filling of the abyss

it's the last day of september.  it's raining quietly, the sun is just now somewhere rising behind the clouds. it's early. and i'm waiting.  i'm not sure what i'm waiting for.

yesterday i watched a video clip of someone talking about the problem of our busy-ness, the constancy of our need to be doing something or checking something or filling ourselves and our time with something.  but again, it's avoidance of the silence. of what we find in the silence.

what was so great was that he called us all out.  he described that feeling that we all have- that hole- that deep need- that abyss- that like a child rears it's ugly uncomfortable little head when things get quiet and we are all alone.  it starts to moan and yell and need something.  it starts to creep over us- that feeling that maybe we are ultimately alone in this bad messy world, that things are as bad as we fear, of might be, or might never be better than now, and so we hightail it away from there.  we run fast. we grab. we google. we message and text and get on facebook.  we do ANYTHING to keep from that sore spot.  he spoke about getting that sinking feeling one day when he was driving. so he quickly grabbed for his phone. but when he realized he was doing it, avoiding, shunning, numbing, covering it- he made the brave choice to sit with it.  he pulled over on the side of the road.  he felt it. it hurt. it was uncomfortable.  and he cried and cried in the sadness of it. but.

but then he felt peace.  then he felt joy.  and hope. and he was renewed. refreshed. given life again.  but if he hadn't allowed himself to feel that sore spot, if he'd covered it up with his phone, or the internet, if he'd run away, he may have avoided that moment of sorrow- but with it, the peace. 

our feelings are beautiful.  the fact that we can feel all these things - is beautiful. that we can experience that range of emotion and still breathe is beautiful.  that we can come back from sadness and have deep joy. that we can cry and then laugh. and that we can share this- this knowledge of the passion in our humanity with each other.  that is beautiful. that is what helps the abyss.  that and God.  knowing that we are not alone, or abandoned, but held when we ask, cared for, loved. knowing that underneath are the Everlasting Arms. 

full

another weekend. a beautiful day in a beautiful world that is full.

that is it. it is full.

full of good things and bad things and hard things and things we must wait for and things we want but will never hold in our hands.  full of things that leave us empty and full of things that fill us until we are sure we will burst.

i love fredrick buechner. love him. love his words. his mind. what he does for my  mind and my heart- how he stirs my soul.  today i began his book 'telling the truth'.  i found it on the shelf when i was drinking my coffee.  i was so excited because his words lead me back to the mystery that is our life. to the unknown-ness that we all pretend so hard to know.  to the bare reality of our messiness and the absolute truth of God loving us in our raggedy states.  he talks about silence.  the hugeness of silence.  the importance of it.  the need of it. the voice of it.

"Before the Gospel is a word, it is silence. It is the silence of [our] own lives. It is life with the sound turned off so that for a moment or two you can experience it not in terms of the words you make it bearable by but for the unutterable mystery that it is. "Be silent and know that I am God, saith the Lord" (Ps. 46:10) Be silent and know that even by my silence and absence I am known. Be silent and listen to the stones cry out."

because they do. the stones and the trees and the grasses and the sand.  and we do.  all of us cry out.  all of us are full of the very best and the very worst.  we are full and we are scared of silence. we are noise and busy- our lives.  we keep them that way so we don't have to listen to the silence. because in silence comes truth.

what truth? what truth is in this moment? this silence? i hear a door shut.  a bird.  the sound of bryn outside playing alone on the stone wall that used to be a hut.  i hear his feet walking it in circles singing softly to his six year old self.  what does he hear in his own silence? there is the wind and another bird and thankfully not the barking of the dog.  i now hear mike in the kitchen.  the crinkle of bag. the ticking of the clock.  the crunching of a snack being eaten.  the soft clicks of this keyboard.  i hear peace. i hear fullness in the space that is our lives.  i hear rose in the neighbors yard- echoing voices of kids exploring the world in the freedom of the afternoon on a sunday.  if we are quiet, the mysteries can unfold. and the things we avoid in thought, the things that wake us in the night, the things we all have in some version or another, they are there anyway, they are part of our truth, the good and the bad.  the hard and the soft.  the things that haunt us and that make us run with exuberance and glee.

