deepest oceans

today is the first sunday in advent. my favorite season. i love the celebrations on earth, but i'm mostly blown away by the divine. the entrance- the union of God and humanity- it changes everything. i could throw out most of religion and just hold onto the mystery of God becoming one of us and remaining Himself. that deep love and humility and sacrifice out of a desire to Know us from our perspective is astounding. but i still forget- even today- the first sunday of advent.

it wasn't even that big of a deal. it was just that it was the same deal. zoe yelling about having to get dressed. zoe yelling at people for "bossing her" when they reminded her to get dressed. her weekly argument over going to church. little things. little things that add up. i had had it. i decided instead of venting to mike, i would tell God my real thoughts on the matter (as if He doesn't know). and it was like that scene in the apostle, when robert duvall goes off on God. yes, that was me in the bathroom this morning.

i told God, out loud, that i was pissed and that i was pretty sure i'd learned everything out there that there was to learn from having a child like this so could He please 'fix' zoe. (i may have even said 'fix') i told Him that i didn't have what was needed in this situation. i told Him that now it's affecting the other kids and they're done too. i told Him that we have had enough and that i don't feel like He's doing His part to show up. He kept interrupting me with things like, 'do you trust me?' and i would say 'well yes, but back to what i was saying about being exhausted...' i think after a few minutes He stopped saying anything because He knew that i wasn't listening. i was ranting.

my mother had told me long ago that it's okay to be mad at God because He can take it. but i still felt out of line so i asked for forgiveness and we went to church. 

i sat in my plastic chair and the singing began and the sky was dark, and the wind was cool and noisy, and God began to speak again because He knew that now i was listening. He spoke straight through the 20 minutes of music- as if it were just Him and me on this advent sunday - because that is what advent is all about- God caring That much about me. and That much about you.

I have heard You calling my name
I have heard the song of love that You sing
So I will let You draw me out beyond the shore
Into Your grace

these days i feel that i'm treading water in the deepest ocean. that i'm way beyond the shore.

You call me out upon the waters
The great unknown where feet may fail
And there I find You in the mystery
In oceans deep
My faith will stand

And I will call upon Your name
And keep my eyes above the waves
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace
For I am Yours and You are mine

these days i feel that i'm treading water with no idea which way is land. direction-less.

Your grace abounds in deepest waters
Your sovereign hand
Will be my guide

Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me
You've never failed and You won't start now

You will guide me with Your hand- will i take it? have i been looking for your hand? or only looking for the shore?

and that is true- You have never failed.

You make me brave

You make me brave

You call me out beyond the shores into the waves

You make me brave

You make me brave

No fear can hinder now the promises you've made  - bethel music

these days i am afraid- (it usually hides beneath anger). these days i don't feel brave.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior
Oh, Jesus, you're my God!    - hillsong

not just stop treading water. not just know the direction and swim. but walk upon the waters. the waters i've been called into. deeper than my feet could ever wander. to places i've never intended to go. places i'd like to run away from. but here i am. i have been called out beyond the shore. that is life with zoe. i have been called out onto the waters. and today i called out God's name- to keep my eyes above the waves.

and standing beside my plastic chair with a room full of people and me and God, with that beautiful image of God's hand reaching down and picking up my treading self and making me brave enough to walk on that water, i held His hand fixed my eyes on Jesus, and i cried. 

i cried tears of awe and wonder on this first advent sunday. because it's so much bigger than His coming. that is just the beginning. it's His knowing me. His picking me up over and over again. His not tiring of me. His holding my hand. His making me brave. 

brave in the deepest of oceans.

different drummer

 "if a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away."     Thoreau

i remember the smell of eucalyptus and her white blonde pony-tails and being teased for not being able to do the monkey bars.  i remember years of sticky thoughts and anxiety and picking her up from beneath desks that felt safer than classmates. i remember trials of different medications and diets and music and movements to help regulate her to fit into a world that has always felt strange to her. but then there were special schools and camps and other people working with my girl- people with training and patience. i remember giving her that- the opportunity to engage with people who are like her. and who like her. who get her. i remember there always being something that we were moving towards, the end of the school year, camp, the next year, with the assumption that we were moving toward the same land as everyone else, just at a very different pace and perhaps by another path. but there was a path.

