Portion and Cup

LORD, you alone are my portion and my cup, you make my lot secure.  The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.  Psalm 16:5-6

You can't imagine how often I have meditated on this verse over the years.  I've chanted it when I feel the temptation of eating an extra serving of ice cream or feel myself overcome with the urge to buy something completely unnecessary.  I've used it as a psalm of thanks in times of abundance, and as a reminder that boundaries are "good" for me and that children are "delightful." 

But what is it about me that remains unsatisfied with my portion? 

God put in me a craving spirit so that when I discovered Him, I would be filled to overflowing and left craving more of Him. In stray moments, it happens, that spiritual filling, deep and satiating.  I reach to take hold, and like a sparrow, it flies. 

Sin says "uh, no, not enough. Give me more."  I look wildly around for SOMETHING...food, entertainment, things.  I know well when I have misused them.  They carry a cloak of regret, weighty and scratchy and ugly.  They put a canyon between me and God.

God gave me a plate and said,
         feast on Me. 
He gave me a cup and said,
           watch how this cannot contain my blessings. 
He gave me a territory and said,
              make a name for Me here. 
He gave me an inheritance and said,
                 take good care of this for Me.   

Yet I have the audacity to say I need another bite.  I'm thirsty for more of the world.  These borders are too tight.  I'm too busy and distracted to take care of this inheritance. 

My mind picks a daisy and says, "Should I?  Should I not?" And no matter what the last petal dictates, I feed my craving because...I can.  No one is stopping me.  I toss down the ugly stem and reach for the temptation of the moment. 


If we have not quiet in our minds, outward comfort will do no more for us than a golden slipper on a gouty foot.-John Bunyan   

Am I trying to taste heaven by indulging in the world? 

Wait.  There is only one way to taste heaven.  Go to the source.  Sit at the beautiful banquet table.  Eat, drink and be filled.  Do it again and again, until you want none but the best God has to offer.

This is the cry of my heart.

Wild Kingdom

Boy Becoming Man was up at 5:00 this morning, a young colt chomping at the bit to leave for the long-awaited Right of Passage trip with Dad.  Destination: Cedar Point Theme Park, Sandusky, Ohio. 

He jokingly said that the "2nd fastest coaster in the world" was going to make him a man tomorrow.  I winked at my husband, thinking, "No, the real work is going to happen in the car." 

On the kitchen island were the supplies, ready to be packed in the car.  Bags of junk food and Mountain Dew (not a healthy snack in sight, to my dismay!)  But then there were secret paper bags, marked with numbers, containing odd and mysterious objects.  A balloon full of water, 2 puzzles, an electric razor.  Husband had been quietly preparing for this trip for the last 2 weeks.  He has some things to teach this boy.

They will be completing the Passport 2 Purity curriculum in between mouthfuls of Crunch and Munch.  There will be lessons on becoming a man, puberty, sex, responsibility, and things that make me blush.  There are prerecorded CDs, with follow-up questions and object lessons.  The first object lesson will happen in Madison, WI, during the morning pit stop.  The 2nd will occur in Chicago during lunch.  Dave has it all planned out, being the meticulous engineer. 

At 6:00, they loaded the car and were off.

Later in the day I took my girls to the local zoo.  The male eagle was batting his wings in the female's bored face.  The turkey man was puffed out 10 times his size and strutting peacockishly around the dames. 

Even the porcupine was dancing not unlike Michael Jackson, as the female munched on dry food and watched with vague interest.  I smiled, thinking of the husband teaching his boy that he is NOT an animal, controlled by instinct and impulse; that God designed him to walk in careful ways and to be wise in a world gone wild. 

For wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul. -Proverbs 2:10

Crayfish and Other Houseguests

I just read a journal entry from August 26, 2009.  It said, "We have a crayfish loose in the house." 

Then, Aug. 27.  "Crayfish found in guest bedroom.  RIP." 

Sidenote:  Crayfish, caught by Nature Girl in local Zumbro River, ventured down two flights of stairs from aquarium home to said guest bedroom.  Impressive.

This joins a long, irritating line of critters that have made our home theirs.  Carpenter ants in the dishwasher.  Chipmunks (yes, plural) sneaking in through the sump hole to have at our finished basement, including sitting on our couch, and perhaps playing the Wii when my back was turned.  A bat.  A bird.  Ladybugs.  Mice. 

