LET US REJOICE!

Treasure

2012-02-07T22:49:00.000-05:00

A family walk on a warm February day...
Hunting for treasure, hiding in camouflage...
And one day, hopefully, they will know that the real treasure found on that day was each other...
The gift of shared memories and God-painted canvas forever etched...
And knowing that despite the daily grind of life...bickerings..and working things out...
they had what was most important.

Can you find Sam?
He bought a ghillie suit with his birthday money...

The prize.....

Full Of Grace

2012-01-28T19:26:00.000-05:00

"Hail, Mary, full of grace!".....

And she was and is full of grace, because Mary's whole life was an affirmation of God- who he is and what he was doing in her life. Her very being, her soul, "proclaim(ed) the greatness of the Lord." (Luke 1:46)

When we strive to be God-filled rather than self-filled we, like Mary, affirm the 'greatness' of God and allow his grace into our lives.

I recently read a passage written by Father Joseph Payne, which expresses this thought so clearly:

We are good and lovely and dedicated because God has loved us and we have had the grace to respond to that love. We spend our lives responding to love, living "in answer" to a greater love that calls to us.

Everything, then, is grace. Everything is a gift. To the extent that we recognize and celebrate God's gracious love will we be able to respond to God's call and to be gracious both to ourselves and to our neighbors, the other friends of Jesus.

When we fail to celebrate grace and graciousness, we become tough. The pressures of life make us tough with ourselves, and we become tough with each other. Look around you at those who are hard on other people and you will find those who are hard on other people are hard on themselves. When we fail to celebrate grace and graciousness, we become distant- distant from ourselves , distant from God and distant from our neighbor. Look around you at those who are aloof and you will find people who are in some real way aloof from themselves.

In the incarnation, the mystery of God's love became flesh. That love became tangible and visible and believable in Jesus, who came to put an end to all distance.We who believe in Jesus, then, must put an end to all distance. We want to be present the way Jesus was, attuned to people as he was, and fully present to God after his example. We want to stop 'postponing our presence,' stop delaying being fully there with God, with self, with neighbor.

...Jesus did not live a 'muffled' presence-the car muffler silences the sound of its exhaust system. Jesus did not live a 'muted' presence-the mute softens the brilliance of the trumpet. We who follow Jesus dare not live the message of love in muffled and muted fashion. If Jesus was really present, we who believe in Jesus must be really present, or the gospel will be sung by us only in hushed tones.

We must not live in "hushed tones," then. We must live boldly in the fullness and truth of God's magnificence, proclaiming his love and living in the light of his beautiful grace.

Harvest

2011-10-28T10:52:00.002-04:00

Bowed heads yield to the burden of time. Earth, her bowels depleted, heaves in surrender to death.

The naked landscape probes the recesses of my soul. I lie on the ground, furled in the solitude of a barren womb and am stilled by the mystery.

The mystery, the amazement, the miracle.
The miracle.
And isn't that always the miracle? That sterility swells with vitality? That I can lie in wonder on a cold ground, looking up at crumpled ashen flowers and know that they promise life?

Each one of these Sunflower seeds will grow into a vibrant yellow flower next Summer. Every head is bulging with seeds, crammed with life.

And that is the greatest mystery. If God can take a seed from a plant and work this miracle, how much more can He do with an eternal soul? How can we behold such grandeur and not know that we are destined for greatness?

How can we go about our days, taking for granted that day after day, month after month, year after year, the earth will replenish, renew, bear fruit, put forth seed... sustain our very being...yet forget that God is doing the same for us? Our lives are the seeds in a destitute existence...and God is anticipating the harvest.

And the people who will plant seeds, knowing and expecting the harvest to come, refuse to believe that God can work the same miracle in our souls. All creation proclaims who God is and what He does. All creation is the supreme manifesto.

Why thus longing, forever sighing for the far off, unattained and dim, while the beautiful, all around thee lying, offers up its low perpetual hymn?
Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching, all thy restless yearnings it would still; Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching thine own sphere, though humble first to fill.

~Harriet Winslow Sewall

Centerpiece

2011-09-26T20:29:00.001-04:00

A few days ago I found this Swallowtail caterpillar on a walk. I placed it in a jar with some parsley and dill, a Swallowtail larva's favorite food.The next day I looked in on my caterpillar and was disappointed to see it curled dead at the bottom of the jar.

"Oh well," I thought. "It must have been too late in the year for this little guy to make it." For some reason, though, I left the caterpillar, lifeless, at the center of the table. Imagine my surprise a few days later to see a perfectly formed chrysalis at the bottom of the jar!

I was so excited, I began shouting to the children, to anyone who could hear, that "The caterpillar isn't dead after all! It formed a chrysalis!!! " Oliver said, "Well, Mom, you must have been expecting something to happen; otherwise, why would you have left a dead caterpillar as the centerpiece of our dining room table?"

Why? Was I hoping? Do I dare to think that I had hope, that I hadn't given up on life?
Why would I leave death to look upon? How could something dry and dead inspire? But that is the mystery for the Christian: death enfolds life. Just when life seems the most bleak, just when you're ready to curl up like that caterpillar at the bottom of the jar...there is victory in the wings.

You may be ready to call it quits. You may be wondering what it's all for. You may not know the reason for even your own existence. But God's plans for you and for your life are as alive as the caterpillar, lying limp and motionless, awaiting the miracle. Sometimes life breathes fullest in a grave of quiet, lungs heaving in solitude. All seems lost, but with each deep and painful breath God works an amazing transformation that restores life.

Will you let Him do that? Will you have faith? Can you let what seems dead in your life remain the centerpiece, knowing that He is going to work a miracle far surpassing your expectations?

"However, as it is written: No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him'--" (1Corinthians 2:9)

"I alone know the plans I have for you, plans to bring you prosperity and not disaster, plans to bring about the future you hope for. " (Jeremiah 29:11)

Rooted

2011-09-23T00:39:00.000-04:00

Roots dig deep and plummet depths of a dry earth. Searching..always searching. Growing and groping their way to that life-sustaining current running through the ground: water. Life. Twisting into the earth, they suck the water like giant straws, carrying the water to the very tops of the tree's branches, reaching to the farthest leaves. No leaf is left dry.

Roots dig deep and clutch earth, their tendrils curling and grasping soil. Spreading, entwining, they brace and bolster a towering tree. That tree will withstand gale force winds, setting her face against the storms, but she will not fall. The roots uphold and strengthen her being. She will still flower, she will still bear fruit. She will thrive, because she is rooted. Yes, "the root of the righteous will bear fruit." (Pr 12:12)

And what of roots and towering trees? I ponder as I course familiar paths, stumbling over those very roots that nurture the canopy shielding me from the sun's afternoon heat.

Roots.
Rooted.

Many times when a tree dies it is because there has been damage to the roots. Because the tree is no longer sustained by its life-giving roots, it rots and dies or is the victim of a wind storm. The weak roots are ripped from the earth, and the tree colapses. Dead.

And me. Am I rooted? Are my roots growing in fertile soil, drawing the "living water?"(Jn7:38) Or am I allowing the roots of my being to go unfed, unwatered? Where do I need to dig in my roots?

"Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, having been firmly rooted and now being built up in Him and established in your faith, just as you were instructed, and overflowing with gratitude. " (Col. 2:6-7)

How can I expect to flourish if my roots, my being is not entrenched in the life-giver, the one who sustains?

I must be "rooted and grounded in love," so that I "may have strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that (I) may be filled with the fullness of God." (Eph. 3:17-19)

I must be rooted in Christ so that I can withstand the tempests, the trials, and the temptations of life. They will come. But if my roots are secure in Him, I, like the tree, will not fall. I will flourish.

Oliver's Marble Shooter

2011-09-21T15:59:00.001-04:00

Check Out Oliver's Marble Shooter in Snapshots!

Coming To Terms

2011-09-21T08:59:00.001-04:00

I was a vegetarian for a short period of time during my college years. Instead of thinking I had gone off the deep end, my sweet mother experimented with tofu and veggies and we still make some of the dishes discovered in those days.

Then I met Travis, and well...let's just say it never would have worked for him to have married a vegetarian. I willingly began to eat meat again, but I had come to terms with the fact that an animal has to die for me to gain that nourishment.

That was an important step for me. The Lord knew I would be bearing many sons who,like their father, would embrace the outdoor world in all its capacities: hunting, fishing, trapping, crabbing...Imagine if I had never come to terms with what has to happen when I choose to eat a hamburger!

It's interesting how the same people who will sit and eat a steak will think it's wrong to hunt. An animal still has to die to provide that steak...and I have accepted that.

Coming to terms with raising my own animals for food has taken that acceptance to a whole new level. Chestnut, Penny's calf, was born a year and a half ago. I knew when he was born that we would be raising him for food. But I still found myself thinking that I would not be able to eat the meat that his life afforded.

Even a week ago, as I drove to pick up hundreds of pounds of beef to fill our freezer, I didn't think I would be able to eat that meat. Then Oliver said something to me that changed my whole perception. "Mom," he said, "The people who say we shouldn't eat meat aren't thinkning right, because God provided animals for us to feed us and give us protein. It says that right in the Bible."

Gulp. yes....God did do that. Suddenly I realized that I needed to be filled with thanksgiving, not hesitation, for what God has generously provided for us! I am not making a statement against vegetarianism; rather I am reaffirming the rightness and goodness of allowing God to provide for my family.

There is a profound thanks and appreciation that comes from nurturing and sustaining that which God provides. Whether it is the tomato swelling ripe in the garden, or the calf nursing in the pasture,it is evident that God has given us a share in his Dominion (ref Genesis 1:26), a part in his creative process.

Not all of us can raise our own animals (or would want to), and many of us can't even have our own gardens. However, we can still acknowledge God as the provider of all and thank Him for allowing us to take part in nourishing the very food that sustains our existence.

Because Most of Our Days Are Made Of Simple Moments...

2011-09-20T20:53:00.000-04:00

Here is what I hope to become a record of our days...

Snapshots

And this may not interest you, but I wanted to invite you...Of course!

A Little About The Garden

2011-09-20T08:42:00.001-04:00

Ben and Will took over the gardening this year while their dad was away......
It looks like Dad might be out of a job next Summer!

Here is Will with his abundant peppers....I think he had ten different varieties. He enjoyed 'pepper sandwiches' for lunch all Summer. (Notice John Paul poking his head in the doorway.)

The freezer is filled with tomatoes, peppers, and green beans. The pantry is loaded with jars of salsa...our favorite. Some of the tomatoes were grown from heirloom seeds that have been in this community for years. The Ox heart tomato, a hearty flavorful tomato shaped like an Ox heart, has been passed on from friend to friend. The friend that gave me our plants asked me to harvest the seeds so that we can have more plants next year. I saved the seeds on a small square of paper towel and put them in an envelope for her. I think that this 'seed sharing' is the essence of what I love about living in Deerfield. It truly is a community.

Finding The Quiet Places

2011-09-18T23:43:00.000-04:00

"Deserts, silence, solitudes are not necessarily places but states of mind and heart. These deserts can be found in the midst of the city, and in the every day of our lives. We need only to look for them and realize our tremendous need for them. They will be small solitudes, little deserts, tiny pools of silence, but the experience they will bring, if we are disposed to enter them, may be as exultant and as holy as all the deserts of the world, even the one God himself entered. For it is God who makes solitude, deserts, and silences holy."
~Catherine de Hueck Doherty

The quietude of every day unfolds in moments too numerous to count; the infinitesimal grandeur explodes in gentle silences, quenching our thirsty souls.

My prayer:
"Make me still, Lord. I want to know You. You are God!"
(ref Psalm 46:10)

Will you join me and find some quiet places in your day?

"Stand still,and allow the strange deadly restlessness of our tragic age to fall away like the worn-out dusty cloak that it is- a cloak that was once considered beautiful. The restlessness was considered the magic cloak of tomorrow, but now in reality, we see it for what it is: a running away from oneself, a turning from that journey inward that all men must undertake to meet God dwelling within the depths of their souls."

~Catherine de Hueck Doherty

What Mama Decided

2011-06-26T01:11:00.001-04:00

Naked toes curl in the ooze of mud, fists clench berries all dripping with ripeness and swell a little boy's head with notions of a steaming pie....

Another boy is a hunter; he is serious. He will feed the family with the new skill he is acquiring, and young girls are intent on cramming baskets with Summer's bounty....

A mama walks behind, slow...and thoughtfully taking it all in, drinking mirth and delight of childhood..heart filled with the meanderings of her own mind...

And this time...This time she's thinking about labels...
How labels are good for cans, and appropriate for tags on clothes, and perfect for identifying animals and plants and such...
Yes, labels identify; they tell us exactly what we're getting. I know that when I open a can labeled "dog food," I will not find tomatoes inside (hopefully!)
I know that when I order a size "small" dress in the mail, I will not get a size "extra large."
So labels can be a good thing....for things.
Labels are not helpful for people.

He's lazy. She's dumb. They are ignorant. I'm fat. He's a troublemaker. On and on it goes...until we stuff people in cans, like a bunch of sardines, and slap a sticker on them. We all do it. It's part of human nature to want to define and categorize others by appearances or even actions:

"But the LORD said to Samuel, 'Do not look at his appearance or at the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for God sees not as man sees, for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.' " (Samuel 16:7)

Isn't it good to know that God doesn't label us? And if He doesn't label us, why do we insist on labeling others? When we label others, we cannot see the richness and depth of who they truly are; we do not see them with dignity, as beloved creatures made in the image and likeness of God. When we label others, we are actually refusing to see others as God does...with eyes of love.

I've had it with labels...
It's time to stop using them for people and keep them on cans and dress tags....where they belong!!!

That's what the mama decided on that walk...
and that thought made her heart happy.

To Be Exact

2011-06-17T11:23:00.000-04:00

Well, since I can't get Ben to start his own blog, I am using my blog to showcase his amazing photography. He uses an ipod to take all his pictures, then enhances them with an application right on the ipod! He even got a nifty copyright symbol that goes on every photo he takes!