may i let my silence speak.

the very worst missionary ever

yesterday i left the house with 2 left flipflops in my bag.

i was running out the door with my stuff for the day - dressed for cross fit- with a change of clothes, computer, etc, and trying to get the three big kids out the door with their stuff for the day- someones swimming costume (i know- it's what they call it at the brittish school- it still makes me laugh), pe kit (another one), water bottles, homework, library books, snacks, gluten free lunch items, etc. at least the kids managed to get a correct pair of shoes on their feet, but when i grabbed my flipflops, i grabbed one of mine and one of judes- unfortunately they were both for a left foot.   rats.

but it kind of sums up my life.  walking around in two left shoes. 

the other day i found upon a blog called jamie the very worst missionary  (which you should all check out because she is way funnier and wiser than i am).  but.  why do you think i gravitated toward it? because that title is how i feel most of the time.  yes, that is me.  most of the time i feel like i am messing it all up.  

the thing is, we all have these ideas about missionaries- what they wear and do and say and write and think- and i don't fit that picture most of the time.  most of the time i am stumbling around in 2 left flipflops and a pair of jeans writing about how hard it is, or how much i miss something or someone, or what is happening with my kids- (as in who peed their bed again or ate earthworms, not who led someone to the Lord), or how i need to get away from my kids.  most of the time i write about brokenness and life not working and needing to change things.  i talk about feeling old and wrinkled and wanting a latte (in a togo cup from my car window with air conditioning on a smooth paved road). i talk about the challenges of living here, of trying to do medicine here, of trying to understand and live in and respect another culture.  i think about why we're even here and does it matter and do we do meaningful work- or are we just confusing people with the word missionary?

do you know what else? most of the time i dread making dinner and often default to eggs and toast (not in cute individualized eggs-in-a-hole fashion- just a bucket of scrambled eggs and some toast). i try hard to not swear, especially in front of my kids, of sometimes i end up swearing at them. oops.  i try even harder to model good behavior- not whining- not yelling- being thankful, but in the hot afternoon car ride home with 4 of them in traffic- i know i'm dropping that ball.

i met a woman once who is a fellow missionary in uganda, and she is the very best missionary ever. seriously.  but she does the right things and says the right things and writes the write things. she home schools her kids, she makes their clothes, her idea of a great saturday is playing with her kids- not getting away from them on date night. she likes to cook, and grow things, and repaint rooms, she even this week, made her own butter- AND put that down as something she was THANKFUL FOR- as in she's keeping a list.

i also have a friend, who is also my neighbor, and fellow missionary, and even belongs to the same missions agency, and she is also the very best missionary ever. seriously.  sometimes i get jealous.  (see! missionaries aren't supposed to be jealous!)  she wears the right clothes and writes the right things on her blog -things that are always uplifting and pointing up to God.  she runs the sunday school, and the womens bible study. she home schools her kids, she's super hospitable, she always throws holiday parties- and i'm talking about the minor holidays- like May Day.  and i'm sure she never gets jealous. or angry or upset or frustrated or annoyed.

ha. i'm kidding.  of course she does.  because she's human.  even missionaries are human- even missionaries who make their own butter are human. which is the point right?  at least for me.  i am sooooo human, sooooo the worst ever, that i can't see how anyone else can do any of it, with out God. with out forgiveness and unconditional love, and more forgiveness and hope and mercy and grace. because those are the things that Jesus is all about. Thank God.  really.   

the hard part is when we feel we have an image to uphold that we are not living up to. when we feel like we are supposed to only say some of what's happening, when we are only allowed to share the good parts, or the God parts.  when we are supposed to pretend that we don't have bad days or bad seasons, or that we're not in therapy, or that our kids won't need therapy (because the day we wore two left flipflops we shoved them out of the car, tossing their backpacks after them- to get to crossfit  (i mean....our ministry outreach) on time.)

