Sigh

What did Jesus do when the Pharisees started bugging him? 

He "sighed deeply in his spirit." 
Mark 8

I know what that looks like.  It's when your heart drops or your blood pressure rises, but you don't let it show.  You feel the emotion run deep and piercing, but you maintain self-control on the exterior.  I think this past Christmas weekend had me sighing in my spirit more than any I can remember. 

It began with high hopes, as we piled into the mini-van with duffels and gifts and food to share, along with an assortment of cords for the kids' new technology, embarking on a five-and-a-half-hour road trip to Illinois to visit my dad and step-mom. 

When we arrived, there was an immediate spirit of heaviness.  My step-mom's father had been in a terrible car accident three months ago, and she had been on the road many times a week to be with him and her mom at the hospital.  She was weary and tears spilled over many times.  Deep sigh. 

My dad was missing his father, who died in October.  He had been my Opa's caregiver for 6 years as he battled Alzheimer's in a nearby nursing home.  It was grueling and heartbreaking, but his absence seems equally hard and Dad is depressed.  Deep sigh. 

I don't know how to comfort my dad.  I gave my step-mom and him a beautiful stone transformed into an oil lamp, and wrote them a poem about carrying light through the dark times and fanning each other's flames. 

They cried when they read it, and we ate dinner by the light of the rock.  But, still, I don't know how to connect and stay connected to my dad.  I want to give him this hope and faith in Christ that lights my way, but that is not what he wants.  Deep sigh. 

I long for sweet times of connection with my kids and their grandparents.  It's happened in the past while singing and guitar playing and writing silly songs together.  There were a few lighthearted moments as they pulled up funny apps on their iPods and convinced Granny Cathy to download Talking Tom Cat so that they could all play at the same time.  But mostly, they went their own ways, watching football, playing games, acting shy. 

Dad and I usually get to make some music together, but where was I?  On the couch most of the weekend with the stomach flu or food poisoning, trading good conversation for many, many visits to the bathroom. Deep, deep sigh. 

But the soul-deep, guttural groan that I masked with a compassionate smile came when we visited Grandpa Bob in the hospital.  I thought I knew what a person would look like after 3 months in ICU.  I knew he would have a trach and many wires and that he had grown thin.  But he was an unmoving, unwaking, ghostly skeleton of a man, who last Christmas was a friendly, barrel-chested farmer with a big grin and hug for us at the door.  What are they all to do, Lord?  How long can they endure this?

I am glad to be home, nursing my stomach back to health, praying for all this suffering. Praying for:

 ...the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair...
Isaiah 61:3

But on this windy, bleak, mid-winter day, there are just deep sighs.

My Favorite Christmas Poem

In the Bleak Midwinter
Christina Rossetti, 1872

In the bleak mid-winter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak mid-winter Long ago. Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him Nor earth sustain; Heaven and earth shall flee away When He comes to reign: In the bleak mid-winter A stable-place sufficed The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ. Enough for Him, whom cherubim Worship night and day, A breastful of milk And a mangerful of hay; Enough for Him, whom angels Fall down before, The ox and ass and camel Which adore. Angels and archangels May have gathered there, Cherubim and seraphim Thronged the air, But only His mother In her maiden bliss, Worshipped the Beloved With a kiss. What can I give Him, Poor as I am? If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb, If I were a wise man I would do my part, Yet what I can I give Him, Give my heart.

Melancholy and Mistletoe

Irony:  when the husband you affectionately call "Scrooge" because he grumbles at all the Christmas hoop-la pulls you under the mistletoe and suggests you adopt a more festive attitude, then plants a big kiss on you. 

He's right.  A sour spirit has descended on me lately.  I feel desperate for a place where everything is peaceful and quiet and clean and done.  Instead I hear noise and squabbling; I look around to see so much UN-done.  Even if I did it an hour ago, it is now UN-done.  Even if I scratched everything off my list, I have added more to it.