Now...today's topic... seems a little strange. I often wake up with a word or thought on my mind that must somehow percolate overnight. The children were telling me yesterday about a person they know that bothers them, but they could not put their finger on what it was that annoyed them about this person. After describing several interactions with this individual, the conversation turned to something else. I didn't think about it after that, but I guess my brain was working on it subconsciously, and this morning I woke up thinking about the less than noble quality of being exacting.

So what does it mean to be exacting?
An 'exacting' person constantly keeps score: "I did this for you, so now you need to do this for me." Of course, this isn't stated out loud (in most cases), but even worse, the tension of being 'even' is always there.

An exacting person, in the name of justice, equality, respect, and virtue, demands perfection and accountability for all actions- even to the point of sacrificing the relationship. The law is to be upheld at all costs, excluding charity and love of one another.

I think the pharisees must have been an exacting sort of people. Even when Christ performed the most amazing miracles, they could only see the breach of the law (healing on the Sabbath, etc..) But God never said that the law is supreme; the law is not an end in itself. In fact, when questioned regarding the greatest commandments, Jesus responds:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.” (Matthew 22:37-40)

The law is dependent upon love of God and man; love is not dependent upon the law!

The Lord does tell us that if we love him we will keep his commandments:

And this is his commandment, that we believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us. (24) Whoever keeps his commandments abides in him, and he in them. And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit whom he has given us. (1 John 3:23-24)

But in conjunction with this mandate he says that God has commanded us to love one another.

He also tells us that without love, anything we do is fruitless:

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. (2) And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. (3) If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. (1 Corinthians 13:1-3)

So the bottom line is, I need to remember in all my actions that love must be the driving force. Things may not be "exactly" right, or even as they should be, but are made perfect in His love.

"It has been told you, O' man, what is good, and what the LORD does require of you, only to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God". (Micah 6:8)

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven..Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes."
~Shakespeare

Hemmed In

2011-06-15T09:56:00.001-04:00

Oh, it feels so good to be back "home!" We finally had our new computer hooked to the Internet...and then I waited a bit to start blogging again...trying to adjust to the Summer routine and plant the garden, things like that. But it does feel great to be back!

I wasn't sure what direction the blog would take this Summer, and my sister asked me, "So, are you just going to keep the blog more of a family blog when you go back to blogging?"
I paused...and then gave her a truthful answer:
"No...I don't like to be hemmed in. I'm going to write whatever the mood suits..."

And I thought a lot about that phrase the last two days..." Not wanting to be hemmed in." I don't want to unravel, either. Metaphorically speaking, I don't want to fall apart at the seams. Now I am no longer talking about blogging. I am speaking of life.

Many bad decisions in life are made out of not wanting to be "hemmed" in: extramarital affairs, drugs, alcohol abuse, etc.. But where do the big mistakes begin? A person doesn't go to bed sober and wake up drunk. At some point a decision is made to step out of those safe boundaries God has provided for us: the fences sheltering the vulnerable sheep, Christ our shepherd protecting us. Why would we ever want to leave the safety and security of his verdant pastures?

I woke up this morning with a Bible verse in my heart:

"Therefore, God handed them over to impurity through the lusts of their hearts for the mutual degradation of their bodies. They exchanged the truth of God for a lie and revered and worshipped the creature rather than the creator, who is blessed forever." (Romans 1:24-25)

God "handed them over" sounds to me like resignation. God doesn't give us to sin, but because of the freedom he has entrusted to us, he will not keep us from choosing to "break fence."
But here's the crux of the problem:
Why were they given over to the lusts of their hearts in the first place?
Because..."they exchanged the truth of God for a lie."
And why did they begin to believe lies instead of the truth? Because "they worshipped the creature rather than the creator."

I can't pretend to be a Bible scholar, and there is certain danger in interpreting passages of scripture on our own; however, these passages speak so clearly that interpretation is not even necessary! Paul states it plainly in this letter to the Romans that sin begins with a lie, a distortion of who God is, and the root of that distortion has to do with loving that which is created rather than the creator.

So how does this teaching apply to my life? When I make decisions based on what I want, what I feel, what I am desiring or even lusting after rather than what God wants, I am worshipping the creature (me) rather than the creator. When I make decisions based on my desires, I am stepping out of that safe pasture, prey for the hungry wolves (sin).

And then what happens? Once I have made myself the center of my life, made my desires my God, what next? I take the very attributes of a holy God and distort them for my own purposes: His loving kindness becomes a perverted mercy (I can do whatever I want and God will always love me), His forbearance becomes presumption (just this one last indulgence, and then I won't commit this sin again), his patience is taken advantage of. In short, I have exchanged the truth of who God is for a lie.

And God has all these wonderful attributes...He is " gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love." (Psalm 145:8) But the very attributes of God that we use to tolerate sin are meant to exhort us and lead us away from sin! :

"Or do you hold his priceless kindness, forbearance, patience in low esteem, unaware that the kindness of God would lead you to repentance?" (Romans 2:4)

Let us, then, pick up the threads of our unravelling and allow God to stitch us back together, hemmed in by his loving kindness and fathomless mercy!

We Are Still Here!

2011-05-11T10:48:00.000-04:00

Hello, Dear friends.
It has been way too long! Our computer was taken out by a storm ...and I have sadly not been able to blog. I miss my little "home" on the internet terribly, but I hope to be back to blogging very soon! I am at our local library typing this, but I am unable to load pictures on this computer. What would my blog be without pictures?
Hope to "see" you soon.
Love and peace,
Eileen

Wonderful YOU!

2011-04-27T10:07:00.001-04:00

You are wish...
You are promise...
You are future!

Can you say that when you feel discouraged today?

I am wish. I am promise. I am future.

Try this just for today....whenever you think a negative thought, or feel upset...repeat this verse to yourself:

"I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are your works, and my soul knows it very well."
(psalm 139:14)

You are defined by your identity in God, your maker. Nothing else...period!

You are wonderful!

Petals In The Wind

2011-04-26T15:36:00.002-04:00

Apple blossoms flower the dining room table, and another one slips off to flurry down in the breeze. I think to myself that I need to take them outside and put them to rest. Their bloom has surely given way to a mess.

I'm drawn back to the words of a teacher I once worked with : "I never bring real flowers in the house- only artificial ones. The real ones just make too much of a mess." I remember being horrified (seriously) by the very thought of no real flowers in the house! I wasn't married yet, but I already had visions of the lovely flowers that would fill my home with beauty and lavish scent.

Now I have to laugh; you see, I still bring fresh flowers in, but they ARE A MESS! And I think Of dear Ms. Maclin's words every time I clean up a flower mess. So today, I'm sitting on the bench, trying to fix my vacuum, and it stinks. It smells like Roy, our lab. I can't imagine not having him inside with us, but no matter what we do, he just has a more "doggy" odor. And I'm thinking about all these messes that could be avoided?

And that's just it. There is a price for being real. Flowers that bestow scent and loveliness fade and die. Dogs smell and shed hair. Children change clothes, muddy floors, squeeze toothpaste all over the place, spill juice, and make all manner of messes ...

But imagine a world with no Lilac smell, no cuddly dogs breathing soft on the sheepskin rug, no little feet pitter patting towards you with pink boots and bathing suit. Imagine a life of artificiality, where it's all fake. The house is clean: no flower messes, no dog hair to vacuum, no fingerprints to wipe....

But no life. No life, because life is messy. The passion and beauty of real living, real relationships, emotions that swell and fill come at a price- the price of being vulnerable to the pain, the discomfort, the mess. And so many times, because I don't want the mess, I choose the artificial. I sacrifice the living that runs deep for surface living that shields but doesn't penetrate, that' s safe but not overflowing- a lifeless void that does not infuse all who God is. Because He is real, and there is no substitute for the breath of a living God.

So many times we bring "artificial flowers" into our souls, because we don't want the mess of " real flowers." We choose to keep relationships shallow and flat, because we're afraid of the dying- the death of emotions, the death of loneliness, the death of self.

When I choose to love someone in a way that is authentic, I give pieces of myself away; those emotions that bloom and flower may some day be petals in the wind. But if my soul has become more beautiful through that loving, even if for just a short while, that beauty will never fade. Real relationships edify and sculpt a soul for eternity.

"I fly those flights of a fluid and swallowing soul, my course runs below the soundings of plummets."
~Walt Whitman

Never

2011-04-25T10:19:00.000-04:00

I have lots of books. LOTS. I guess other people have lots too, because in the book I was reading last night (one I had picked up at a book sale) this is what was written in it:

I like that idea- writing the date I finished reading a book. Unfortunately, though, I rarely read nonfiction books start to finish. I read snippets here and there as they catch my interest.

Last night I was reading The History Of The Atomic Bomb. I had cleaned out a book shelf over the weekend, and this book was in my potential "give-away" stack (not anymore).

So there I was, on Easter night, no less, reading about the atomic bomb. And I read the most fascinating account:

In 400 BC the Greek philosopher Democritus first speculated on the existence of particles so very small that they could not become any smaller. He called these particles atoms, a combination of two Greek words meaning 'that which cannot be cut.'

More than two thousand years later Isaac Newton revived the idea. 'It seems probable to me,' Newton wrote, 'that God in the beginning formed matter in solid...particles... even so as to never wear or break in pieces; no ordinary power being able to divide what God himself made in the first creation.' (p12)

More than two thousand years.
Two thousand years for an idea to take hold.
Two thousand years of the mind wheels spinning.
Two thousand years of cocooning, incubating, percolating.
but still breathing, still alive.

And oddly, this new insight to the discovery of the atomic bomb infuses hope. It all makes sense.
Two thousand years. Two thousand years ago, Christ died on a cross saving me from my sins today.

Love takes long.
Love takes long, but love never fails.
That is a promise I can hold on to!

"Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears."
(1Corinthians 13:8-9)

Love is a verb. Love is an act of faith.We love the unlovable, love the impossible, love the dying, love the disfigured, love the very people in our lives that cause us the most pain. God can take that love and heal. God can take that love and restore wholeness..because...

Love never fails. never.

Anna

2011-04-23T18:51:00.000-04:00

Anna.
Her name means gracious, one who gives, or favored by God.
She cut her hair. She played. She wore her new dress. She slept. She swept.
I love this girl!

Tommy's Coloring Book, Soup, and A Lovely Prayer

2011-04-19T13:07:00.000-04:00

I'm not so fond of coloring books, but Tommy loves them! He spends hours coloring pictures...and is so proud of them. When we were at the book sale last week, he picked out a coloring book. I didn't think much of it...until I started seeing the pages scattered about the house.

"I like this coloring book! Look at all the great sayings on the pages..." I was talking to Will, and we chuckled over the quotes on the pages: sayings from Aristotle, Shakespeare, Ann Frank...

"I don't see why it matters. He can't read them, anyway, " Will said dismissively.

I think it matters. Any time we can add beauty to our lives, no matter in how small a way, it matters.

Soup~

Here is a soup I made yesterday that I was pleased with. The recipe came from Health magazine. To make it even more appealing, I used wild greens in place of Spinach and the green tips of onion "grass" in place of scallions. It's called Egg Flower Soup. And here's how to make it:

In a medium saucepan, bring 4 cups chicken broth to a rolling boil over medium-high heat. Stir in 2 cups Spinach leaves, 1/2 tsp sesame oil, and 1/2 tsp salt, allowing the spinach to wilt in the soup. Stir well until the chicken broth is swirling in circles. Slowly pour 2 beaten eggs into the soup, and continue to stir gently for about 30 seconds. Sprinkle 3 Tablespoons thinly sliced scallions onto the soup and serve hot!

A Lovely Prayer
from Rainer Maria Rilke's Book Of Hours

You see, I want a lot.

Perhaps I want everything:
the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
and the shivering blaze of every step up.

So many live on and want nothing
and are raised to the rank of prince
by the slippery ease of their light judgments.
But what you love to see are faces
that so work and feel thirst....

You have not grown old, and it is not too late
to dive into your increasing depths
where life calmly gives out its own secret.

In Pursuit Of Self

2011-04-18T09:37:00.003-04:00

"From the rising of the sun to its setting The name of the Lord is to be praised." ~ psalm 113:3

When I was a little girl, I was the center of my small universe. I have the distinct memory of riding home from lake Sherando- I guess I was about four years old or so- looking out the window of the unusually quiet car, staring at the moon. Every time we turned, the moon seemed to follow us. The faster we went, the moon kept the pace.

"Mommy!," I remember excitedly whispering," The moon is following me..."
Now that I have my own children, and I know a little about the so-called psychological development of children, I realize that this "egocentric" view of the world is a "normal" stage of development in a child's life.

And, of course, we hope to pass through this self-centered phase, as remaining the center of one's own existence is certainly not the foundation of maturity. Have you ever met an adult who still thinks that life should center around him or her? We all have moments of self-god, but hopefully it's not the norm.

There is one area of our lives, however, where it would be good to see ourselves in the center, in focus. As I took my walk yesterday, the sun seemed to follow me. I was once again that child in the car, small and stilled...to think that the sun follows me. It was not the arrogance of self being glorified. It was the humility, the awe of a child, that such grandeur would pursue nothingness. That though I am not worthy, He gifts me every day in innumerable abundance.

That it doesn't matter how good I am, or what I do, or how I look. That it doesn't matter what my house looks like, or how my kids turn out, or what a mess my life is. That perfection is not the prerequisite. He pursues me because he loves me. He Loves me. Is there really anything more than this?

Every day God pours his very life out for us. Every morning we must commit ourselves to sharing in his love. Loving God isn't about being good; loving God is about becoming a receptacle of his grace by choosing Him above all else.

"Choose you this day whom ye will serve."~ Joshua 24:15

Every morning, every moment, I make that choice. Loving God isn't about me; I am only able to respond to Him, to be filled with love, because He first calls me. And when I respond to that call, when I choose to serve Him above all, I love Him in a way that completes self: self in the center, self radiating out, self widening circles that unleash His love to others.