but....i'm sure my friends, my very best missionary ever friends, don't feel like they live up to that title either.  they probably have their laundry list of what they are doing wrong too. they probably, maybe, occasionally shove their kids out of the car, or yell, or resort to eggs for dinner....again.  but if they don't, if all they do is feel guilty when they don't have home made butter- then they can relax because this two left shoed lady is using blueband! (doh!)

when you take it all away- when you strip us all down- out of our jeans or african dresses,  or whether we write about sunday school or the fact that life doesn't work, or whether we are busy making butter, we all need the same things- love and forgiveness.  whether we live in africa or in the USA or europe or asia- whether we are missionaries, worst or best, or regular people, or Christians or not, we all need Grace and Mercy.

thankfully, when we fall, or fail, or just have a bad day- there are the everlasting arms.

"the eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms." Deut. 33:27

(well now....i am a missionary after all :) 

zoe saves the day

it had not been a good day.  i woke up after a migrainy night, feeling bored and lonely and with very little prospect of resolving those feelings.  i was in a funk.  i was missing people and places and old lives that aren't found in africa.  i was wanting things i couldn't have.  i was feeling trapped and cornered. it was that melancholy feeling that would only have been better if it had been raining, when i would somehow feel the sympathy of nature and God.  but.  it was sunny- a bright mocking sunshine.

after i made the kids french toast, i wallowed in it for a while.  i felt sorry for myself. then i thought about zoe.  zoe is never bored.  zoe rarely expresses feeling lonely.  zoe does a great job of occupying herself, so i sought her out.

she was in her room- playing LPSs - of course.  so i flopped on her bed and told her how i was feeling- basically bored and lonely. she asked if i wanted to play LPSs with her.  i definitely did not, but i did want to know her secret.  i asked her if we could hang out for the day and go somewhere.  she said sure and we headed into town.  it was totally the right move. 

first of all, having alone time with zoe is rare, then having zoe be in a place where she is focused on things other than herself, is rare.  then having zoe be focused on me in a caring way, is really rare.  it was the tri-fecta.

as soon as we were in the car, i thanked her for coming with me and told her that i was sorry. that sometimes i just get like this- in this funk- in a place of lonely and bored.  she was full of ideas.

"mom, maybe you should have gone for a run.
you need to play more.
or watch a movie
or read a book
or write.
you could do cartwheels.
go on the trampoline.
you could sing!"

then came the best part.........

"you know it's never too late to get yourself an imaginary friend." 

i about died laughing.

"seriously, when you need a friend and you don't have one around they come in handy.  i highly recommend them."

at that point, i knew my day would be fine.  it had turned. zoe had turned it.  the list continued, she was thrilled to be helping me. we had a great time and i was so impressed with her ability to enjoy her life.  her constant capacity to entertain herself, to create ways to sustain herself. 

today i watched temple grandin with zoe- the movie about the amazing autistic woman who over came many challenges and became a professor.  it's the story of a woman who shares a lot with zoe- the sensitivity, the sensory overload, the social challenges, difficulty regulating.  and of course, i cried.  i watched as this woman used her talents and pushed herself through the hard things.  at the end, she is at an autism conference with her mother and she stands up to share about her life. she quotes something her mother had told her and spoken about her for years- that she is 'different but not less'.  you can see on her mothers face- all those years- those impossibly hard and lonely years- filled with fear and exhaustion- they had bloomed into this- her daughter, a woman, speaking now, in front of people- being a voice for people who are different but not less.  wow.

i had waited to watch this movie with zoe because i didn't know how she'd react.  i was worried that she'd over identify. that she'd be begging for a squeeze machine. but i knew she was ready now. part of how i knew was because of an email i'd received earlier that day from her school counselor.  it was a very proud moment for me.  the counselor said that on friday, zoe had spoken in front of her class to tell them about what it was like to have nonverbal learning disorder- what it was like to have her brain, her challenges, her gifts.  the counselor said she was brilliant- clear and together and that she'd fielded their questions gracefully.  wow. 