Why am I trading peace for angst?  Why am I hunkered down in a place of ingratitude when I know why and how to live full of thanks?  Why is everything bugging me? 

A plethora of excuses cross my mind:  lack of sunlight and fresh air, too much sugar, not enough sleep,  too many demands,  too ambitious of a schedule.  But these are symptoms, not the root cause. 

Countless times I have advised friends to lower expectations, enjoy the moment, count their blessings, be still and know that God is God.  

It seems I need to dig awfully deep to take my own advice.  But you don't find the root by walking around in circles on the grass.  You have to get out the spade and dig an ugly hole. 

Today this moves to the top of my list: some internal gardening (and maybe a nap in the sunny window seat.)  Because when the man of the house gets home tonight, I'd like to beat him to the mistletoe. 

A Fascinating Movie: The Adjustment Bureau

Until last night, couched with my favorite guy after the kids went to bed, I had never seen a movie quite like this.  The writer was clearly grappling with this proverb from Scripture:

Many are the plans of a man's heart, but God's purposes prevail. 

Prov. 19:21

What does that mean, really?  Are all of my plans superseded by God's will?  How much divine intervention is injected into my free will?  These are mysteries the greatest minds have not solved and the Bible does not fully answer, so I suppose they are best saved for heavenly revelation. 

But when a Hollywood writer throws out a suggestion as to how this is accomplished, it makes for a fascinating movie, with Matt Damon at the helm.  Angels in fedoras, passing through magical doors.  An unsuspecting man accidentally glimpsing the other side of the veil.  An unseen God called "The Chairman."  There are no halos and supernatural, gauzy figures.  These are serious, sometimes brutal men, with a job to do, and woe to the angel who falls asleep on the park bench! 

Can our passionate plea persuade God to "rewrite" our story?  This is the central question the movie attempts to answer.  Scripture says YES.  Moses' plea for the Israelites and Abram's plea for Sodom and Gomorrah, where God is in conversation with these men of faith and allows Himself to be persuaded to be merciful are two examples.  What would be the point of intercessory prayer otherwise? 

If you've ever wondered if you've "entertained angels unawares" (Hebrews 13:2, KJV) you will appreciate this movie.  Personally, I pause at that Scripture and look around suspiciously.  It means there are flesh and bone angels walking around, right?  Have they brushed up against me?  Have they diverted my path to protect me or to accomplish some greater good?

OK, I don't want to give too much away, but I can't stop analyzing this movie. My son is taking a Biblical Worldview course called Starting Points this year, so we have spent much time together analyzing authors' worldviews in such books and movies as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Narnia Series, The Wizard of Oz, and It's a Wonderful Life. Up next is Frankenstein. I guess I, too, am being trained to think more critically about the stories I read and watch.

The next time you spill coffee on your shirt, which puts you behind in your schedule, you might wonder:  was it chance or was it the "adjustment bureau?" 

My Little Rose Petals

Wasn't it yesterday that I would arrive in that cozy room, collapse in a chair after long days spent with babies and toddlers, and be loved on by sweet, young moms and older, wiser mentor moms.  MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) was such a blessing back then.  I gained some dear friends from that group, and though life has led us down separate paths, we still meet once a year for Fondue in January.

Last night, as the busy moms decorated the room for their annual Christmas celebration, I was setting up my music equipment to perform a concert for them.  Their little preschoolers were exploring everything, toddlers were dragging around blankets like Linus, babies were resting on hips, little fingers were finding my keyboard, eager mouths were trying to sing into my microphone.  I felt a little like my son playing defense on the basketball court!

I brought my daughters and their friend to assist me, and to sell their beautiful satin flower clips for their fledgling business, Rose Petal Designs.
 

In six years, my daughter, Megan, has gone from clinging to my leg, not wanting to be left in childcare rooms, to manning my powerpoint and running her own little business.  I watched her gently redirect curious preschoolers away from my equipment and bless one little girl with a free clip because her mom didn't bring money. 