Invitation To Love
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Come when the nights are bright with stars
Or when the moon is mellow;
Come when the sun his golden bars
Drops on the hay-field yellow.

Come in the twilight soft and gray,
Come in the night or come in the day,
Come, O love, whene'er you may,
And you are welcome, welcome.

You are sweet, O Love, dear Love,
You are soft as the nesting dove.
Come to my heart and bring it rest
As the bird flies home to its welcome nest.

Come when my heart is full of grief
Or when my heart is merry;
Come with the falling of the leaf
Or with the redd'ning cherry.
Come when the year's first blossom blows,
Come when the summer gleams and glows,
Come with the winter's drifting snows,
And you are welcome, welcome.

Chickweed...It's What's For Dinner!

2011-04-15T09:34:00.001-04:00

Do folks trample potential dinner fare, abundant treasure trod underfoot? Or worse yet, are nutritionally rich "salad greens" killed chemically in the name of the 'perfect lawn?' Next time you weed out those dandelions or yank up some wood sorrel, think about tossing it into the salad bowl instead of the compost pile!

For years I have been interested in and reading about wild edlibles. Not only are they free, healthy, abundant, and easy to use...they may become a necessity in years to come. It is only recently that I have been using Nature's harvest consistently in my diet. Yesterday on my walk I gathered an abundance of Chickweed for my salad. Today Travis is taking the boys hunting for wild mushrooms (Morel). There is something very satisfying about foraging and consuming wild foods.

Pictured here is the graceful seed stalk of the Shepherd's purse plant, named for its delicate heart shaped seed purses. I love the way each little seed pocket gracefully suspends from the stalk, gently cupping upward. The base leaves of the Shepherd's purse can be used as salad greens or cooked like spinach.

Here is the feature of my walk...the lush prolific chickweed carpeting the floor of the pine woods. My sister, Colleen, made me a lovely salve concocted from chickweed, beeswax, olive oil, and essential oils. It smells so good and earthy and can be used for all manner of purposes: cuts, dry skin, rashes, insect bites....I love it!

Colleen's husband, an amazing chef at the Clifton (in Charlottesville) has been using fresh foraged chickweed in his cooking. Chickweed usually grows in abundant patches, and the top tips of the plant should be harvested, flower and all..and used as is (in salads) or cooked like spinach. if you are serious about using any wild edible, here is the man you want to get to know : Wildman Steve Brill

Foraging can quickly become a creative and enjoyable pastime! A word of caution, however: Please make sure you know what you are doing! Identifying edible plants is not hard! But there is some know-how involved, and some plants do have poisonous look-alikes. Don't let it scare you; for the most part all the edible plants that you would ever want to eat are very easy to identify! Start out with something easy and go from there.

I continued on my walk, savoring the beauty of the valley in Spring...all newness of life cloaked in green...

The next picture was from a couple of days ago. Doesn't it look different? Still beautiful in its own way.

I love looking out my kitchen window in Spring... seeing the laundry blowing in the breeze, the apple tree blossoms, mint coming up in the 'Mary garden,' chickens scurrying under window, children's loudness carrying in, blue of mountain a backdrop to unfolding green...

And there's a funny happiness and satisfaction that comes from perfecting cream biscuits...the perfect accompaniment to sauteed chickweed!
Oh...and here's the recipe for the biscuits: How To Make The Best Biscuits Ever

Happy Foraging!

How To Find Connection In A Disconnected World

2011-04-13T11:38:00.000-04:00

Two of my boys drape overstuffed chairs in my sister's cozy living room. Papa lounges on the couch, and he's telling tales of his days: stories that captivate and entertain, stories that weave a past, fabric to clothe and secure future generations.

A light breeze stirs these words that eddy, words bringing past to life, words concrete and meaningful in an age where words evaporate into seas of cyberspace and text messaging. Lilac smell drifts in the room, mingling with talk of high school days in the chemistry lab. There are laughs and pauses, silences and dialogues...all part of this incredible living history, the boys' history, our story.

Ben wears a pair of Papa's glasses...Papa is an amazing story teller! And they're all true (right, Papa?)

And in the end, isn't that what matters? The stories? The words that link heart and history, that connect time and space, that hammer our days into a rich existence? Because it's not just enough to survive. It's not just enough to make it through....

And where do we turn to know the past, to unearth treasure, to find the truth? We look to our grandfathers. And our grandmothers. The quiet woman sitting with greyed hair in a wheel chair, the stooped man sweeping the corners of the grocery store, the farmer- skin furrowed by sun and harvest- leaning on the railing by the country store....treasure. They all have a past, brimming with life, waiting to be shared. What has happened when we no longer want to hear the stories of life? Of humanity? Of us? What happens to us when we stop listening, when we no longer find the value in the stories that make us who we are?

We become poor. Because without a past, there is no future. Without connection, we fall apart. Without caring and compassion, we become sterile and lifeless.

Paul says in the Bible:

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷ For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. ¹⁸ So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2Corinthians 4:16-18)

As Christians know the truth: with age, people only become more precious. Though our bodies are decaying, our minds are becoming stronger and wiser in Christ every day. We actually become more valuable as we age. Contrary to what the world teaches, our worth is not measured by our perceived usefulness.

But it's not enough to know it. We have to live it. Can you do something to minister to someone older today? Perhaps write a letter to a relative, make a phone call to a shut-in, talk to that man at the country store, visit an elderly neighbor? Most likely, you will be the one that is most blessed.

Why I Love Him

2011-04-12T11:03:00.001-04:00

John Paul took these two lovely pictures of Spring in bloom. I like that he wants to use my camera, and I like that as he was walking around looking for a good picture he said, "Mother, the barn swallows are back!"
He was always our big "birder"....drawing birds, listening to bird songs, and even buying himself a camera to take bird pictures. Then it all seemed to come to a halt. Sometimes I think during the teenage years those interests go into hibernation; every now and then, however, they spark, and the flame shines through. He still has his 'first love.'

Travis came home last night, and within the first hour managed to cheerfully repair many of the things that broke while he was away!
So...if I'm not posting as much as usual, if you get lots more pictures than words, please know that my heart is back in house and home...cooking more, cleaning more, trying to pamper the man that makes this happy, crazy home, our little nest.....a reality!

He works so hard to make my dreams come true, and that's why I love him!

Spring

2011-04-08T08:24:00.000-04:00

How I love a sunny day in Spring! The cows escaped today, and after having some fun with them in the yard (Emily was riding one like a horse!), Ben and I fixed the fence. Down at the barn my spirits soared when I saw that the Barn Swallows have made their return!! I am so happy that we can provide a nesting site for these lovely birds. They are the ultimate recyclers, as they reuse the same nests every year.

We've been having lots of eggs for breakfast....it's that time of year. Is there any comparison between the rich golden color of a farm egg and the pale yellow color of a store egg? Now I know all eggs come from farms, but that's how my kids distinguish food grown at home and food from the store....farm egg or store egg, cow's milk or store milk. Mary Margaret couldn't believe it (just last year) that the milk sold in stores comes from cows, too!

The children spent most of the day making a "village." They all made forts...Emily and Sam were running a flower and sandwich shop, and Oliver was the banker. They stayed busy all day in their forts, while I cleaned inside..with the windows open!

Here are the flowers bagged up to sell...amongst the hundreds of cans of tomatoes I bought dirt cheap at Martin's in the fall. I had actually bought two tubs that size, but we have used one of the tubs.

The children made their 'stores' in the basement and the surrounding out buildings...

A friend of mine told me about the Weight Watcher's cabbage soup...It is delicious. Sure to become a favorite!

I hope you are enjoying Spring, and that wherever this day finds you, you will have many blessed moments~

Finding Faith At The Dump

2011-04-07T08:49:00.000-04:00

The car was in reverse and my foot was on the gas. I was in a hurry; I had just emptied trash cans and had even cleaned the loose trash out of the car.

As I was pulling out, the sunlight landed on the railing, playing tricks on my eyes. "That almost looks like a cross," I thought, seeing the fuzzy outline of a crucifix by the dumpster. "No..." I thought that with my mind so much on Lent ,I was surely seeing things. I pulled back into the lot and stopped the car.

I walked over to the dumpster and there He was...broken, crumbling, metal jutting out- thoughtfully laid out by someone on a wooden railing. There was something in the heart of the person who brought this maimed crucifix to the dump; there is something inherently wrong about throwing away even an image of Jesus, no matter how disfigured, no matter how disintegrated.

I didn't know what I could do with this broken crucifix, but I knew I couldn't leave it by the dump. Surely someone would come along and carelessly toss it in. I picked it up, and the pieces of plaster sifted through my hands.

I came home and placed it on the table...just laid it out, parts pieced together. All the children were curious. They couldn't understand what Jesus was doing down at the dump. Who would put Him there?

And I thought about that. "Who would put Jesus at the dump?" Don't I put Jesus at the dump on a regular basis? I see the glory, the Easter Resurrection, the hope of Heaven...but do I embrace the suffering and disfigured Christ on the cross? Do I look on the true horror and ugliness, the price of my salvation? Or do I cast it off, a crucifix at the dump. Like the person who laid the cross next to the dumpster, I can't bring myself to completely dismiss Jesus' suffering; I conveniently lay it aside, hoping to not have to deal with that cross, that pain.

Sam instinctively places fingers in "wounds," and I am Thomas. Thomas, the questioning disciple. Thomas, who had to feel the wounds to believe. Thomas, whose faith was only satisfied in the flesh and blood. Sometimes the only way to find the fullness of faith is to wrap ourselves around those very wounds, touching the flesh every day, embracing the pain each moment.

"No pain, no gain. No cross, no crown. No Gall, no glory."
~ William Penn

And God, in His abundant mercy, is so patient with us. Every day He teaches us and nurtures faith in our souls, if we will only follow. I keep my crucifix on the table. It will remain there until Easter, a constant reminder of what Jesus did for me, for you, for humanity. Christ is everywhere and can be found in all places- even at a roadside dumpster.

Your Child IS Gifted!

2011-04-06T13:44:00.000-04:00

Remember when I wrote a little while back that I was wanting to write about the 'giftedness' of all children? I haven't been inspired to do so yet....until today. Somehow a copy of "Parents" magazine ended up in my mailbox; I definitely did not order it, as I have never cared much for the publication.

After wondering why this magazine came to me, I turned my attention to the cover :"How To Tell If Your Child Is Gifted." Wow. Can you picture a young mother reading this and quickly turning to the right page to determine the extent of her child's gifts? Or...maybe her child isn't even gifted at all, but here's how to tell.

So I turn to the article, and how convenient: There's a chart titled : "Is Your Child Gifted Or Just Smart?" Seriously? I can read a little box chart in "Parents" magazine to find out if I have just an average smart kid or an OOH 'gifted' child.

The article discusses different options for 'gifted' children and claims that "the lack of options for gifted kids may be due to the ambivalence Americans feel about anything that smacks of elitism." (p63) Excuse me? Schools aren't good enough for some kids because no- one wants to admit how amazing those kids are? Is it just me...or is this extremely offensive?

I'm no big fan of Amy Chua, the "Tiger mother," but I will say one thing in her defense: In her mind every child is "gifted." Every child can do it. And isn't this true? Aren't all children 'gifted' in their own ways? Howard Gardner in his book, Multiple Intelligences, expounds on his theory that all children have gifts, or 'intelligences' as he refers to them; it is up to parents and mentors to foster and nurture the gifts specific to that child.

Maybe some children lean towards science. Maybe towards music or art. Maybe a child can't draw at all, but he is happiest expressing himself in that way. Isn't that a gift? One child may have an incredible sense of humor, while another child can listen and empathize ...all gifts.

To gain clarity on this issue, I turned to 1Corinthians, chapter twelve. Will you take time to read this? God's word always defines truth. The truth about giftedness is crucial to the understanding and development of our children and ourselves if we are going to become who God has called us to be:

4 There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. 5 There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. 6 There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work.

7 Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good. 8 To one there is given through the Spirit a message of wisdom, to another a message of knowledge by means of the same Spirit, 9 to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one Spirit, 10 to another miraculous powers, to another prophecy, to another distinguishing between spirits, to another speaking in different kinds of tongues,[a] and to still another the interpretation of tongues.[b] 11 All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to each one, just as he determines.

12 Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. 13 For we were all baptized by[c] one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. 14 Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many.

15 Now if the foot should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. 16 And if the ear should say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. 17 If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? 18 But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. 19 If they were all one part, where would the body be? 20 As it is, there are many parts, but one body.

21 The eye cannot say to the hand, “I don’t need you!” And the head cannot say to the feet, “I don’t need you!” 22 On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, 23 and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, 24 while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has put the body together, giving greater honor to the parts that lacked it, 25 so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. 26 If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.

27 Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it. 28 And God has placed in the church first of all apostles, second prophets, third teachers, then miracles, then gifts of healing, of helping, of guidance, and of different kinds of tongues. 29 Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? 30 Do all have gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues[d]? Do all interpret? 31 Now eagerly desire the greater gifts.

A Quiet Morning

2011-04-06T09:07:00.000-04:00

Do you ever read something, only to realize later how prophetic that something truly was? A few days ago, I opened to this section in "The Rule Of St Benedict" :

The ninth step of humility is that a monk restrain his tongue from speaking , keeping silence until a question is asked him, as the Scripture shows: in much talking you will not avoid sin
(Prov 10:19); and the talkative one goes without direction upon the earth (Psalm 140:12).

The next day I lost my voice...as in I can only whisper. Try dealing with nine children and no voice! I'm sure my hand gestures, clapping, and squeaking appear quite comical.The worst is when one of the children calls me from upstairs, and I am downstairs; I can't yell "What?!" back to them, So they yell "Mom!" over and over and over again. I've just started clapping, so they remember I can't talk to them.