May I mention the invited guests...dog, cat, fish, turtle, snake, lizards (not all at once!)

I wish I could honestly say I have a love for animals that outweighs the angst produced even by the quiet turtle that eats out of our hands.  It's only for one reason that I co-exist with non-humans and set live traps instead of death traps for striped rodents. 

Nature Girl.

Those sparkling eyes and that propensity for naming every animal in our home, invited or not.  God knit her in my womb with her own DNA (Dramatic Need for Animals.)  I can't bring myself to squelch that little fire in her eyes when she encounters lesser creatures.  But sometimes, I have to.

Yesterday, when I had to break the news that indeed we could NOT join the neighbors in getting a baby bunny, there were many tears and even some gnashing of teeth.  I have this fear that the poor creature will freeze to death in the winter.  Nature Girl doesn't know this, but I'm actually open to the idea.  I want to see first how it goes for the neighbors.  If the bunny survives the winter without its ears freezing off, I might venture further into the land of animal insanity.

As parents, we let a little of ourselves die sometimes, so that our children can live more fully.  It's called sacrifice.  And it's worth it.

Making the decision to have a child is momentous.  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.  ~Elizabeth Stone

Can I Make You Like Me?

How to Make People Like You in 90 Seconds.  It sounds so shallow and cheesy when my husband tells me he downloaded the audio book because it was free, and he's only ever been able to make people like him in a full two minutes. 

Then he starts asking me questions.  "Do you ever notice people's eye colors when you first meet them?  Do you know that people who enjoy talking with each other start to subconsciouly mimic each other's movements?  It's sychronicity, baby." 

He's got my curiousity up so I download the book onto my Kindle.  I expect it to be a little narcissistic and self-serving, but it actually is just a reminder to be warm, to intentionally connect with people and find a common interest and rapport, to take the trouble to notice people and engage.  The first thing you have to do is stop depending on the artificial connection of e-mail and facebook.  Even the phone doesn't cut it.  I'm talking one on one, face to face, heart to heart. 

I am sad to say that my family sees me too often with my face in the laptop.  They talk to my left shoulder or the back of my head.  They get lame "uh huhs" to their "are you listening to me" questions.  Youngest Daughter will boldly say, "Mom, please close your computer and snuggle with me." 

The concept is so simple.  Face the person.  Point your heart to his.  Study the eyes.  Match the energy.  Listen and respond.  Ask questions that show you're interested.  BE interested.  Even when your Boy Becoming Man only wants to talk about the Twins or the Vikings, or your Youngest's brain can't keep up with her mouth so she connects her thoughts with "and, um, um, um, um, then..." 

I think Dave and I are trying it out covertly on each other.  Suddenly, we're close on the couch, twisted toward each other, making eye contact as we discuss the day.  And I feel this warmth bubble up after just shy of 18 years of marriage; a deep gratitude that he still wants to talk with me and laugh at my jokes and make sure he remembers my eye color.  Then he touches his chin.  And I touch mine.

Ruthless Mother Relents

It was not pretty, happy, or enjoyable.  I was ruthless.  There were occasional tears and several bouts of lecturing on "How to Treat a Party Dress" and "You Do Not Need to Save Scraps of Paper in Old Make-Up Compacts."  My blood pressure was elevated and so was theirs.  You see, yesterday was "Declutter the Bedroooms" day.  The participants were: one mission-minded, garage sale-planning mother, and 8 & and 10-year-old hoarders.  You'd think I was extracting teeth without anesthetic.

There were moments of victory when the girls were able to part with a garbage bag full of formerly beloved stuffed animals, when they were coaxed into separating their Siamese twin beds so they can actually MAKE them in the mornings, and when they relented on the menagerie of crooked, homemade pillows I was not-so-secretly stuffing in garbage bags.  Note to self:  black garbage bags next time.  You can see through the white ones!

The climax of the story is pinioned on this....

My daughter had transplanted a clipping from my ficus houseplant last year in the lid of a CD-R case.  She'd set it in a sunny window and carefully watered it for months.  Until she didn't.  At first glance it was completely brown and headed for the trash.  "Wait," she screamed.  "It's got a green leaf on it."  I looked closely, and by golly, there was indeed a sole survivor.  "Not enough," I said, ruthlessly.  "Garbage." 

She looked at me as if I was putting down a puppy.  She set out like Fern trying to rescue Wilbur from the chopping block in Charlotte's Web.  Her face got red and tears sprung up.  "How could you throw it away?  It's alive.   Alive!" 