I observed my 8-year-old, Grace, being saleswoman of the year, as she informed potential customers of the great value of these little clips...how you can remove the feathers if you prefer...how they make great Christmas gifts and wouldn't your little girl like this purple one?  At my last 2 concerts, they sold $150 worth of clips.  Stunning!

All that time spent teaching my children respect, self-control, hard work, and compassion is beginning to bear fruit.  Spending so much time with them as a homeschool mom, I tend to focus on their weaknesses and lack of maturity, but yesterday, seeing how they handled themselves in public, juxtaposed against who they were just a few short years ago, I was proud of them.  So proud.  

I shared these three pictures with the lovely MOPS moms to let them know how quickly time passes.  The first is our Christmas card picture from 2003.  The second is what happened right after we took that picture.  The third is our 2011 Christmas card picture. 

Time is the most undefinable yet paradoxical of things; the past is gone, the future is not come, and the present becomes the past even while we attempt to define it, and, like the flash of lightning, at once exists and expires. ~Charles Caleb Colton

Ecce Ancilla Domini!

This painting by Dante Gabriel Rosetti captured my imagination this morning.  It is entitled:  Ecce Ancilla Domini!, or "The Handmaiden of the Lord." 

I have been reading from the Revised Common Lectionary lately.  It has wonderful scripture selections that coordinate with Advent, and it includes related artwork, where I came across this oil painting from the mid-1800s. 

I read the fascinating account from Luke, where Mary is visited by an angel bearing life-altering news. 

Luke 1:26-38
1:26 In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth,

1:27 to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin's name was Mary.

1:28 And he came to her and said, "Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you."

1:29 But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.

1:30 The angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.

1:31 And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.

1:32 He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David.

1:33 He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end."

1:34 Mary said to the angel, "How can this be, since I am a virgin?"

1:35 The angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy; he will be called Son of God.

1:36 And now, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month for her who was said to be barren.

1:37 For nothing will be impossible with God."

1:38 Then Mary said, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word." Then the angel departed from her.

Most art related to The Annunciation of Mary shows her in peaceful contemplation, but Rosetti rejected this.  Look at her.  Startled awake.  Recoiling.  Unsure.  It must be a more accurate representation of a person's reaction to a visit from an angel.

I wonder how much time passed between this visit and Mary sitting down to write the Magnificat.  How long does it take drastic news to settle on a person, to burrow its way into acceptance, to be embraced and magnified by the soul.  How much pondering must take place before you can treasure it all up? 

I know, these are deep, rhetorical questions for a Tuesday morning.  Maybe I'll just close with a few the words from my song, All These Things (CD:Herald),  inspired by this tender shoot of a woman.

All these things I treasure up

and I ponder them within my heart

and they change me

 and they move me

to follow hard after God

Things I did not want to happen, not my plan

I didn't understand

I did not know if I would bend under the weight

or if I would break

All the pieces of the portrait of my life,

shadows and light

shadows and light

Then the message of the angel in the the night

pointing out the way that is right



Cookies and Apologies

I learned a hard lesson about honor yesterday.  The stage was set for a lovely afternoon of baking with Nana.  The tree was twinkling, the Christmas music was playing, the counter was covered with all things delicious and fattening, and we were ready to make our traditional favorites:  Scandinavian almond bars, double dip chocolate bon bons, and Amish sugar cookies to decorate. 

I handed my mom an envelope, which included a Snapfish picture card of the kids and my annual Christmas letter.  She read the letter and chuckled here and there at my comments.  You see, I try to make my letters a real glimpse into our lives, and not pretend our lives are perfect (that would be pretending!)

The problem came when Grace asked my mom to read the letter aloud.  As she began to read in her gentle voice, I instantly panicked.  I knew there was a certain line in there that would offend Gracie's tender little heart, even if it was true.  So I whispered into my mom's ear to skip that line, which she did.  Gracie, however, was on to me. 