Yesterday at the "Y" there was a scene. We were trying to eat our "dinner" in the little foyer of the building, and I just couldn't get it orchestrated (ie..kids were not cooperating). I was trying to whisper out orders, totally not making an impact, and Ben said: "I'm so glad you don't have your voice right now!" It was so funny, but I couldn't laugh!

"But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." (Luke 2:19)

All craziness and frustration aside, losing my voice has made me rethink the value of silence. William Penn said:

Love silence, even in the mind; for thoughts are to that as words are to the body, troublesome: much speaking, as much thinking, spends. True silence is the rest of the mind; and it is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment.
(William Penn, Advice To His Children)

How many times in my life do I wish I could unspeak spoken words? How often is silence a balm, a peaceful acceptance and listening that brings healing? And what I often crave most is the silence of others, when I won't remain quiet myself. The amazing thing is, since I have started having to communicate with my children by whispering, they have started whispering back to me, just out of what seems right. Quiet breeds more quiet, just as loudness breeds more loudness.

So will I stop talking when my voice is back ? (Travis....I see your excited face!) Of course not! But I think I am going to work much harder at cultivating a spirit of quiet in my heart, and I'm going to watch my words more carefully. Is it any coincidence that I have lost my voice during Lent? I don't think so. Maybe God is telling me in His beautiful quiet way that there is something to be said for that great sweet silence that stills spirit and mind.

His Will Be Done

2011-04-05T10:07:00.001-04:00

The wind, in its shapeless form, hollows sky and parts seas, and I, restless and unmade, find form in His breathing of life, his imparting of soul manna.

Tossed. Feverish. Unsettled. The storm raged over roof and vexed sleep last night. I awoke feeling restless and agitated.

I pray with the psalmist, "Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?" (psalm 139:7), and I know that God is surely present in the tempest; He does not depart. I cannot flee. But sometimes the greatest cross to bear is staying. Not running. Not hiding. I stand before God in all disfigurement, unashamed of my naked soul.

I settle in my chair this morning with one of my best friends in hand. De Caussade never fails to move me with his words of wisdom. He speaks on the restlessness of the human heart, of how to really do God's will, and how the waiting and being open to divine promptings is the deepest form of prayer. Remaining detached, emptied, open...this is the surest disposition, the most holy posture of prayer:

Leave everything else to God, except for your love and obedience to the duties of the moment...
We possess and enjoy God by union with His will, and we deceive ourselves if we imagine we can have this delight by any other means.

God unites His will to ours in a thousand different ways, and the one he employs in our case is always the best for us. We should honor and love them all, for they are all arranged by God to suit each individual soul to bring about this union.

We must keep ourselves detached from all we feel or do if we are to travel along His path and live only for God and the duties of the present moment. We must stop all imaginings of the future, keep our attention on what is happening now and not bother about anything that has gone before or what may follow.

I imagine that God's will always governs you. You will then have some inner prompting which makes you say: "I feel drawn to this person or this book; I would like to give another person some advice or ask for some myself; I wish to complain about something, to open my heart to someone and in turn receive confidence, to give something away or to perform a certain action..."

We must give ourselves to whatever God wishes and for as long as He wishes and yet never get personally involved in them...There is never a moment when there is not some virtue to be practiced.

But whatever we do, we do it because we are drawn to this particular action without knowing why. All we can say can be reduced to this: " I feel drawn to write, to read, to question and examine. I obey this feeling, and God who is responsible for it, thus builds up within me a kind of spiritual store which, in the future, will develop into a core of usefulness for myself and others."

(excerpt from: Abandonment To Divine Providence pgs 80-81)

Yes...what it all comes down to is one simple line, a creed, a daring manifesto: Thy Will be done. In all, through all, amidst all...His Will be done. When we fall in love with God, when we seek to exist as a tool in the master's hands, He can do wondrous things. He can give shape to the formless, He can make something from nothing.

Weekend Walk

2011-04-04T00:12:00.000-04:00

Grandma and Papa came for a visit. Mom, Sam, and I walked and walked. Unbeknownst to us, John Paul was secretly "stalking" us. As I came up the path, he tore out of the woods and charged right towards me. Oh, it was scary!! I shrieked. And he's lucky to still have a mama to make his meals for him and tuck him in bed at night! I'll give you a break today...no heavy thoughts...just lots and lots of pictures from our weekend walk. And no, unfortunately no pictures of John Paul's moment of raging lunacy!

How To Forge A True Friendship

2011-04-02T00:08:00.000-04:00

Small girls flutter in and out of rooms in pink dresses while their Mamas sit and talk long over tea and friendship. We are looking through the Bible, and Carey comes across the perfect verse:

" Although I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink; instead I hope to come to you and talk with you face to face, so that our joy may be complete." (2John 1:12)

She reads and I squeal. I am so excited I hug my friend, because that's it. In a day of emails and facebook and all those other forms of electronic communication, something is lost. I use facebook frequently and email less, and I do see the value and joy these tools have brought into my life and so many others' lives. Never has it been easier to "reach out and touch someone." How happy it has made me to reconnect with so many friends and loved ones.

That being said, there is something in a look, a hug, the small gestures that welcome and embrace that can never be transmitted electronically. There is something very sterile and unstable about the nature of facebook that can quickly falsify the true nature of friendship.

Instead of solid connections being forged, it is all too easy to define self -worth by red squares and circles with numbers in them. How many likes? How many comments? How many messages in the inbox? And this constant inconsistency contributes to the addictive nature of facebook: "I'll just post one more comment, check my messages once more, etc..." Does that sound familiar?

Then there is the whole nature of communicating on facebook- not usually in thoughtful, well-written "letters." It's more like fragmented grunts and truncated thoughts randomly strewn. Welcome to the world of electronic ADD!

I write at the risk of being a hypocrite. After I post this, I will promptly "share" it on facebook, because it's an easy way for friends to know when I've written a new post. I might "chat" with my husband, who is overseas and with whom "real" contact is not possible right now. That's a good thing. Wine is a good thing, too (in my opinion), but not ten gallons at a time!

As I write this, I am becoming more convicted of the need to foster whole friendships that edify and affirm through the touch of a hand, the dimple of curved smile, the hearty laugh and throwing back of head, the soft shoulder for a drooping cry. All the sentiments welled up and overflowing in the hearts of kindred spirits can never be satisfied by the click of a mouse.

Beholden

2011-04-01T14:30:00.000-04:00

"My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the sky..."
~Wordsworth

How does my mother always know the words that are balm, the sentiments that refresh both body and spirit? It is just a simple postcard, her photograph of a breathtaking rainbow,with a few lines written on the back in her signature handwriting. But how those lovely words delight:

"The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little stardust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched."
~Thoreau

Every morning I set out to glean the treasure tucked and arrayed in nature's glorious unfolding. Today was unusual; my mind usually moves faster than my legs as I walk, but this morning I only seeked to be filled-thinking nothing. The sounds gorging hidden forest undulate: vultures' beating wings, Heron cry, woodpecker's hammer, a rustle of leaves, resounding thud that startles, pine whisper. It's all music, all creation's symphony, each manifestation orchestrated into lovliness. And the song swells within and fills me up with more than I could hope for.

"The empty vessel makes the greatest sound."

~Shakespeare

Breathe

2011-03-31T09:07:00.000-04:00

A late March snow empties from the sky, gentle benediction on stilled earth. Benediction breathes beauty, and beauty breathes life into my soul.

And as I walk, I'm struck by how hushed the earth is in its delicate fullness~ flower budding, waters surging, snow falling, animals birthing ~ all life coming to, never questioning, never resisting. As I inhale each breath of life-swell, I am conscious only of that, only of breathing. And somehow in all this "living" I do, I forget to breathe; I'm feverish with trying to figure it all out. Is that even living? Is living about getting it all straight, putting all the pieces together- every day cramming and flattening life into conformity?

I do this crazy thing when I exercise sometimes: I forget to breathe. It must not be too uncommon, as I have been in many fitness classes where the instructor has to remind everyone to "Keep breathing!" And I know I do that in life sometimes; when obstacles mount, when oppression suffocates, I forget to breathe. Instead of breathing deeper and more fully, I lose my breath.

So I just stand there in all that beauty and breathe deep. Breathe deep the stillness, breathe deep the hush, breathe deep the benediction.

I birthed nine babies into this world, panting hard and anxiously awaiting first life breaths- that sucking in of air, inflating lungs and coursing blood ...and they breathed, and they cried. They Cried! No longer were they in that watery sanctuary where all was done for them, all was effortless. They had to be on their own. They had to learn to breathe, and breathing can hurt.

Breathing hurts. Letting go of control and giving to God, being still in the center of the storm, waiting...just breathing... can throb. Like the runner, cramped with an air bubble, I so desperately need that breath that will cause me to double in pain.

Every moment of our lives we must give birth and be reborn; we birth surrender and are born continuously into God's grace and love, the eternal breath. And with each breath we may have to pant, with each rebirth we may cry out, helpless newborns squalling.

I come to the steep part of my walk, and I am full of breath. I begin to run, just run crazy up that hill so I can get breathless. I want the need to breathe, to empty out so I can let it all in. Because sometimes we actually live life fullest when we're out of breath and breathing hardest.

It is beginning to snow, and I lie on the ground and look up. "You're a nut, Mom," John Paul said when he saw the pictures. Maybe I just don't care what anyone thinks anymore, and maybe I found a way to let go and live deeper and more fully- a way that truly sustains my soul. I look up at those trees all stately gracing, and snowflakes land gently on my face. I open my camera and attempt to get a picture of the snowflakes landing on my pants and jacket. The lens cannot capture the intricacies of the snowflakes, but I see something else.

Each snowflake, every single one, explodes before it melts. Looking through the camera lens, I am captivated by these miniature explosions, happening over and over! And I'm thinking that that's how I have to be; before I can run free, before I can melt before God in surrender, I must get rid of self. I must explode all preconceived notions of who I am or what I need and just be. Be in His presence, be in His grace, inhaling and exhaling, respiring life. Breathing.

Culture Of The Heart

2011-03-29T08:42:00.000-04:00

I turn on the camera to take yet another picture of morning sky blaze, but it's slow..and then makes a beeping noise..and then reads "battery exhausted." (And I think of myself...isn't that what I want to say sometimes..."sorry can't turn on right now, battery exhausted." ?) Anyway, I will use this as an opportunity to feature Ben's amazing photography. He actually uses his ipod to take all his pictures. Then he has an application, right on the ipod, where he can touch up and enhance the images. I love seeing what captures his eye, the little fragments of beauty and life that have moved him.

Day after day I curve and stretch words over image, hoping to give life to the thoughts of a jumbled mind. So many themes all brewing, like: why old books are best, and why the term "gifted" bothers me, because aren't all children gifted? and How Anna is three and still so much my baby; Will was three and I was wanting him to be 'man of the house' when Travis was away. Running in all directions, the thoughts converge here on this blog, this baring of soul.

I share with you because you are my friends. Without emotion, without, passion, friendship falls flat. I opened a book the other day, called "Friendship," by Hugh Black, written in 1898! I had bought the book years ago at a book sale and had never read it. Do you ever just pull random books off the shelf and start reading? I love doing that. Here is the excerpt I read:

Friendship cannot be permanent unless it becomes spiritual. There must be fellowship in the deepest things of the soul, community in the highest thoughts, sympathy with the best endeavors. We are bartering the priceless boon, if we are looking on friendship merely as a luxury, and not as a spiritual opportunity.

It is, or can be, an occasion for growing in grace, for learning love, for training the heart to patience and faith, for knowing the joy of humble service. We are throwing away our chance, if we are not striving to be an inspiring and healthful environment to our friend. We are called to be our best to our friend, that he may be his best to us, bringing out what is highest and deepest in the nature of both.

The culture of friendship is one of the approved instruments of culture of the heart, without which a man has not truly come into his kingdom. it is often only the beginning, but through tender and careful culture it may be an education of the larger life of love. it broadens out in ever-widening circles, from the particular to the general, and from the general to the universal- from the individual to the social, and from the social to God.....

We should be led to God by the joy of our lives as well as by the sorrow, by the light as well as by the darkness, by human intercourse as well as by human loneliness...The more we know of God's fathomless grace, the more will we be convinced that the way to please the Father and to follow the Son is to cultivate the graces of kindliness and gentleness and tenderness, to give ourselves the culture of the heart...To be a true friend, saving his faith in man, and making him believe in the existence of love, is to save His faith in God.

Isn't that beautiful? Thank you dear friends, for giving me the opportunity to express deepest heart stirrings. Truly, I am blessed by you!

Undone

2011-03-28T09:49:00.001-04:00

I was surprised yesterday morning to wake up to the sight of a Robin on snowy limb, and I was more surprised that the sight of snow- covered ground elicited a response of delight in my soul. Just the night before I had gone to bed in darkness, eyes fixed on the dim glow of a street lamp nestled in fog. I didn't think we would get the snow that was expected, and I was glad of that.

I have been in Spring mode for a couple of weeks now, shedding winter like a stiff coat. When I was young, I was the child who asked on Christmas night, "Mommy, how many days is it until Easter?" Always moving on, always looking forward. And how many gifts have I missed in my life, how many small joys of the present moment have been overlooked by the eyes scanning distant horizons?

God has ways of undoing hearts, and this undoing of Spring left me undone.My soul startled by all this winter beauty that I didn't want- me always thinking I know what I need, me always doubting. Doubting. And I am ashamed because I scale life's days in this subtle veil of doubt that pervades all. And how can it not? How can a traveler journey thousands of miles and not sag under the burden of a hundred pound weight on his back?

I think I'm not a doubting person; I know there is a God that governs all and loves me infinitely. How then, does this doubt worm into my heart? This doubt made manifest in the questioning, the unwillingness to accept what God has given me in life?

The last few days I have been praying prayers that place emphasis on the unworthiness and wretchedness of my soul in the presence of God. In an age of saccharine self esteem and feel-good spam run amuck, self-deprecation is seen as a disease to eradicate, wipe out.

I thought about that on my walk yesterday. God loves me, he sees the goodness in me, he died for me-what precious gifts. The unlimited mercy and boundlessness of it all overwhelms. But how can I sincerely comprehend the vastness of what He has done for me, if I am not in need of a Savior?

What is sight to the blind? Food to the starving? Water to the parched? Balm to the chafed? It's all the unattainable. Nothing has as much value as that which is rare and seemingly out of our grasp.

If I stand before God filled with my own self-worth, thinking I know what's best, confident in my own goodness...Why do I need Him?

We can only trust as far as we depend. We can be assured of who God is, what He does, and how He provides only if we acknowledge our own debility and weakness as we stand in his truly awesome presence.

And when I see the infinitesimal of self, I can behold the grandeur of God. When I am dependent upon Him for my very Salvation, not because of anything I have done, only then can I trust Him to shelter me in every storm. Only then will I not doubt who He is.

When I let God undo who I am to the very core, when I let Him take that vulnerable mess and restore, I can see who I am meant to be- called to righteousness, recreated and fashioned in his very being.. It's only when I find my reflection in God that self is not distorted.

If I look to the world to find myself, the reflection is depravity. How can lies mirror truth? How can looking into shattered glass reveal honest proportions? The only way to find myself , to find truth, to quell the doubts, is to become undone and find myself in Him.

Who Is In Control?

2011-03-25T07:30:00.001-04:00

I woke up up this morning, sweating from a nightmare. You will probably laugh at what this "nightmare" was, but it was very symbolic to me. I have been successfully sticking to a new lifestyle, of sorts, for over two months now: waking early, watching what I eat, exercising. I have never felt more empowered about making constructive decisions in my life.I thank God that he is giving me the grace to do this!

So back to my nightmare. I dreamed I was sitting in the kitchen with a huge pan of cherry cobbler with a crisp, buttery, cinnamon-oatmeal topping. I was eating and eating and eating, thinking in my head the whole time that it was so wrong, and thinking that I would get fat, and thinking that I was right back where I had started. It really was a terrible dream.

When I woke up, I was shaken. And then, coming to my senses, I found it a bit comical. My worst nightmare now is one where I consume inordinate amounts of food. I thought about it more and realized: it's not about the food. It's not about gaining weight back or giving up on a lifestyle. It's about fear.

The fear of losing control. And in this world gone crazy and tremulous, I think fear is a natural response. When we are young, we think of fears as something concrete: fear of the dark, fear of thunder, fear of dogs, bees, water..etc.. As we get older, we realize that our deepest fears are intangible: fear of rejection, fear of pain, loss, being alone, dying, emptiness...But the mother fear, the mother of all fears is the fear of losing control.

At some level we feel at the mercy of whatever befalls. I can't imagine living my life without belief in a God who is ultimately in control of all. Maybe that's why the father in the Bible says to Jesus :

"I do believe; help my unbelief." (Mark 9:24)

Maybe before we can root out fear, we have to ask for faith. And if we go even deeper, if we want to conquer fear, we must pray to be able to love deeper:

"There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love." (1John4:18)

If I want to live in freedom, and out of fear's bondage, I must love God and trust him .TRUST him. ENTRUST to him all my fears and anxieties.

"Cast your burden upon the LORD and He will sustain you; He will never allow the righteous to be shaken."
(Psalm55:22)

No, We are not in control. But He is.

The Cure For Anxiety~

25“For this reason I say to you, do not be worried about your life, as to what you will eat or what you will drink; nor for your body, as to what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? 26“Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they? 27“And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life? 28“And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, 29yet I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these. 30“But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! 31“Do not worry then, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear for clothing?’ 32“For the Gentiles eagerly seek all these things; for your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33“But seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. (Matthew 6)

Letting Him Find You

2011-03-24T09:43:00.001-04:00

Roy walks beside me on the first warm day and he knows delight. He runs through the pond, mouth open, drinking up, tossing head, wallowing joyous.

All these treasures strewn under leaf and studding sky await discovery. They fill me with such happiness. But why? How can moth delight and flower startle to the point of overflowing? And wouldn't you think I should get tired of blogging about this day after day, week after week?

But how can the freshness of God ever be exhausted? His creation made new every moment speaks a language that rivets soul and does not weary.

There are places so deep, so tremulous within -that beauty speaks what words can't. It's why eyes and heart flood when sky unfolds at dawn, pouring out His glory. My eyes well with joy tears and the recesses of my soul are made bare before God. He has probed the depths in creation all spilled out and raw.

I stand so small before God, so painfully aware of the lack and depravity....and yet, yet..

He doesn't hold back. He gives all.

And the longing for wholeness, needing Him, being loved by Him and all made good in His grace and
Why?!! Why does he love me? Why does He love us? What would make a God, infinitely good and merciful choose to love such wretched creatures who can do so little for Him?

But that's the beauty. He in his greatness, wants our smallness. We can do nothing for Him, but he longs for us, seeks for every soul like the shepherd looking for His lost sheep. And won't I let Him find me?

Will you allow God to find you today? Will you bask in His presence and be awed by His grandeur...you being empty and Him filling up, you being still and not trying to figure it all out, you trusting and letting your weakness being perfected in Him?

He is waiting...He is waiting for You.

God's Grandeur by Gerard Manley Hopkins

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Will

2011-03-23T08:40:00.000-04:00

Several months ago, I wrote a post just about Sam. A friend of mine suggested I write one for each child. I thought that was a good idea. I decided to go in order, starting with my oldest child, Will. (Maybe I'll have Anna's written in ten years!!)

At the heart of every parent-child relationship, there will certainly be struggles that have to be dealt with. Sometimes we can get so focused on the struggles, we don't see the gift in that child. That's why it's good to write down all the things you love about a particular child. Even if you don't keep a blog, I suggest you do it on paper, or even mentally.

We named our oldest son Will, the fifth in a long line of William Travis Smithdeals. And his name, "Will," says so much about who Will is: determined, faithful, persistent, loyal, stubborn, strong....Once you are Will's friend, he doesn't let you go. He is a friend for life. And I love that about him. He cares deeply and loves long. If I need a hug, Will gives the best "squeeze-the stuffin'" hugs there are.

I told Will he should have been named "Thoreau," because he is in his element when out of doors. For years when he was home schooled, I fretted over the hours and hours he spent down at the river. He said the other day, "I'm starting to realize that most people aren't as bothered to not be outside when it's nice out." I don't know about that, but I do know that he is happiest out of doors. And somehow between fiddling down at the river and designing inventions, which he was always doing, he taught himself how to repair cars, lawn mowers, lamps, whatever it is broken, he can fix it. I like that about him.

I like that Will wants to used the taped up lampshade in his room because he doesn't think I need to spend money on a new one. I like that he said we should both take a personality test on line so that we can see how similar we are. I like that he buys flowers for Samantha and wants to have her spend time with our family. He is happiest just being around those he loves- eating, playing, watching a movie together; he is pleased by the simple pleasures of life- like banana peppers on sandwiches and burgers on the grill.

I like the way Will's hair curls up on the ends, and I laughed when he was using a straightener to get out the kinks. He is proud of his bird imitations, which are startlingly real. He leaves me notes that say I'm "the best," and he always thanks me for the food I prepare. He never goes even to bed without a kiss and a hug goodnight, and if he forgets, he'll laugh and say, "Oh, I forgot. Good night," and he'll come over and give me a hug.

Will is a dreamer and an artist, that's for sure. He plays guitar, draws, and builds things. He built the first bridge (in his engineering class) that could support the weight of a real tractor. I liked that he told me this and even mentioned that when they were done, they had a bonfire with the wood and roasted hot dogs. Details matter to him, and I'm so happy he wants to share them with me.

I like that Will got his sister a puppy, and when I protested, he said "she should have one for Christmas." He said goodbye to me the other day, and as I was walking out the door said, "Oh. Mom, I can tell you're exercising ...you're looking good!" Does he know how happy that made me?

I walk into the house at night, and I look up to see Will sitting at his desk in the window. Much of the time he is looking out the window, which is always open with the first hint of Spring. It's hard for me to believe that he will be eighteen in just a few months.

Maybe it's just being a parent, especially of the oldest child, but I have worried and prayed so hard for this boy. It's not that he has given us so much trouble; it's just that I don't want to do anything to mess up his life. I want to get it right. Lord knows we have made mistakes along the way, but thank God for His mercy and filling in the gaps when the intentions of the heart are sincere. I know none of my children will ever be perfect, but I want to strive everyday to focus on the gift, the blessing of that child- not the void.

Alive

2011-03-22T10:30:00.000-04:00

Abalone sky peels layers of a bruised heart and children wait hungry for food that fills bellies. And me, I'm starved for soul food- the manna that nourishes spirit, hollowing and hallowing self. Restoration.

Droplets swell with bowed limb, and heart swells with ache for a broken world. A broken world that oozes radiation and fractures relentless- leaving all speechless- because there are no words that can mend all this brokenness.

And how can I rejoice in all this beauty abundant, alive, breathing- when there is so much hurt? So much sadness. Somehow it all seems wrong, so unfair that I know not the pain.

Eggs burn in the house, and I can't tear myself away. I'm thinking of being broken and what it all means and WHY??

Truths are made manifest all in their own time, and that time is different for all souls. At Mass last week, I learned the truth of brokenness. During the consecration, the priest said the words I have heard and prayed thousands of times before:

"And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me." (Luke22:19)

Jesus broke the bread. Before he gave His body, gave himself to us, He was broken. Jesus is made whole through His brokenness. Jesus heals a fractured humanity through his brokenness made whole.

"Is not the cup of thanksgiving for which we give thanks a participation in the blood of Christ? And is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all share the one loaf."
(1Corinthians 10:16-17)

I can't heal the sadness and hurt of a damaged world, but He can. He knows the shattering. He knows the bleeding heart, the isolation, the destitution because He himself was broken.

Sunlight dazzles through a dusty screen, and I long to be out there- out there in all Spring and life unfurling, Mockingbird song, Starling flight, blossom burst.

And I know that this is right- this rejoicing in the mirth and calling it good, because it is gift, a taste of eternity. Despite the suffering, the anguish-

We are one body, all sharing in the broken bread, all sharing in Christ's victory.

Ee Cummings' poem speaks my heart today. Will you take a moment to read it? I was only going to put an excerpt here, but it so lovely, I decided to include the whole poem:

i thank You God for this most amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

That which is infinite. Which is yes.
Yes!

A Beautiful Blessing

2011-03-20T23:24:00.000-04:00

A Traditional Irish Blessing

My wish for you:

I wish you not a path devoid of clouds, nor a life on a bed of roses,
Not that you might never need regret,
nor that you should never feel pain.
No, that is not my wish for you.
My wish for you is:
That you might be brave in times of trial,
when others lay crosses upon your shoulders.
When mountains must be climbed and chasms are to be crossed,
When hope can scarce shine through.
That every gift God gave you might grow with you
and let you give your gift of joy to all who care for you.
That you may always have a friend who is worth that name,
whom you can trust and who helps you in times of sadness,
Who will defy the storms of daily life at your side.
One more wish I have for you:
That in every hour of joy and pain you may feel God close to you.
This is my wish for you and for all who care for you.
This is my hope for you now and forever.
-- anonymous Irish blessing

Release

2011-03-17T22:57:00.000-04:00

Cold air hushes a muted world on the verge of dawning glory. Life all hung in suspense breathes quiet and deep, just pulsing, silently waiting. Mystery longs in the shadowed greys and whites revealed in untouched photos.

Could this really be possible? Have I witnessed that one moment, the grand morning rebirth- the miracle of another day alive? I had stepped out only minutes before, camera in hand, into the eerie landscape lacking color. Ethereal, almost, was the bland greyness of void- like a lost soul waiting for redemption.

And then...then.... the explosion of light that illuminates wonder...Illumination!
It has come. He has come. And this is right where I need to be, on this spot of earth, in His presence!

It's these God moments that I yearn for, scour for, day after day. Yes, we need to keep our eyes and hearts open.... anticipating like the dawn awaits the light .

"As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, my God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can I go and meet with Him?"
~Psalm 42:1-2

But the moments, they ARE all gift. Gift bestowed on the aching and hungry. And when we're given these precious treasures, we must savor them and give gratitude without always grasping for more. That's the tricky part- the release. Knowing the joy, the beauty, the peace, and then letting go.

Later in the day, we drive into a school parking lot to pick John Paul up from his tennis practice. I suddenly veer off the side of the road, yelling, "Look! Do you see that?!!"

"Mom, you can't park here!," the children all clamor, little ones jumping into my excitement. I hop out of the car and say,

"But this is Lent!! Look at these thorns!!"

Three inch thorns grace sunlight, and I see the pain He felt, and my children- they see it too.

All are quiet.

"Mommy, do you think the thorns on Jesus' crown were this long?," Sam trembles to ask. "I can't stand the thought of that," he continues. "Imagine that in your flesh, in your head, going through your skull."

He fondles the thorns almost reverently and asks to bring some home, "as a reminder."

I look at light blazing through suffering, and the second time this day God has shown me redemption, the ugly made beautiful, the scorned made sacred.

And after days and days of Tommy lying in bed moaning, he comes downstairs smiling this morning, and he says" I'm hungry!" And I literally run over and hug him, another moment of rebirth.
"Tommy, I'm so gald to see you feeling better!"

I hadn't noticed the smile gone until it came back.
He smiles too,and he delights in what it feels like to be able to smile again.

And one day- one day we will all smile again the deep joy-smile that we never have to release.

Because He already paid the price.

In A Nutshell

2011-03-16T23:35:00.000-04:00

“May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.”

Wishing you the all the blessings of a joy- filled Saint Patrick's day. I had an incredible principal in (public)highschool, Mr. Morton, and he ended each and every school day by saying the Irish Blessing above. And we wonder what is lacking in our schools today?

We woke up to more grey and no early walk for me. Fog heavied the earth with all dampness and wet breath closing in. It was actually rather cozy; I played some games with the children- Quaridor with Ben and Sam, and Feed The Kitty with Anna and Mary Margaret.

Oliver came downstairs ravenous; I had forgotten what steroids do to his appetite. He had to go back on steroids to reduce the inflammation in his kidneys, brought on by the virus the kids had last week.
"I'm sooooo hungry he said. What can I eat?" Unfortunately, low protein and low sodium are also temporary diet restrictions for him.

I decided to make him some herbed cheese biscuits, a recipe I came up with to use up extra cream from our milk (These are not the low fat variety!!) The recipe is so simple. I grind my own wheat, so I use about 2 cups of that flour (I use prairie gold) combined with two cups of bread flour.(You may use all white flour if you prefer! I just think it's healthier to use some whole wheat , and it makes a heartier biscuit) I stir in 4 tsp baking powder, 1 tsp salt, 1/4 cup Italian herbs, and 1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese. After mixing all, I pour in enough cream (in place of shortening) to make a moist, but not sopping dough. I realize most readers may not have a source for non homogenized milk, so you can just use the heavy cream found in the dairy section of the grocery store.

Pat dough onto a floured surface, leaving the dough about 1/2 in. to 3/4 inch thick (we like bigger biscuits!) Cut into wedges, like scones, and place on a baking tray. Dust tops with flour. Bake at 450 degrees for 8-10 minutes. Do not over bake! Yum!

Can I just share a laugh with you as I write about delicious bread? I was excitedly telling a dear friend of mine about the book I am reading, Life Without Bread. She started laughing and said.."That sounds horrible. That sounds like some Atheistic guide to life...I mean it really does ...Can you imagine life without bread?"
I have been laughing about what she said all day!

In all fairness to the author, he does not say to live without bread- just monitor the intake of carbs carefully. I actually am really enjoying the book. All the science behind what happens in your body after eating certain foods is there...fascinating. A friend of mine who has diabetic children recommended it to me, and I'm so glad she did!

Enjoy!!!

After eating our biscuits, the sun surprised us all by making a brief appearance. I had just read this:

"I want to share with everyone the biggest health secret I've learned from my patients- walking is the fountain of youth. It's the single best thing you can do for your health..." (From Michael Roizen's The Real Age Workout)

Laundry was mountainous, dishes piled, kids wild...and I went for a walk! I literally had to drag myself out the door. Sam opened the door, looking at me mournfully, and said "When will you be back?" Mommy guilt was getting its grip, but I said " I promise I won't be gone longer than thirty minutes..." He sulked back in, but did just fine. And I had a restorative, vigorous walk. Up hill, down hill, up hill, down hill; I wove a circuit through crests and valleys, all the while thinking that I must do this everyday- for body AND soul.

The clouds rallied to conceal the sun; how greedy those clouds have been lately! I kept my eyes focused on a patch of blue, beacon bright in wind-blown sky. The hills all carpeted with cress and henbit vied for affection, all wanting to be the day's visual manna. So much beauty beneath feet and adorning hilltop, so much to savor on a late Winter's day.

I kept my promise; home I hurried...children all happy to see me like I had been gone a week. I love that my children greet me like this. Even Will, our almost adult child (Wow!) never leaves the house or wakes without hugging me and giving a greeting. It's the little things that speak love, always.

It's the smallest actions, done in the most loving and gentle manner that whisper affection and proclaim love.

That's my ideal, in a nutshell.

“The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions - the little, soon-forgotten charities of a kiss or smile, a kind look, a heart-felt compliment, and the countless infinitesimals of pleasurable and genial feeling”

~Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Just As I Am

2011-03-15T23:58:00.000-04:00

I have washed this floor hundreds of times, but the sunlight spilled in that day, exalting the ordinary. Dirt still layers corners, grime plasters nooks in the door, and they'll never come showroom clean...but somehow light lifts this patch of 'everydayness' to the sublime.

But isn't that what we're supposed to do every day, each moment? Take the ordinary and remold with love and tenderness so that even the smallest gestures become noble?

"Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do...but how much love we put into that action."
~ Mother Teresa

But what about those days that seem so...so...ordinary? The light isn't bathing the floor; it's raining outside and the dog tracked mud everywhere, children are crying in the next room, and the floor is just another obligation- just another mess to deal with.

And honestly, many days are like that. I want to find the beauty in the mundane, the grace of the ordinary.I want to savor moments and rejoice in the rain...but I feel paralyzed. I can't see beyond the mess, the demands, the obligations, and sometimes just my own frame of mind. Some days, too, are just harder.

Writers get writer's cramp, and they can't think of anything to write. Runners get runner's cramp, and they can't run without getting sharp, stabbing pains in their sides. Sometimes I get what I call "life cramp," and I forget how to live. I know what needs to be done, and I just can't do it. I'm unmotivated and sluggish, sometimes sad and overwhelemd.

So what to do? When the zest for life gets trapped somewhere inside, and it is painful to breathe, do I try harder? I always thought that was the answer. Refocus, try something different, breathe deeper, pray, walk, think positive thoughts...shift the mindset. All of those things are good and necessary to living a life well, but sometimes the best cure for life cramp is the holy prayer of acceptance.

I accept that I feel tired and unmotivated right now. I accept that I can't find the joy or beauty of this moment. Lord, I accept that I don't always feel your grace, even when I know it's there. Is it a sacrilege to accept the unacceptable? A sacrifice sometimes, but not always a sacrilege.

The only reason I am ever able to know the countless joys and gratitude, the treasures of any moment is a gift, not a right. The fact that God often graces me with a spiritual vision that consecrates the ordinary says nothing of my own merit. It is all gift. And sometimes the gift doesn't come wrapped in joy and gratitude; it comes wrapped in the acceptance of just being able to BE, and know that "this too shall pass."

Seeing Stars

2011-03-15T01:01:00.000-04:00

I think I'm smoothing lotion over hands and realize I am tugging, pulling, wrenching hand in hand. I'm reminded of the Doctor in Macbeth, who questions of Lady Macbeth, "What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands."

It has been a long day; the children have been sick over a week now, and Oliver has been experiencing some complications in his kidneys again. Tommy had an allergic reaction to the Tylenol, and teenagers come and go-so hard to keep up with. My mind goes back again and again to those poor souls in Japan and their amazing bravery and solidarity. Yes, that's the word: solidarity.

Word Etymology has always fascinated me, and I discovered an interesting article in Wikipedia about where the words "solid" and "solidarity" originated. Here is an excerpt of that article:

"The solidus (the Latin word for solid) was originally a gold coin issued by the Romans, and a weight measure for gold more generally, corresponding to 4.5 grams...The solidus was maintained essentially unaltered in weight and purity until the 10th century...The word soldier is ultimately derived from solidus, referring to the solidi with which soldiers were paid."

It always seems to come down to money...

I remember reading once that a cross should be worn around the neck not merely as a decoration but as a symbol of solidarity with Christ. I decided I would start wearing my cross for Lent, and it's amazing how much having it around my neck has helped me in times of temptation. It just serves as a visual and tactile reminder that as a follower of Christ, I must be one with his purposes, and "take up my cross" each moment.

Thoughts are like stars, and when we connect those thoughts, a constellation is illuminated in the mind. Here are a few of the stars flickering in my brain right now:

*I look at a band aid wrapper and see the Spanish word, sin, which in English means "without." It dawns on me that that is exactly what sin is...being without God. When I sin, I am choosing to do something without God- out of his bounds, out of his heart.

**.St Benedict said that we all need to find space for God. His fitting phrase for this was: "vacare Deo," literally vacating, or making empty for God.

*** Boethius described the wise person as one who savors everything as it really is : "Sapiens est cui omnia sapiunt sictui sunt."

On the way home from taking Oliver to the Doctor, we pulled to the side of the road for a funeral procession. Car after car, filled with loved ones streamed down the road. I thought about time being so fleeting and how it always eludes me most when I'm trying to live in the moment. For Lent, that's a good reminder: The moment. It's all I have. My prayer is that I can sanctify these moments, these specks of time, and make them eternal.

Her Name Was Mary

2011-03-13T23:58:00.000-04:00

I sweep straw into piles, thoughts full of Mary. I met Mary today, a beautiful woman with a bleeding heart. Mary, the woman with a story; Mary, the woman sitting by the hot tub at the gym; she has sores that are festering open and I am repulsed. But there is something in her eyes- windows to a soul aching to empty.

I hold her hopeful gaze, and she releases:

"I had three babies, but one died as an infant. She was born too soon, and she wasn't all the way formed. I got to hold her in my arms and hear her cry before she died.

The nurses let me be alone with her, and I said, 'please don't take her away. This is the only time I have with her.' Well they left me to be with her, and I saw my little girl open her deformed mouth, trying to breathe. She had one big curled beautiful black lock on her forehead and the tiniest little eyelashes curled up. She was breathing her last. I quickly rang the nurses' bell, and they ran in and whisked my baby out of the room. I started to scream: 'My baby! My baby! Don't take my baby! Just let me be with her a little longer!'

But they took her and I was a mad woman, screaming and sobbing. Then the next thing I knew they were sticking needles into my leg, and I didn't wake up for six hours. They thought it was all too hard for me, and thought it would help to put me to sleep. But it just made it worse. When I woke up, I looked over and saw that empty bassinet, and I didn't know what had happened to my baby. It started all over again. They told me if I didn't calm down, I would have to be put out again.

Forty-three years ago that happened, and it's like it was yesterday. There's some things you just never get over. I couldn't bear to have any more children after that. it was just too painful....
But you learn to go on, and you do heal."

Mary, I feel your pain. The pain of Calvary cradled in your arms, infant breathing last. The pain of a throbbing humanity wanting release, freedom from the sadness and suffering. Mary, Do you know that your name means "bitter?" And how can you not be bitter? You smile gracefully as you bare the wounds of a gouged heart; somehow the telling brings peace, closure.

Here am I, a passing stranger, and you trust me with the gift of soul, with the oozing of emotions made raw and vulnerable in this sharing. I am ashamed that I had only seen the sores. I am unworthy of naked-soul-gift.

I think of a Mary keeping vigil at the foot of a cross, and she is not bitter either; God's grace shrouded her in a life that should have reaped bitterness and resentment, but instead heralded Salvation. How can I, a floundering soul, reject bitterness and live a life that pleases God? What does He want from me? From Us?

Daily encounters are teaching me well. There are so many hungry people everywhere, just wanting someone to talk to - someone who cares enough to sit long and look past sores to the heart that bleeds. I need to be that someone. You need to be that someone. God calls all of us to be that person who is going to deliver his children to Him. And today...Today I was the one that was blessed, I was the one delivered.

"The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me" ~Matthew 25:40

He Always Will

2011-03-10T23:14:00.002-05:00

photo credit: Ben Smithdeal

A dear friend of mine posted this Bible verse on my Face book "wall" this morning:

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden; nor does anyone light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on the lamp stand, and it gives light to all who are in the house. Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven. "
~Matthew 5:14-16

I was so glad she did that because I have been thinking about this verse all day.

This is what Lent is: illuminating a shadowed world with the brilliance of His light. God does not shower us with His grace so that we can seal it away, hoard it within.

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

Let me tell you about a lovely woman named Francis. I was standing in line yesterday with all the children in the customer service center at Walmart. Not my idea of fun. Anyway, Anna had quite the get- up on. We had just come from the gym (she calls it the "YMZ"), and she was sporting this tie-dyed tank top with a sequin peace sign on it. Some how she managed to snatch it out of the 'give away bag ' and she said it's her "YMZ outfit."

So we were standing there, Anna all dudded up, when a woman across the room says (looking at Anna),

"Ooooh! I love that shirt. Where did you find that cute top? That's really different."

I told the woman that we had been given the shirt as a hand-me-down. She looked at me, smiling, and then:

"I always did handy-downs (that's what she called them) with my kids. And I always bought nice clothes for my kids. So when they was done with them, I jest passed the blessin' on to someone else. That's the way it always works. I give and give and God he jest blesses me more than I ever give.

I had all this furniture in my garage, and I didn't know where to put it. But I didn't want to get rid of it 'cause it had sentimental value. So the Lord, he showed me jest what to do with it. He showed me places to put everything. He blessed every room. He's gonna' bless me right out the house and into the garage!"

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

We talked a little more about blessings and furniture, and then she reached a hand out to me.

"Do you mind telling me your name? You see I always meet people, and then when I pray for them, I don't know a name to put with the face. So I decided that from now on, I would ask people their names for when I pray for them."

At this point, I was feeling so humbled and moved by genuine kindness.

"And...your name?" I asked.

"My name is Francis." She said. "You sure do have cute children. They really are a blessing."

photo credit: Ben Smithdeal

We then introduced all of our children to each other- this huge meeting, this sharing, this communion...right in Walmart.The man standing in line behind me witnessing all this looked at us like we were nuts. I don't know what he was thinking. But I do know this: The world is in desperate need of Francises. The world is craving the gentle charity and benevolence of kind strangers. But that's just it: We are not strangers! We are all God's children, one family.

We cannot wait until we are in church, or with friends, or even at the ball games to open and give of ourselves- in our comfort zones. We must be light to all, in all- right where we are, right now!! Lent is all about giving, opening up and pouring out to others so that He can refill us. And He always will. Always.

The Only Requirement

2011-03-10T00:48:00.000-05:00

Today things felt, well, a little grey. More rain outside and an uncomfortable awareness bulged the seams of this first day of Lent. Have you ever noticed that when you try to be "good," your eyes are opened to just how insufficient you truly are? I don't know if it's because I am suddenly more sensitive to my shortcomings when I try to improve upon them, or if it's the Devil trying to defeat me, but I end up feeling so discouraged.