That got me.  I just couldn't paint myself as the grim reaper.  I mean, broken plastic horses and holey, homespun scarves is one thing, but a plant representing the hope of restoration...that's another.  I relented with a testy, "Find a place where I don't have to look at it, please." 

Like the Israelites, we had wandered in the wilderness, wrestled with our attitudes among shelves of craft supplies and piles of furry friends, we'd prayed for deliverance, and yes, entered the sparkling, organized, decluttered space of Canaan at the end of the day. 

To celebrate, we popped out the bedroom screens and climbed out for the first time onto the porch roof, where I read them a story I had written and illustrated in college, about, of all things, a little girl and a plant. 

Mission accomplished.

 They are like trees planted along the riverbank,
      bearing fruit each season.
   Their leaves never wither,
      and they prosper in all they do.  -Psalm 1:3

6 X 7 = Meltdown

Homeshool Mom pops a cork.  Blows a gasket.  Breaths fire on her little girls.  I am drilling math facts; the same ones I have drilled the whole year.  Why won't they stick?  A better question is..."Why have I let this little thing define my performance as a teacher...their value as students?" 

I squeeze my temples dramatically and seethe, "I must be a terrible teacher because you are not getting this after all this time."  Nothing like a little passive agressive shame treatment.                            

I really want to quit this day.  I have very few days when I feel so ornery and defeated, thankfully.  I stomp off to the bathroom to breathe deep and get ready to, of all things, head to a worship rehearsal.  I feel a long way from worshipful.

A quiet knock on the door and I think, "Leave me ALONE," but don't say it.  The door opens a crack and a little hand reaches in to drop a card on the vanity that says,  "I love you, mom.  I'm sorry."  I walk downstairs and another little hand is dangling a card, though the rest of her is turned the other way.  "To: Mom  Thank you for all the wuderful things you have said to us in the past it was alllllllll me not you not Megan allllll me.  pS I was the one who was gumpy."

My icy heart melts a bit, though I still feel like a taut rubber band.  Lord, tame this temper.  Soften me up.  Work this hardened dirt into supple clay. 

I know their hearts are worth more than a right answer on a flashcard...and that my value has nothing to do with numbers and everything to do with grace.  May it sink in like spring rain.  Love them.  Love them.  Just love them.

Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.   I Cor. 13:7

Not So Deep

OK, so this is not so "deep."  But it sure cracked me up!  And it reminds me to keep at the spelling lessons with the kiddos to the bitter end...

What I See In You - The Evolution of a Song

I'm always amazed at the power of a word to billow a person's sails.  A sweet friend told me that she saved all my encouraging e-mails during a difficult time in her life, and she read them back recently, remembering their capacity to buoy and sustain.  I told her I have several such email folders, each bearing a special person's name who has taken the time to speak into my life, to send me Scripture, to remind me she's praying for me, to tell me what good things she sees in me. 

In this, I sense the seed of a song...

I have spent the last 9 months leading a women's Bible study.  While the content of the study has been excellent, it's the fellowship and lively ecumenical community that has transcended the study.  It took a few ladies to begin sharing their hearts, their doubts, and the demons they wrestle, to crack through the surface of things and wander bravely into deeper waters.  What did they encounter? 

Love. Acceptance.  Embrace.  Mingled tears.  Words of Truth.

The song is breaking through...

I have a friend whose daughter, a kindergartner, is in the midst of treatment for leukemia.  The church is sweeping in to cover her needs for meals, housecleaning, babysitting.  I wonder if there is a way to use my gifts to bless her (because I much prefer singing to cooking and cleaning!) 

Yes, this is what the song will be about...

I take these separate experiences and see how God is weaving them together to form a song.  A song about speaking into some one's life words that help them see what I see in them. 

Courage, strength, beauty, heart.

I record the song for Tired Mom.  My kids record stories and poems for Tired, Sick Girl.  I share the song with Sweet Bible Study Ladies.  And the power of words spoken in Truth works its mysterious magic. 

You can listen to the recording of What I See in You at my music website.  jillpearsonmusic.com. 

Drawn North

It is the madness of great love to see God in everything.  -Julian of Norwich

I grew up aching to see God.  A little girl with a compass longing to find true north.  Instead, it bobbed randomly, as if edging near iron-ore.  I would become the Creative Girl.  The Student Leader.  The Girlfriend.  The Musician.  Privately, I would satisfy my longings with food and inappropriate relationships.  I would lie and swear and dabble in mischief. 