About 5 minutes after we put the letter away, she came up to me and earnestly asked to read the letter.  My heart fell.  I knew this was not going to go well, but that I had to honor her request.   I gave her the letter, she read the telltale line, and then she hurried up the stairs in tears.  I followed her, feeling terrible.  All kinds of hurt tumbled from her mouth.  "How could you, Mom?"  I really didn't have a good answer.  I knew she wouldn't understand if I explained, "I was trying to be real, to encourage others with our foibles.  See, I put funny stuff about myself, too." 

I just said, "I'm sorry, Grace.  You're right, it wasn't nice.  I will change it.  I will tear open every sealed and stamped envelope, and replace the letter." 

She reluctantly accepted my offer.  I knew she didn't want to miss the afternoon of baking to sulk.  She taught me how careless I can be with my words, and that I have to remember she is not quite at the age where she can laugh at her own weaknesses. 

There are so many warnings in the Bible about bridling our tongue.  Today, I choose this one to tuck in my mouth:

Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips!  Psalm 141:3

I continue to struggle with how to use my voice to encourage and tell stories about my life that are real and true, while still honoring those in my family.  Perhaps today, you can learn from one of my many mistakes. 

When the Season Draws You Deeper

This time of year sends me swimming in nostalgia.  I purchase a new ornament for the children each year, to represent their interests and stage of life, and as the delicate icons came out of their tissue wrap, I am swept back over the years.  Winnie-the-Pooh, Cub Scout, ballerina, tea cup and saucer, Care Bear, pink pony.  You can imagine the burden on the boughs as they hold memories of 3 kids and 18 years of marriage. 

We have a second little tree in our master bedroom.  We call it the anniversary tree, and it holds ornaments selected each year of our marriage, beginning on our honeymoon.  On a yellowing slip of paper, I write down the year we bought each ornament and what it represents.   Pink booties for Megan's arrival, a tiny picture of the house we built, a little gold cruise ship, a butterfly to remind us of "Songs with Wings, " one of the CDs we made together. 


Sometimes I imagine the timeline of my life, from birth to now.   It doesn't look like the straight time lines that come in our homeschool curriculum, ready to write dates and paste pictures.  It looks a bit like an irregular heart monitor print-out, with blips like peaks and valleys.  There are big valleys that made my heart pound.  There are moments when the peaks are off the page, so mountainous were they.


Upon each event on this time line, I can stamp a promise of God.


1991:  I have suddenly, joyously drawn near to God, after 20 years of wandering.  This peak is stamped with Romans 10:9  If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.


1993:  I am crying.  Dave has lost his job right before our wedding.  This valley is stamped with Jeremiah 29:11  For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.


2000:  I am looking bleakly at a toddler and a baby.  My husband is in Asia for 3 weeks.  I am downcast, feeling far from God and wondering, "who am I?"  This valley is stamped with Romans 8:38-39  And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow—not even the powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below—indeed, nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord.


2005:  I am laying passed out in a pool of blood on the bathroom tile.  The baby is gone and I am in the valley of God's cupped hand.  It is stamped with Job 1:21  The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.


2007:  God is doing a new thing in me;  He is painting a vision on my heart for a music ministry.  The peak is nearly off the page! Isaiah 43:18-19  Forget what has happened.  Don't keep going over old history.  Be alert.  Be present.  I am about to do something brand new!  It's bursting out, don't you see it?


2011:  I am feeling in the center of God's will, doing what I love.  Homeschooling, songwriting and performing, serving others with my children, giving out of God's generosity to me.  All this stamped with Ecclesiastes 5:19  Moreover, when God gives a man wealth and possessions, and enables him to enjoy them, to accepts his lot and be happy with his works--this is a gift of God.


Someday, any day really, the time line will end.  There is a stamp ready for that moment:  Revelations 22:4 They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever.