up her girlish treasures.


As the family tumbled into the carriage to depart for Papa’s new parish, Maddie engaged Joel in a game of “what if”. “What if there’s a large tree near the Bredon parsonage – and we could build a fort?”


“What if there’s nothing but sticks and rocks for miles,” Joel pouted as a shock of sandy hair fell over his gloomy brow.


“What if there’s a boy your age who would like to race across the village green?” Now she was baiting her brother, for she knew his penchant for a good piece of competition.


Joel’s chin came up, and interest flickered in his brown eyes. “He better be good at other things, because I’ll beat him every time.”


The game led to further ideas about their new home, and eventually to the boys begging their sister for a story. Only two years older than Joel, Maddie had always been able to lure him, as well as the twins, along on her trips of fantasy. This talent came in particularly handy for passing time when visiting older folks’ homes with Mother and Papa after Sunday services.


“Have I ever told you about the Cave of Wonders?” whispered Maddie.


Eyes widening the boys settled in to the rocking carriage seats, and so began the account of four inquisitive children, who stumbled upon an opening in a hillside. As the rented carriage rattled and crunched along the miles, the imaginary characters explored a world where flowers tasted like lemon drops, and it rained sweet tea. Girls were free to roll down grassy knolls, or ride astride fast horses in noble battles. And boys fought triumphantly to keep the land free from the evil influence of the weak, but wicked Lord Cyril. The use of invisibility dust, shrinking powder, flying chants, and other sundry potions tantalized the boys’ minds and fed their desire for heroism and nobility.


Maddie had spun her make-belief tale, the boys listened intently, and thus the children had whiled away the hours in the close space. But now Joel’s incessant whistling and knee-jostling, combined with the twins’ constant shifting, brought Maddie to stifle a groan. To complain would bring about Mother’s corrective eye.


“Look out the window, my sweet.” Papa winked.


“Is it finally Bredon?”


“That’s our new home.” Papa’s eyes twinkled, and she looked out where thatched huts dotted the countryside. Up ahead the River Cardel wrapped itself around a sprawling collection of stone cottages, timbered two-story shops, and cobblestone streets. Mother grasped Papa’s hand as the church spire rose over the village, and some unspoken message passed between the two. A sense of security settled over Maddie’s scattered thoughts. The relationship between Mother and Papa had often been filled with fireworks, laughter, arguments, and intense discussions. But never once had Maddie ever questioned Mother’s loyalty to Papa and his vocation. The two were like icecream and sunshine, only Maddie could never decide who was which.


“Our new home?” echoed James, pushing his face toward the small window.


Home. A grin pushed its way across Maddie’s face. A new adventure.

Motherhood

I have looked down at the soft round faces of my babies and marvelled that some day they will have angular cheek bones and a five o'clock shadow (the boys, that is!). 


When people told me the days would be long, but the years would be short - I didn't understand.  I do now.


I remember the evening, sitting in a rocking chair, that I realized my baby girl's legs were too long for her to be held comfortably as she fell asleep. It seemed that just the night before she was still short enough to snuggle easily in my arms.  She was wearing a pink fleece sleeper with a zipper.  Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing even as she lay with her head on my shoulder and I wondered how many days of this I had left before she was too big altogether for such holding.  She's 13 now.


The depth of God's creativity and goodness awe me as I have watched my kids develop their own personalities, and relationships with Father.


I have discovered that I physically ache while helping my child struggle through loneliness, frustration or disappointment.


I am learning how deeply Father's heart must be wrapped up in His children.  His fierce protectiveness and pure joy regarding His children are reflected in mothers everywhere.


I can make 4 different sandwiches at 10 o'clock at nite that will perfectly meet the tastes of my children on our Sunday picnic the following day.  I know without hesitation who will want mayo, who likes extra cheese, the one child who will eat mustard, and who needs their sandwich cut into little squares to make it more enjoyable.


The deepest moments of regret that I have are when I've handled life badly and hurt one of my children with my words or actions.


There's a single moment with each child that I remember with precision clarity - the moment they were first handed to me still warm and squishy.  The first time I looked into their squinting eyes - trying to get adjusted to the first minutes of daylight.