not surprisingly zoe had not mentioned this on friday. she hadn't mentioned it on saturday even though we'd spent the whole day together.  but i went into her room this morning and i read her the email.  she was so proud. she had a huge smile on her face.  i told her that what she'd done was amazing- because it was.  imaging being 14 and sharing with your class what your challenges are? imagine that vulnerability? imagine that level of risk?  she is so brave.

i told her that, that she was brave and amazing and that i could never have done that when i was 14.  i told her they should make an american girl doll about her.  zoe, girl of the year 2014- a beautiful girl who is a little different but so full of courage. 

i've been mildly obsessed with this idea of courage- of living your life, of telling your story with your whole heart. this is zoe.  in so many ways she wears her vulnerability in a way that most of us can hide.  she can't help but tell her story wholeheartedly- the good the bad and the ugly of it. 

so it has been a weekend full of my learning.  my remembering.  my reflection.  a weekend of zoe helping me to again see her courage, and to laugh, and to take my life less seriously.  to have hope.  to be patient.  to see my own differences and vulnerabilities.  and maybe to get an imaginary friend- for days like yesterday, just in case.

one degree

the other day i was talking with one of my best friends here who also happens to be a wise soul. she will sometimes slip into the conversation, little pieces that are often, for me, life changing. we were talking about goals and change and courage (in the 'telling the story of who you are with your whole heart' kind of a way).  i'm sure i was talking dramatically about trying to be the person i really want to be, and how moving into that person can feel so overwhelming, and how i often feel like i'm learning the same lessons over and over again.

then she mentioned that when your navigating with a compass, if you change course by one degree, you completely change where you end up. she mentioned it as if everyone knows this.  as if it were common knowledge.  but i thought it was brilliant. one degree.   who would think that one degree would matter. at. all?  but it does. especially over time.  i love this.  it doesn't need to be massive.  it doesn't need to be overwhelming. it's the little decisions we make that steer the ship.  that keep us on course.   but, i realized, these small things it can also get us off course.  they can seem benign and irrelevant- yet they eventually lead us far from where we wanted to be.

it's the things we can't say no to.  or should say yes to but don't.  it's not listening to that still small voice.  it's being over busy.  it's impulsively sending that email. it's buying that shirt we don't need.  it's spending that extra half hour on facebook instead of reading to our kids.  it's all those little things we find ourselves justifying. 

thankfully, small changes matter. we can adjust.  we can realign.  we can correct.  one small degree can get us where we want to be.

i can get behind one degree.  i can embrace that. i can make a big sign and hang it in the living room that says ONE DEGREE to remind me- because even though it's simple, even though it's only two words, i so easily forget these things.  i should probably make two more signs. one that says WAIT - because it never hurts to wait.  and one that says, "if you have to justify it- you just shouldn't do it." because that is also usually true.

it's easier to begin when it's only one degree.  its easier to make change in our minutes.  i will think of them as little bits of empowerment.  little opportunities for growth and alignment.  sitting here writing this is one of those moments.  it was finding my spot on the horizon.  it was seeing which direction my options would lead me toward. it was waiting.  it was saying no to a request.  it was choosing to be still and slow down and be here now.  one degree.

vulnerability and the garden

uganda is so beautiful.  on mornings when i am privileged to go up monkey hill, i am amazed at the beauty.  it looks like how i imagine the garden of eden, full and life giving. the sky is so clear- the flower colors so bright- the birds, loud and eager- the monkeys seem just happy to be- even the leaves are thrilled to be wiggling by the wind.

when i walk up the hill- i pray- i mean i talk to God.  the other day, because it was so eden like, i was really thinking about talking to God and about adam and eve and their talking with God and even their walking with God.  i thought about how different it would feel, and i might feel, if i were actually walking and talking with God.  i suppose this is theologically complicated, because i do believe that when i am praying i am communing with God, however before the fall, before the snake and the apple eating, and the choosing disobedience, before the separation from God began, they actually walked with God- in a way that i'm guessing  we don't know this side of paradise.

then i was thinking about how even though they were walking and talking and living in a real, connected, un-tainted relationship with God, they STILL messed up.  they still chose poorly.  they still didn't do the right thing- and He was RIGHT THERE WITH THEM.