But what do I want? Do I want to do "good" so I can say, "Wow! I'm doing such a great job living for Christ. I know God is proud of me!" ? I think of the tax collector in Luke's gospel:

"But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, 'O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner."
~Luke 18:13

When we have the painful realization that all of our efforts are ashes, dust in a dry land, then we are given the gift of humility, the gift of gratitude for God's amazing and endless mercy.

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified."
~Isaiah 61:3

Think of what God does for us:

Beauty for ashes. Oil of joy for mourning. Praise for the spirit of heaviness.

Living for God doesn't happen on a point scale. Living for God is all about how much we love Him. Every single moment is a chance to start fresh, to love anew.

I find comfort in the words of the beautiful St Therese:

"If I did not simply live from one moment to the next, it would be impossible for me to keep my patience. I can see only the present, I forget the past and I take good care not to think about the future. We get discouraged and feel despair because we brood about the past and future. It is such folly to pass one’s time fretting, instead of resting quietly on the heart of Jesus."

Maybe it's all part of the waiting I wrote about a couple of days ago. We must learn to wait on God, and sometimes we need to learn to wait on ourselves as well. We must be patient with our faults, but not tolerant of them; we must understand our weaknesses, but not coddle them; we must persevere in our love of God, knowing that his "power is made perfect in weakness." (2Corinthians12:9)

God can use these cracked vessels, waiting to be filled, to bring about his glory:

"For you see your calling, brethren, that not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty."
~1Corinthians 26-27

God calls me just as I am: impoverished, weak, stumbling, and groping. All he requires is that I love him.

"Beyond all these things put on love, which is the perfect bond of unity." (Colossians 3:14)

Opening The Eyes Of Our Hearts

2011-03-09T00:16:00.000-05:00

We've seen these sights literally thousands of times, yet they never become background. John Paul drives, and I snatch the opportunity to look, just look out the window.

Years ago I rode on a bus to and from school every day, an hour plus each way. For thirteen years I rode that bus, and I never did get tired of looking out the window. I guess I've always been swimming in thought.

Patch worked fields blanket the landscape, somehow made lustrous by mottled whites and dimmed greens.

And after all these years of gazing, just looking, I'm stunned by the miracle of it all. How is it that our eyes, little spheres locked in our heads, can span horizons and penetrate heavens, clutch beauty to feed our souls? How do we take it all in?

This time that has passed, I have thanked God for beauty and the gift of appreciating His creation. I have thanked Him numerous times for my vision without grasping the enormity of what it physically takes for my eyes to see. Isn't it amazing that we can gaze at the ever changing landscape as we're driving and see it all, know it all, feel it all ??!!

We pull off the road to the spot where we are meeting a friend. No sign of our friend, and I notice we are parked under a tremendous Sycamore.

"Oh, look!" I tell the children excitedly. "There are Sycamore balls covering the grass. I'm going to hop out and get some for our nature collection. I think I'll even take a picture."

"Mom, you're crazy!" John Paul shakes his head.

"Yep. I'm crazy, John Paul. Don't ever forget that it's your enthusiasm for life that will keep you alive!"

"OK, Mom."

I hop out of the car and gather up Sycamore pods.

All the little ones cry out, "Can I hold one?! I want a ball!" I'm picturing seed fluff all over the car and wondering if I had made a mistake...

I gently tug one of the seeds loose from the swollen pod.

"Do you know what's amazing? That enormous tree right over our heads started from a seed this big. Everything needed to make that tree grow, all the genetic information is held within this tiny seed."

Sam gives an audible gasp. He never knew this. And here I am, knowing it since I can't remember not knowing it, and I'm awestruck all over.

We go to the "Y", my head all spinning in miracle, and I come careening back to earth. There are two middle aged women having a conversation, unaware of my presence.

One of them says, "I am NEVER having kids. I hate them. I even hate the ones I rent." ( I think she watches children for her job.)

The other one kind of laughs. Enter: my children. The same woman (that said she hates children) is oohing and awing over them, telling them how cute they are. She talks a little about the children in her care during the day. She is all sweetness.

I tried not to judge this woman, but once again, the truths of the day, what God had been showing me all day came to perfect insight.

When I only see the inconvenience of children, people, life in general, My eyes are closed to the miracle. Right in front of me are countless miracles, and I am blinded by my own needs and selfishness. I am refusing to witness the miracle, to embrace the gift, to live in the present moment.

So much of being able to live in the present moment has to do with opening our eyes to the miracles, the "infinite treasures of the moment." We have to be able to sift the truth out of the turmoil: the truth of God's love, the truth of living, the truth of miracles everywhere present.

photo credit: Ben Smithdeal

Lent begins today, and I found this excerpt from Abandonment To Divine Providence heartening. I hope you will, as well. Praying for all of you, dear readers, to have a holy, peaceful, and fruitful Lent:

For those who abandon themselves to it, God's love contains every good thing, and if you long for it with all your heart and soul it will be yours. All God asks for is love, and if you search this kingdom where God alone rules, you can be quite sure you will find it.For if your heart is completely devoted to God, your heart itself is this treasure , this very kingdom which you desire so ardently. The moment we long for God and to obey his will, we enjoy him and all his gifts, and the fulfillment of our enjoyment exactly matches the extent of our desire for Him.

To love God is to want to love Him in all sincerity, and it is because we love Him that we want to serve Him as instruments through which he acts both through and in us. The activity of God is not related to any shrewdness shown by a simple and holy soul, but to its loving desires....Once God sees these good intentions, he ignores everything else and regards as having been done what would most certainly be done if the soul's good will were inspired by sounder reasons.

So good will need fear nothing. Would it fall, it stumbles under the protection of the almighty hand which never fails to guide and support it whenever it goes astray....it helps the soul when it falls into error because of its false judgement and makes it realize how it should mistrust its natural instincts and abandon itself absolutely to the infallible guidance of God.

(excerpt taken from Abandonment to Divine Providence, pg 114, emphasis mine)

This Lent

2011-03-08T00:12:00.001-05:00

I walk in a different direction today to surge with rising waters. The rain has gathered and flows on through creeks and rivers. I want to enfold in that swelling, the fullness of Spring and rebirth.

I walk with animals this morning: a frisky puppy, a most affectionate kitten, and a patient mature dog; rock solid, he is- the most amazing dog ever.

Puppy tangles in leash befuddling eager steps. He stops me here- at this place I need to be. Thorns sear sky blue and pierce my thoughts. Earth flows and swells and thorns crown all this beauty.

Lent begins on Wednesday, and Lord where do you want to bring me in those forty days? How do I get there? To You? How can this tangle of thorns unfurl life's blossom?

Light stirs on hurried water, and He flows in me. I feel God's presence, His awesome power, His majesty.

I am enraptured by Creation...and this moment. This prism of loveliness and all things good.

I delight in all life leaping and chanting "Spring!"

Then a moment of panic: the kitten. The kitten! He

followed me down here and he is nowhere to be seen. I search frantically for him and look up to see Roy, our yellow lab, standing in the middle of the lane. Usually he comes bounding along with me, so I was surprised to see him just standing there.

I call and call him, but he will not budge. He is the most obedient dog I have ever known, so this too catches me off guard. He is immovable, a soldier standing resolute.

Then I notice something else.

He had been waiting.....for the kitten. My little lost kitten, lost to me in my giddy revelry. But Roy knew. And he silently waited, not in a hurry. As soon as Mittens (the kitten) caught up, Roy came too.

In that instant, in the tender gesture of an animal, I knew the answer. It became clear to me what I need to do this Lent.

WAIT.

I think of bygone Lents and of my attitude coming into Lent. What can I do for God? What can I give up? What do I need to do?

It's been all about me. I think I'm being holy by giving up coffee or sweets , not that those things aren't good to give up. It's all in the intention. Isn't it strange how God reveals himself in the simplest of ways? Seeing my dog standing there waiting, I realized that the reason we give things up during Lent is to empty ourselves out for the filling of God. We do not unite ourselves to Christ in suffering by giving up sweets. We unite our souls to God, partake in his suffering by waiting . Waiting patiently and having faith that like the Spring, CHRIST WILL COME AGAIN!

We need to hollow and wait. Hollow and wait. Empty vessels, waiting to be filled.

I walk back to the barn to feed the chickens. There is a little girl waiting for me in a doorway.

She is cold, and she shivers. "Mommy I was waiting for you. Do you want me to help you feed the chickens?"

"Yes, lovely. You always wait for Mama don't you? You know the secret."

"What secret, Mommy? I love secrets."

"Let's feed the chickens, and then I'll show you ."

"Can you show me the secret now, Mommy?"

"Follow me into the barn."

She reaches her dimpled hand in to scoop up eggs, the first of the year, and she holds that secret in her hand: the mystery of waiting, the mystery of resurrection. Fresh life nestled in straw, promise of birth.

I look on starkness, a vulnerable landscape just waking from Winter's sleep and it's always the longest wait when it's almost over. But I know the secret now, too. I know what will happen if I only trust and wait.

Rain

2011-03-07T08:53:00.000-05:00

Rain comes down relentless, and it's raining inside too. It is early morning, and I am already feeling overwhelmed.
"Lord," I pray "Help me make it through this day..."

I am retreating in my room, and I fumble for words as I stare blankly at the rain coming down. Just flowing and emptying out.
The prayer doesn't come. I am mesmerized by water sheeting across fields.

"Lord, please hear my unformed prayer. You know just what I need."
It is a simple prayer, but one that resonates. He fashions and shapes all; He can take the unformed prayer and form it to perfection.

I keep watching the rain. It is belting, billowing, weeping wildly a deluge. As I keep this rain vigil, the water begins to take shape. I start to see individual raindrops as they make their way to the earth. Each little droplet has to fall separately from the sky, making its way in unison with all the other single droplets plunging.

"That's what it's like some days," I think. "There are days when I feel every drop of rain hitting individually. Every disappointment, every failing- another drop stinging as it hits my face. And all the drops pool and puddle until they spill over."

I gaze longer, still ruminating.

"But it's the rain that renews the earth, the rain that causes life to flourish. God sends the rain to replenish. And the rain is made up of single drops. All the hardships and frustrations I experience in my life are the droplets bringing life, carrying me closer to God."

It seems that the shapeless prayer of a helpless child has been heard, bearing encouragement and consolation. I leave my room, back to the battle ground. Later in the day I read the fitting words from a devotional:

"Passionate attachment to Jesus, in spite of our human failings, is what pleases the Father most. Whether or not we do the right things, whether or not we keep our promises, is not as important as our attitudes and our willingness to turn to God for forgiveness each time we sin. We may see only our unbelief and failings, but Jesus sees the desires of our hearts."

Let us have faith, then, that the rain of life will renew our souls as we seek to find God in heavenly showers.

Just A Year Ago

2011-03-04T11:25:00.000-05:00

A little boy creates, and I give thanks for curled toes tucked under legs.

It was one year ago that Oliver was slipping from us. His body was shutting down, for no apparent reason, and no-one knew what was happening. A vibrant mischievous boy was convulsing so hard, he was induced into a coma and airlifted to a hospital miles away. He spent three weeks in the ICU, and when he was finally healed, the doctors still didn't know what exactly happened. A virus? An undiagnosed disease? A mystery.

When Oliver first woke up from his induced coma, he was a different child. He was angry and belligerent, which is not the Oliver we know and love. His memory was foggy and I was scared. My math wizard, my inquisitive boy, could no longer even write or hold a pencil. I was assured that it was all normal, but it wasn't normal for me. To see his sweet face and hug his precious body was amazing, but to not feel his spirit, his life- was terrifying. What if he doesn't come back. Where is he? Will he ever be the same?

We didn't have time to entertain worries. We were still fighting for his survival. His blood pressure started skyrocketing for no apparent reason, and medicine was not controlling it. At first his kidneys were not functioning, but then he started developing a strange rash. Questionable findings on his brain showed up on the MRIs. Everyday brought new and frightening developments.

Miraculously, and I do credit the multitude of prayers and heavenly mercy, Oliver was healed. He took high doses of steroids for months, which posed their own problems, but a year later...he is back to our Oliver.

Praise God!

He gets thrilled over a drawing kit that comes in the mail, like I've given him a hundred dollars to spend how he pleases. He dives in right away and draws an impressive still life.

Just Yesterday he had gone to the woods by himself to plant a pine sapling "to use for a bookend in my room." Then he decided that it needed more sun than his room could afford and brought it to the dining room.

I am filled with gratitude for his healing in body and spirit. When he was sick I promised that if he ever got well, I would never take his sweet spirit for granted. A promise made by a scared mama, desperate for his life and thinking that my ingratitude had something to do with it all.

The reality is that such a promise can't be kept. I can remind myself of how grateful I need to be,and I know how Oliver truly blesses us with his presence. But gratitude doesn't operate in a vacum.

Nerves fray, children annoy, life grates, and living isn't all peace and love because we are human. We think if we're not one hundred percent grateful, then we are not thankful people. The fact is, it is precisely the niggling of life that makes way for gratitude. We give thanks in the midst of all the mess- the spiritual mess we stew in day after day.

I would like to be able to say that after Oliver got well I never felt annoyed with him again. I do have a greater apprecitaion for not taking my children for granted, but it is shameful how easily I slip into old habits- my spiritual slippers, worn out and floppy.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I have been reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts. She does such a lovely job of showing how to give thanks in the most seemingly mundane aspects of life. And this thanks, gratitude for the smallest graces, is life transforming.

I Have kept a "gratitude journal" for years and years now, but Ann's book has taught me how it is important to record even the smallest thanks in our lives. For example, yesterday I was stuck behind a school bus dropping off a load of children. A father was waiting expectantly at the bus stop for his children to get off of the bus. The children descended from the bus and ran to embrace their father. That incident went into my journal.

Ann has shown me how gratitude journals aren't about just what we experience and what happens to me individually. All instances of God's grace and beauty are cause for rejoicing.

Life isn't always beautiful, but a thankful attitude towards life, towards the smallest mercies unfolded can make life beautiful in a way that heals and restores our souls.