Sheer terror is another emotion that accompanies motherhood - like when my 3 year old ran from the park ahead of me (very pregnant) into our yard and hid.  I searched everywhere - but since it was humid, hot and pitch dark in the shed I didn't look there.  Then I saw the sightest waver of the closed door, and I pulled my grinning imp out feeling schizophrenic as I wondered whether to hug him or shake him.


Who knew watching your child sleep would bring such a deep sense of fulfillment...


The intense desire to throttle someone was rather new to me until we invited some new people over after church one day years ago. Their 4-year old shoved my 18-month old down the stairs head over heels. He landed on his face and had the shape of his soother imprinted in bruises around his mouth. The "new people" chuckled and said that "if anything was broken children were apt to come up and tell you - there was no reason to run down to see about the fuss." I needed the Lord to forgive me for my thought life that day.

I would desperately want my baby to sleep - and then check to be sure they were breathing, and undoubtedly I'd wake them up.


Trusting the Lord takes on new dimensions as children get older.  Field trips here and there, riding their bikes to school alone (I know for a fact that one of my children doesn't always "STAY TO THE SIDE OF THE ROAD!" like I've gently reminded him) and going to camp for a week at a time.  These are a few of the times I have to completely believe that Father will protect and return my children to me.


Is it normal that I want the "trump to sound" announcing the 2nd coming before my children have to get their driver's licenses?


I'm so glad God made me a mother:)

Reflections on Prayer

Earlier this week I took a Spiritual Formation track at a conference.  As we delved into the old idea of prayer and spent time in meditation and reflection, I came away with a page full of questions.  I'm not expecting answers from Father. 

Instead I feel like I'm looking at an image, waiting for this blurry idea to gradually come more into focus as I become more intimate with it...

PRAYER IS THE DISCOVERY OF JESUS WITHIN THE FABRIC OF OUR LIVES.

~ K.M. Dyckman & P. Carroll

IF PRAYER IS COMMUNICATION...
When God speaks thru others - is that prayer?
When God shows us something in our circumstances, is that prayer?
When I feel His presence, His smile, His power, His Holiness - is that prayer?

"ALL PRAYER IS RESPONSE."  ~Basil Pennington

When I feel a desire, a passion, an empathy, a joy - is that prayer?  Is this a response to God's stimuli - to His finger on my heart or His whisper to my soul?

THERE IS NO "THERE" TO GET TO.  IT IS TO KNOW GOD IN THE HERE AND NOW.  ~Cherie Tetz

When I act out of submission to walk in obedience is that prayer?  Am I not communicating to Father?

PRAYER IS OUR ENTRY INTO WHAT GOD IS ALREADY DOING THAT IS MUCH GREATER THAN OURSELVES.  ~Eugene Peterson

When Father blesses, intervenes, answers - is that prayer?  Can I hear what He is saying?  Do I undestand the import of His message?

PRAYER IS DANGEROUS! IT CARRIES WITH IT ONE GREAT ELEMENT OF RISK: CHANGE.  IN PRAYER WE OPEN OURSELVES TO THE CHANCE THAT GOD WILL DO SOMETHING WITH US THAT WE HAD NOT INTENDED.  WE YIELD TO POSSIBILITIES...  ~S.J.I.

When I notice great beauty, design, creativity, is that prayer?  Does not
my appreciation communicate something to Him?

PRAYER IS THE SUM OF OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH GOD.  WE ARE WHAT WE PRAY.  ~ Carlo Carretto

BE OPEN TO SURPRISE.   ~ Cherie Tetz

Is being more aware of the meaning of a message deeper prayer?  If I am more impacted by a message of God's love, are we connecting on a deeper level?

GOD SHOWS UP DISGUISED AS OUR ORDINARY LIVES.  ~Cherie Tetz

Don't my service, my "doing", my acts of obedience communicate?  Is that prayer?

IS my VERY LIFE prayer?  Is my life a communciation between God and myself? 

PRAYER FLOWS OUT OF MY LIFE AS IT IS, NOT AS I THINK IT SHOULD BE.  I SPILL OUT MY DEEPEST DESIRES, BLACKEST FEARS, STRONGEST HOPES... I DO NOT PRETEND TO BE OTHER THAN I AM.  ~ K.M. Dyckman & P. Carroll

Can there be a relationship with God without prayer?