But when God bolted through space to sidle up next to me on a sunny college campus day, to draw close and whisper in my ear, "Do you know Who you are rejecting," my compass started spinning dramatically until it pulled in tight and tighter and tighter still to N.  Finally, the madness stopped.  And the new madness began.  The madness of great love. 

I saw a sunrise and said "God creates."
I watched a lame man drag his foot across campus and said "God loves." 
I looked closely at the layers of rock in Archeology lab and said "God designs." 
I looked in a mirror at every flaw and said "God heals."
Everywhere I looked was "crammed with God." 
And still is.

God:  "I will astound them with wonder upon wonder."  -Isaiah 29:14

God is the center of everywhere and the circumference of nowhere.

Pinwheel Living

I'm such a weakling at Hobby Lobby.  I come home with weird things like ceramic frogs and 5-foot silk sunflowers.  The other day I came home with a giant, yellow-polka-dotted pinwheel that I promptly stuck in my just-emerging but still dead-looking perennial bed.  It's one of those things, like plastic pink flamingos or mutant butterflies clinging to vinyl siding, that make you wonder why you're smiling. 

A pinwheel can only do two things.  It can be still and it can move.  It's more exciting to watch when it's moving, and I can look at life that way.  Spinning-pinwheel vision.  Accomplishments, activity, progress.  I always end up knocking my head into some hard wall of wisdom that says, slow down for pete sakes.  Be still.  Be. 

But Thomas Kelly, a long ago Quaker who spoke the language my heart speaks, told me I can have both. 

There is a way of ordering our mental life on more than one level at once.  On one level we may be thinking, discussing, seeing, calculating, meeting all the demands of external affairs.  But deep within, behind the scenes, at a profounder level, we may also be in prayer and adoration, song and worship and a gentle receptiveness to diving breathings.
-Thomas Kelly, A Testament of Devotion

He's not talking about alternating between spinning and stillness, depending on the speed of wind.  The secret is "simultaneity."  It's Moses holding the staff and Joshua fighting the battle all at once.  It's me making dinner, filling out the grocery list, and refereeing an argument,  while my heart is beating in the tempo of worship. 

Stillness undergirding the speed of life. 

How to Prayerfully Handle bin Laden's Death

News of Osama bin Laden's death came as a surprise to me, like everyone else.  A decade goes by and the little boy who was snacking on Cheerios in his high chair when Matt Lauer was reporting live on the World Trade Center disaster is a 7th grader who shaves his lip on occasion.  I'd forgotten about bid Laden, even when I've joined people in the strange ceremony of removing our shoes, as if on holy ground, to be scanned at the airport. 

Now he is dead, shot by special forces, who rose above technical problems like broken helicopters and quick-changed their strategy, removing the body covertly from the building in Pakistan.  American crowds spilled celebrating into the streets of DC and NYC.  The huge crowd atYankees Stadium stopped the game to chant U! S! A!

I, too, reacted excitedly.  Hooray for the tired troops who finally get a victory.  Hooray for the 9/11 families who see some closure.  Hooray for the innocents who won't be killed at bin Laden's command. 

But, hooray we killed him?  The Old Testament is full of God-ordained battles and victory dances under the dangling bodies of enemy kings.  But Christ came along and preached love, forgiveness, peace.  Martin Luther King, Jr. said words that seem to flow from the heart of Christ and apply to this dilemma:

I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that. ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

Beautifully said, Mr. King.  But the convictions of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a German preacher who was part of the plot to assassinate Hitler, truly capture my heart on this issue.  Andrew Zirschky wrote this in a fascinating recent article:

Bonhoeffer's Ethics, left incomplete at his death, provides helpful theological thought about violence in the face of horrendous evil.  Bonhoeffer took the interesting stand of proclaiming actions such as those he agreed to participate in against Hitler as unrighteous but responsible, sinful and yet without better option.  Bonhoeffer did not rejoice at the prospect of killing, rather he mourned, admitted the sinfulness of the undertaking, and reserved all judgment of such actions for God.   -Andrew Zirschky


In the end, Bonhoeffer was caught and hung by the Nazis and Hitler took his own life.  Ugly and complicated is all of it.

So, with great sobriety, I thank our brave troops and I petition our mighty God for his grace.