now. it. seems. unbearably. hard. and lonely. and scary.
it feels like treading water in the deepest part of the ocean with no idea which direction to head to find land.  i'm tired. tired of treading and of spinning around and looking for land. it's the directionality that is lacking and that feels new.

i can hear her laughing in the other room- she is watching a show on my computer. i just got up from sitting in front of my bookcase which is covered with books about autism with names like 'lovey', 'the out of sync child', 'freaks geeks and aspergers' and 'no easy answers'. i sat there because i was looking for answers or ideas or something or maybe anything. yes. anything would be good because i'm pretty much at nothing. and before i could open any of them. i just cried. it was the old familiar cry about why do i have to have this shelf of books in my house? why can't i just have 'the blessing of a skinned knee' and that be enough? the cry of 'i don't want this' and 'it's not fair' and 'i'm not cut out for any of it'.  the cry that boils down to 'i'm exhausted' and 'i love her' and 'i don't know what to do', and 'help'.

i landed there in front of the books because she'd had a rough morning and i found her crying on the couch saying that we were asking too much of her. i asked her what she thought we were asking and she described the typical ADL's (activites of daily living) that everyone does in the morning and the evening. that was it. so i held her while she cried and wondered how on God's green earth, that, could be too much for anyone! she asked me if this is what love feels like and i said yes. love is sitting together when whatever it is feels like too much. we sat for a while and talked in the rare but good way- the less is more way- the way where i feel like for a moment, she hears me and i hear her- then we listened to silent night (the priscilla ahn version).



















the problem is.....there are no easy answers. period. there aren't even easy questions . what do we do? where are we going? what are our goals and how do we reach them? how do we support our other kids with one who demands what feels like everything? how do we stay in our days and smile and laugh?

she hears a different drummer. it is differently measured. and it's far away.  love hears the music of many drums. may i open my ears. may i be moved by them all. may i have the strength to leave the line and dance with her some of time. no matter how far away.

one nation under God

 

tonight i fell apart a bit.

it wasn't just the elections. it wasn't just zoe. it wasn't just another reminder of rose's challenging adoption. it was all of it.

it was after bible study. after reading luke talking about Jesus. after spending too much time putting together a 1000 piece puzzle of antique candy bars while my kids tried to get me to turn off the light so they could sleep. it was after they were all in bed and zoe finally stopped shouting at us that she was going to become a rebel because that is what people with disabilities do when they don't feel understood.

mike and i sat on the living room floor and i cried. a lot.

i cried because it wasn't supposed to be this way. any of it. trump wasn't supposed to win and i wasn't supposed to have a 17 year old daughter like this. because they have things in common- they both make me mad. but really what sits underneath that is a lot of sadness and fear. sadness about life as it is and fear about the future. sad about what it all means and afraid of what it could mean. and i cried some more and apologized for crying because so many people have things much worse and mike said that actually our life right now is pretty darn full of crap and that we should pray. so we did.

we asked God to show up in a big and real way. we told Him that we were done with things as they are and that He knew it because He knows everything but that it was time for something to give. we said we were hitting our limit. and i cried a lot more.

we went out side and looked at the moon and the clouds and played fetch with scout.  over our compound wall there was a party happening. we listened as people sang loudly the songs of old- the ones i grew up with in church- i cling to the old rugged cross- amazing grace- and many others. we watched the banana leaves shake in the wind and the clouds darken and those same songs sang to us. they sang us back to remembering that we are small and God is big. that we are afraid but He tells us not to fear. that we see only a part. He holds the whole. He's got the world in His hands. no matter who is president. no matter how crazy zoe seems.

when we came inside, i check facebook and found that it had simmered. it had simmered to a place of remembering too. there were posts about peace. about rising strong. about listening to each other. about the amazing-ness of our country that has a fair democratic process. about standing together and not forgetting that we are americans and americans stand for what is right even in this. that we will hold each other accountable and look for the ways that we need to bend for all voices to be heard- voices of women and minorities and those who have come from other shores and the LGBT community and even those who vote differently than we do- because we are not a people of hate or judgement- we can't do that- not in any direction- we need to have faith in our systems- we need to enter into them to make them better, not run away. we need to feel empowered and find a common language in the midst of many differences. i read words of apology for things we've done and left undone. i read words of regret and desire. words of hope. i found words of hope.

and there was God showing up. in the night air. in the words of friends. in the songs of old.

'what ever my plot thou has taught me to say- it is well, it is well with my soul!'