He Will Do The Rest

2011-03-03T09:22:00.000-05:00

Last night was restless and tossed; I ached for peace. My own failings coupled with a frustrating situation left me feeling alone, abandoned.

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

As I lay in bed, I questioned.

"How, Lord? How do I find the joy and riches of the moments that oppress and strip? What if I am barely holding on, wishing moments away, yearning for new moments- joy-filled moments that breathe life. What about the moments that seem like bits of death?"

I am once again drawn to the writings of Jean-Pierre De Caussade, and I numbly open the book.
I read.

Now, if we see the will of God in the most trifling affairs, in every misfortune, and in every disaster, we shall accept them all with an equal joy, delight and respect. What others fear and flee from, we shall welcome with open doors. The clothing is shabby and mean to the ordinary eye, , but we shall respect the royal majesty hidden under it and feel a deepening of our love the more hidden and abject our king is. I cannot describe what the heart feels when it accepts the divine will so apparently diminished in power, so humble and pitiful. How profoundly moved Mary's loving heart was when she saw the poverty of her God,lying whimpering and trembling on a bundle of hay in a manger.

To adore Jesus on Tabor, or to accept the will of God expressed through remarkable circumstances, does not prove that our faith is stronger or better than to accept gladly God' s will in the petty affairs of life and to worship Jesus nailed to the cross, for our faith is never more alive than when what we experience through our senses contradicts and tries to destroy it....

Mary sees the Apostles flee, but she herself remains faithfully at the foot of the cross. Torn by wounds and disfigured with spittle though he was, she new him as her son. Indeed his bleeding, battered body increased her love and adoration of him. The more viciously blasphemed, the more she venerated him....

The life of faith is the untiring pursuit of God through all that disguises and disfigures him, and as it were, destroys and annihilates him.

Photo credit: Ben Smithdeal

Caussade continues:

Look at Mary; from the stable to Cavalry she stayed close to that God who was despised, rejected persecuted. So it is with all faithful souls. They have to pass through a steady succession of veils and shadows and illusions which seek to hide the will of God, but they follow and love it even to death on the cross. They know they must leave the shadows and run after the divine sun which, from its rising to its setting and no matter how thick and dark the clouds hiding it, illumines, warms, and sets aglow the loyal hearts who bless, praise and contemplate it as it sweeps along its mysterious course.

Let us, then, as faithful souls, happy and tireless, advance after the beloved as he moves with giant strides across the heavens. He sees all things. He walks above the smallest blades of grass and the cedar groves, and treads the grains of sand as well as the mountain peaks. Wherever we have trodden he has been, and if we constantly pursue him we shall find him no matter where we are.

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

There is no peace more wonderful than the peace we enjoy when faith shows us God in all created things. All that is dark becomes light, and what is bitter is sweet.

Faith transforms ugliness into beauty, and malice into kindness. Faith is the mother of tenderness, trust , and joy.

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

It cannot feel anything but love and pity for its enemies, by whom it is so greatly enriched, for the more harsh the actions of creatures against us, the more beneficial God makes them for our souls. The human instrument tries to injure us, but the divine craftsman, in whose hands it is, ensures that it takes from our souls all that would harm them.

The will of God has only delights, favors and riches for all souls who are obedient to it. We cannot trust it too much or abandon ourselves to it too completely. If we leave everything to God, he will do all that is necessary for our holiness. Faith cannot doubt this. The more unreliable, disgusted, despairing and unsure of themselves our senses are, the more emphatically does faith exclaim:
'God is here! All goes well.'

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

"There is nothing faith cannot overcome. It pierces through the darkest shadows and the thickest clouds to reach the truth, embrace it and can never be torn from it."

(All excerpts taken from Jean-Pierre De Caussade's Abandonment To Divine Providence, pgs 39-40)

Photo Credit: Ben Smithdeal

I read and was renewed, encouraged.

It all became clear to me: Our emptiest moments are the moments hollowed out for his grace to fill. When we are stripped of all consolation, the present moment is unity with God: with his suffering, his dying, and his redemption.

He will take the ugly and redeem those moments for eternity. All I have to do is be and trust. Be. Trust. Know. He will do the rest.

The Infinity Of Now

2011-03-02T11:59:00.160-05:00

"From time to time, to remind ourselves to relax, to be peaceful, we may wish to set aside some time for a retreat, a day of mindfulness, when we walk slowly, smile, drink tea with a friend, and enjoy being together as if we are the happiest people on Earth."
~Thich Nhat Hanh

Sometimes we don't have a whole day. Do we have an hour? Thirty minutes? Just a moment to find the center? To recenter, to God center?

I was in the middle of giving out orders this morning, in the midst of frenzy, when Ben asked from the other room:
"Mom, Can I come on your walk with you today?"
An Invitation I can't resist.
"Yes! I would love that," I responded, trying not to sound over eager.

We set out, air quivering with Spring, to search for that which satisfies body and soul: the depth of texture, welling and gushing from impenetrable earth chasm.

We are both quiet, stilled by the beauty, and fired by the hunt. Going our separate ways there is unity of intent, a common purpose that urges us down trails and through woods deep.

We are not disillusioned.

Light scintillates and dazzles in radiance overflowing.

One droplet, the womb of illumined essence- the energy, the sensuality of creation contained in a single sphere of water, slips to earth.

And we, so honored to be witnesses to the testimony of his grandeur, find solace in the symmetry and simplicity of ferns patterned amongst leaves and limbs in outspread majesty.

to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He might be glorified. Isaiah 61:3

Open spaces breathe and we respire life.

The other day, in a check-out line at the grocery store, a young woman rang up the items and hurriedly put them into bags. But she was slow. Painfully slow. She was flustered and busy, but inefficient. I felt so badly for her. She was keenly aware of her ineffectiveness. I told her not to hurry, that it was fine. She replied, "You're not hurrying me. I'm hurrying myself." I prayed for her. I really did.

I thought "That's me . In a rush but slow all at once. And this is what it looks like."

Could it be that our hurrying grieves God? Is that why he wants us to embrace the present moment, like that water droplet embraces the light, so that we can truly experience Him?

It is not possible to love God in a hurry. God's love is manifested in the gentle unfolding of each moment that quells and stills, never hurries, never in a rush.

"Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10)

Nature never hurries, but her timing is perfection- the supreme orchestration. We can learn from her gentle and effective ways. We must slow ourselves, quiet our hearts and minds to make room for God.

"Every moment is crammed with infinite riches which are given us according to the extent of our faith and love." ~ Jean Pierre De Caussade

What Redeems

2011-03-01T11:18:00.000-05:00

Whispers of Spring dot fields and country roads, and a heart wells up with the multitude of creation. All breadth of a world sublime exults:

"What is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him?"(Psalm 8:4)

Steady stride tends the pace of swirling thoughts:

Who Am I? That He is mindful. Of me.

My morning walk has become my meditation, my inspiration. I walk and hammer out the thoughts all scattered in a disjointed mind.

This morning I was thinking about something I read with the children yesterday.
In the seventeenth century, man had conquered the sea, discovered new lands, and had made much progress in establishing civilization. Thus, it came as a surprise to me when I read the following excerpt of a famed Doctor's writings:

"If you press a piece of underwear soiled with sweat, together with some wheat in an open-mouthed jar, after about 21 days the odor changes and the ferment, coming out of the underwear and penetrating through the husks of wheat, changes the wheat into mice...But what is even more remarkable is that the mice which come out of the wheat and underwear are not small mice, not even miniature adults or aborted mice, but adult mice emerge."

~ Dr. Jan Baptista Helmont

Mice from underwear and wheat. Seriously?

It wasn't until fifty years later that another doctor, Dr. Francesco Redi, proved that spontaneous generation was not possible. For 2100 years, ideas of spontateous generation went unchallenged and believed.

My children, even my five year old, were stunned by such ignorance.
We certainly have come a long way in what we know and understand of science and technology, but the fact remains:

Ignorance is alive and well in the human race.

Let us not deceive ourselves. It is only His mindfulness of us that gives us worth.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing." ~ John 15:5

Present -day culture places so much emphasis on material success and being "smart." But in God's eyes, knowledge in itself, has no value:

"Now concerning things sacrificed to idols, we know that we all have knowledge. Knowledge makes arrogant, but love edifies." ~ 1Corinthians 8:1

You know what? God is a lot more concerned about whether or not I am a loving person, than the intelligence that fills my brain. And not only that, it is love that edifies, not knowledge. To "edify" is to instruct in spiritual matters, and it is love that will make God's teaching clear- show us how to live. Not knowledege.

Last night, I cam home from Zumba feeling happy and energized. I walked through the door, and my heart started to sink: groceries-still piled on the floor, dishes- everywhere , food-also everywhere. All these children home, and no-one did anything. The negative thoughts were mounting.

"I'm just being selfish by leaving everyone to exercise. I need to stay home. Why don't the kids do more on their own?"
On and on the negativity rolled like a river. I didn't get angry with the children. I went to bed and thought, "There's always tomorrow."

I turned the light out on the mess, and brought my baby to bed. She had been waiting for me. And waiting. So I gave up on that quiet time reserved for cleaning to peaceful music and headed upstairs.
"I always wait for you, Mommy," she said as we snuggled under the covers.

This morning I woke and was once again called out of doors. "No, not today. I have to clean up this mess."
Then I thought about what I wrote yesterday- about saying "Yes!"- and I put my boots on.

I did have a lovely walk, and coming home I braced myself for the mess. "I'm not going to be negative," I coached. "The children are just being children and it doesn't mean anything more than that." I opened the door.

My Ben had cleaned the whole kitchen: candles lit, groceries put away, fresh coffee in the pot.
One day he might understand how one loving act can edify and renew a sagging spirit.

It all came together. Yes, we are floundering, stumbling creatures. But love makes all whole. Love gathers the pieces of shattered hmanity and mends. Love redeems the ignorance.

Invitation

2011-02-28T11:24:00.000-05:00

She taps at my window and I, a weary mother, stand at at the kitchen sink.
"Come." She says. "Come into life, come to the Spring, the earth renewed, refreshed, poured out."
I place soiled dishcloth in sink and run to rebirth in dawning glory.

Will's friend pulls in the driveway, and I feel like a crazed woman- barefoot, camera in hand, wildness all giddy and delighting. I wave timidly to the young man in the car. He just smiles. Does he know?

I said "Yes" to first blush's whisper, an invitation to come out and play and wake up with the world.

Little people stay nestled in dreams and warmth when the light dances on their walls.
And I slip out the door and take beauty by the hand.
I walk with her through meadows and over hills, serenaded by Meadow Lark and Killdeer song.
Are they asking for Spring?

And I thought, as I held beauty's hand and reveled in her majesty,

Isn't all of life an invitation? If life is living in the present moment, and the joy is in living now, then life's sweetest juice, the extracting of life, is being open to the invitation of living.

What am I being invited to do at this very moment? Smile at a child or stranger? Say a kind word to a discouraged person? Pray for a troubled friend? Create peace in some seemingly small way?

I must ask throughout the day, "Lord, What is the invitation of this moment? What can I say 'Yes" to that will glorify you and make you known to others right now?"

What is the Invitation?
Say..."Yes!"

"Meanwhile there is the multitude not gifted for great things- the one- talented or two- talented people, who think they can be of little use in this world...but the truth is, no life's endowment is too small to become a real blessing in this world. Even the smallest candle or taper will shed a little brightness, if lighted and set where it can shine."
~ JR Miller

I walk the same hills, day after day, moment by moment, and there are reminders. This body I am in will pass, and my very being will settle once again to earth womb. I am mineral and bone that decays, but "Yes!" does not decay. "Yes!" does not die.

I travel home over rivulets of scooped earth with firm resolve: Today I will look for the invitation and accept. Accept. I will seek opportunities to say "yes" to others, to God.

As I write this post, rain flows out of a laden sky. The splendor of the morning has given way to undulating grey.

The invitation isn't forever. Don't let it pass you by.

Where It All Starts

2011-02-25T23:15:00.000-05:00

Does she look for patches of blue in that weeping gray?

Raindrops soak the earth, pouring out the world's unrest on a stark land. And she stands there just gazing , mesmerized by droplets of water that ripple and clasp, coil and slip on smudged window panes.

Only moments earlier I had been pinned by swirling blue- the craziness of it all- rain battering my temple and swelling in puddles, light leaping and luminous, all at once.

The perpetual admonition of nature to us is, “The world is new, untried. Do not believe the past. I give you the universe new and unhandled every hour." ~Emerson

Life- so unpredictable, so mixed-up. I web my existence in a cocoon, spinning out days of making a home, tending souls, talking of cooking and weight loss and bringing up babies. Such a cozy place it is, a nestled in kind of living that insulates.

But I know there is a reality beyond the cocoon- the ugliness of fighting and angry souls. There are ills that cry out in anguish that only God can heal.

And tomorrow...tomorrow a loving husband and father emerges from our cocoon to root out the evil that lies thick in this world. I don't know where he is going, and he spends his last night home playing chess with his teenage son. I don't know when we will hear from him or what he will say or what he will have to do when he is gone. He leaves to provide for us, to keep us safe in our cocoon, waiting for his return.

Like the weather, I am confusion. There is peace. Gratitude. Love. Understanding. But there is also a hollowed out ache that plunges deep. This unknowing, this unrest- but then...and this is the reality...

Do We ever know? Do we ever know what will happen in life? Nothing is guaranteed. Nothing. Not even my next breath.

Rain pounds and sun illuminates on this crazy, mixed-up day, and strangely it quells the surging of my heart- because all life is bitter sweet, and bittersweet is beautiful.

God manifests his grandeur in the glory of raging skies that light and dim in perfect harmony, and It IS all good.

Years ago, a friend of mine prayed the following Bible verse for me, and it was life changing. I have memorized the verse, and I repeat it to myself often:

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 4:6-7)

I pray for peace every day- peace in the world, peace in my family, peace in my heart. That's where it all has to start. In our own hearts.