when i was 6 years old, my mother was my sunday school teacher and when we did the story of adam and eve- my best friend said very seriously, "well, if adam and eve hadn't sinned, then i would have." my mother was very impressed by her awareness of our falling. but in retrospect i think a better thing to say would be, "because adam and eve sinned- given that they SAW and HEARD GOD, then OF COURSE i'm going to!"

because that is where it starts.  if they couldn't get it right, knowing they were meeting up with God for a walk in a few hours, knowing that He was also living in the garden with them, it's no wonder that i can't.  i'm so thankful for that story, because it helps me understand brokenness better. it helps me understand that i am so far from perfect.  it helps me be a bit more accepting of how hard life is.  but there is another important part.  because although they needed to deal with the consequences of their choice, God still meets them where they are.  He finds them hiding, ashamed of being naked, now not wanting to be known, fearing connection.  he could have said, "oh get over it! i MADE you! i've seen you naked everyday for the last umpteen years!" but he doesn't.  because he loves them. even. though.  instead He makes them proper clothes.  His mercy even extends to their physical shame.  His mercy even extends out of the garden.

this speaks so many things to me. about gentleness and about provision and non-abandoment.   about being gentler with ourselves and each other.  and about forgiveness and expectations and love.  it also speaks about the beginning of vulnerability and about connection.

yesterday i watched the brene brown TED talk on vulnerability.  if you haven't seen it, you should watch it, and listen and learn.  she talks about our deep desire to connect- that it's what we are wired for.   that when you look at people who are whole and well adjusted and connected, what they have in common is that they believe they are worthy of love and connection, and the key to feeling worthy of love, is being true and real and vulnerable. even. though. 

even though its uncomfortable and awkward.  even though it's risky and scary and dangerous.  even if people laugh or cry or get mad at us. being honest with our struggle and our life and our messiness- is what makes us alive and real. when we run toward our vulnerability, instead of away from it, we are ourselves- and in that humility and openness, there is nothing left to hide.  we are what we are. we are trying.  we are worthy just because we are real, and so are you, and so am i. then we can become connected.  then comes the joy and the peace and the beauty.

my favorite part of the talk was when she defines courage- as "to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart." that is beautiful.  that is brave and vulnerable.  that is how i want to live.

life is hard.  it's so hard. and we all fall and trip and eat various apples and make the wrong choices often.  but what makes it even harder, is that we also pretend that it's easy, that we can walk tall in heels, never faltering, doing just fine- even though we know it's not true. so then we're pretty sure that we are fooling everyone about ourselves, while believing that everyone else actually does look good and walk well in their life in heels. so then we feel alone. and scared. and life becomes even harder.

thankfully, there is grace.  thankfully there is the awareness that the first people ever, who lived in the garden with The Gardener- even they mucked it up.  thankfully we are given provision.  thankfully we can practice love and forgiveness and gentleness with ourselves and with each other.  thankfully we can learn to be more vulnerable, to believe we have worth and are worthy of this love and connection- because that is why we were put in the garden in the first place. and then we can begin to be courageous.  then we can try to tell the story of who we are, with our whole heart.

past and present

it rains now in the day and i love that. the coolness, the closed quiet sky, the change from heat and dry.  life is so full of that- change, but sameness too.

this week zoe turned 14. it made me stop and pause and wonder. i thought about her and her years, and our years, where they have gone, what has happened in them, who have we become. what parts have changed, what parts are the same, what parts are too loose, and what parts are too stuck. 

when i was 14 i went to peru. it was my first time overseas, the first time my eyes were opened wide to another side of things- an opposite side- another reality. i saw such differences and i was drawn to them.  i remember the market place and hot sodas and dust, the strong smell of soap and sewage, the way people lived with it. i saw a vastness to Gods love and creation.

now i live on the other side, in another reality, with my own 14 year old and all my years.  i live here and for my kids- this is their reality, going back to america, is the other side for them. here i am in the middle of my life.  here, we have placed ourselves.  here we all grow, together, finding ourselves, emerging from this land. 

i have red feet most days and i see my lost-ness and my found-ness.  i see my brokenness and my mended-ness, and the things i've held onto, the things i've carried for all these years. where ever i am, where ever i go- there i am- with these years.  sometimes i wonder how many times i will live over and over again the lesons that come to teach me that Gods love is enough.  when will i live in that? trust that? rest in that? 

perhaps each day is that- each day I am born into this miracle- this hope that we can have because of the Love we know.  the miracle of seeing that love again and finding it again. 

may i live well into this day- this day that started cold but is warming now. this day may i experience the gentleness of that love- may i soften and bend and be okay with where i am inside.  may i surrender to what is right instead of trying to fix my feelings on my own. may i trust. may i be still. may i resist my own desire to control. may i pray if i need to do anything at all.  and when i am lonely, may i talk to Hiim. when i cry, may i cry to Him.  when i am happy, may i thank Him. and when i am bursting with joy or sadness, may i run only into His arms.

may i awaken to this miracle today.

a rainy afternoon

it's a beautiful quiet rainy afternoon. so i'm sharing a quiet poem, from mary oliver, again......


Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

these days

these days i am sitting with things.  these days i am still and i am trying. i am trying to be in my moments again and to feel them instead of filling them.  i am trying to observe and watch, instead of act and react.  this is surprisingly hard- well, for me.

it's sunday afternoon. 

have i mentioned how much i hate sunday afternoons? i always have.  they are just depressing, always, but to make it worse, because it's Gods day, i also feel guilty that i don't like them.  not good all around.  it has become my challenge to do something- or anything- to be happy- or at least to not feel depressed.

so today it's been extra hard for me to sit with things, to be still and feel things, because i don't want to feel sunday afternoon, i want to avoid it.  

i decided the best thing to do would be to walk the dog up monkey hill. it was hot but it was good and i was moving but i was also still.  i was listening and feeling and being present, in this day, this sunday afternoon, in this place with all it's beauty and it's challenge. 

when we got to the top of the hill, when we sat on the cement bench, looking out at lake victoria, the rain came.  a lot of rain. nice, cold, hard, heavy rain.  i loved it.  there was such a sense of release and realness. this is life- the emptying sky with out shelter- the coldness of rain with out a coat.  the bareness of nature, being unprepared, welcoming what comes, whatever that may be.  hearing only the loud falling water, seeing the sheets of it obscuring all else- knowing it's now- just now- then it will go- so love it and be in it.

so i did.  i let it soak me.  i walked and ran down that hill through streams of brown mud.  i let that dog shake his muddy fur all over me. i was cold and wet and my clothes stuck to me- but there i was - on a sunday afternoon- feeling the realness wash all over me.  i allowed myself to feel all the things that make me sad and all those things that make me happy.  i told myself that it is okay to sit and stand and walk and run with these feelings- the good and the bad- the sweetness and the lonely.  i reminded myself that i don't need to DO anything about them.  that i can learn more from listening than busying. that i can grow more from paying attention, than ignoring.

that is where i am, where i am trying to be, even on a sunday afternoon.

life doesn't work

my friend said that the other day,  "life doesn't work."  and some days, i really know what she means.  it doesn't work the way we want it to. it doesn't go according to plan.  it's not smooth and pretty and easy.  life is broken.  it's messy and complicated and hard and it's broken. on facebook it looks nice and easy and fun. all. the. time. but it's not. well, at least mine isn't.

yesterday i was having one of those mornings when i just wanted space. unfortunately, rose was having one of those mornings when all she wanted was to be with me.  this didn't work. i didn't want to be followed and watched and petted (yes, she pets me).  and everywhere i went, she was right there, and she was actively staring at me, or petting me.  finally when i was drying my hair, i just turned around and said, "can you please stop staring at me!!! go get a book or something, you can be here, you can be with me, but do something, don't just stare!"  it was not a good moment.  i felt badly as soon as i said it.......broken.

there were several other annoying snaphoos in the day validating the fact that life doesn't work, but then we went to pick zoe up from school.  first of all, it was hot, and we had been in our now not air-conditioned car for over an hour, with several kids who were hungry and thirsty.  it was supposed to be a 'meet the teacher' afternoon but we arrived to zoe having a very serious discussion with her homeroom teacher and her  one-one aide about her saying something mean to some of the girls in her class.  they were handling it very well.  they were calm and explaining the consequences of her behavior and that it would lead to her isolation- that she was putting up walls with her behavior- that she wouldn't like.  mike and i honestly just wanted to throttle her. because in moments like this, we are staring broken in the face.  we are living 'life doesn't work'.

but how can i even say that?  it's all relative.  i just returned from visiting my friend with cancer. he's 14. he just got home from the hospital last night. he is thin and in pain. and in those moments, with my hand on his hot forehead, those are the moments when i really feel that life doesn't work. it's just so broken. as am i.

his mom kept thanking me and saying she is asking God why i came here and helped her.  why God had blessed them in that way.  that is so not the question i would be asking.  i would be asking why my kid is suffering? why my kid had cancer? why this was happening to our family? but not her.  she is asking about blessing in the midst of suffering. she is being thankful in her pain.

i sat there on that couch and listened to her talk about being in the hospital a few days ago.  she was talking about one night, in those dark hours, when her son was having a lot of pain, she cried out to her God, and He showed up.  as he does, because He promises he will.  she was so afraid and sad and she cried out- something like 'help!' something like 'please!'  and there He was.  she felt Jesus by their bed, she said.  she heard in her heart, "no matter what, I am here and I am still God."  and in that broken moment she said, "then i will praise you."  and she had peace.  and her son had freedom from his pain for the rest of that night. 

there is the mending.  the mending is in that promise. NO MATTER WHAT I AM HERE AND I AM GOD. You are not alone, ever.  You are loved.  and that is why she can find the blessing - EVEN in this.  that is why she can be thankful in the middle of life not working. and that is why i sat on that couch and wept and wept- because it was just so brokenly beautiful. as she spoke and he slept, i was filled with all of it- the sorrow and the sweetness; the ugly and the goodness- all of it together.  and i remembered my seasons. i remembered God showing up so clearly when i cried, "help!" and "please!" and "now!".  i remembered that promise that, "yes, life doesn't work.  but I won't leave you alone in it."

there is the hope.  even though life will keep on breaking, and breaking us, we are still given moments of beauty and goodness and peace- and that is enough. today, that can be enough.

routine and gold duct tape

it's the little things. yesterday it was shiny gold duct tape.  not even close to the typical dull silver duct tape. this was pretty and happy and day-makingly beautiful, especially on a very wet, very rainy day. it looked like Christmas and all the glittering lighty-ness of that.

yesterday the gold tape held up our return to crossfit work out program. it was hard, but it was so good.  to be together. to move our bodies. to get back into the routine of our lives. our lives which are constantly changing, full of motion and newness.  yesterday there were new faces and old faces and in between faces, like ven diagrams, overlapping seasons.

maybe that is why routines matter.  they give us structure and stability and something to depend on. and maybe why they matter even more here. maybe when the years of routine are stripped away and you've landed in a place with out those years of people and sameness, re-creating the patterns brings meaning and sanity.

routine is viewed as boring, monotonous and generally negative.  it's viewed as the opposite of adventure; as suffocating, as destroying the goodness that comes from creativity and spontaneity. but i think they go together.  routine provides us with something essential- a backbone for life- from which we can branch off, we can decorate, we can add our gold tape and little white lights.

i tend to be bad at routine- i tend to not set it up, to avoid it - yet i find that i secretly crave it.  that with out it, i can spin and spin myself dizzy.  with out it, i become lost.  it gives something to both count on, and react to.  it provides the platform from which to sometimes jump. 

now it's wednesday, the middle of the week.  mike and i are jumping.  we are breaking the routine a little. we are just going for lunch and to spend the afternoon working together, but it's special because it's different.  with out the routine, it would be another thing to do.  but today, it's a little gold duct tape.