Lord, make me thankful

Monday's are reserved for a list of gratitude,

I was reminded of my needing to be thankful yesterday as I fell prey to homesickness and comparison. Forgive me Lord, and help me to remember Deut. 8:2 "that he might humble you, testing you, to know what was in your heart, that you may know that man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord."

friends that remain close despite life's many changes

my mother's diligence

my father's abundant gifts finding their way into my pockets

children's excitement over the progression of gift opening

snow flurries that sweep the pavement while we drive

the story of our vision bringing tears anew

a daughter's first

my son's words "Mommy you are so pretty" as I put on old flannel pajamas

a place to go on Friday's

anticipation of the coming week

I am praying that God will help me to enjoy this week of Christmas as I thank Him for the many things he has provided.

Deut. 8:18 "You shall remember the Lord your God, for it is is he who gives you power to get wealth"

I know I put my heart some where…

Parenting for me has been somewhat mechanical. This machine like quality has carried me through some rough times. There are so many new Mother’s at our church, and I caught myself remembering back to this time of baby-hood where I started down the slide of unresponsiveness. You see it’s hard to always respond to the Holy Spirit immediately when you have a baby attached to your chest, your toddler has “gotta go potty”, or your older child is flexed in anxiety. Sometimes your feelings are so strong, you are apart of how the Spirit might be moving or working in a group, but your primary reflex is the child by your side.

So, you don’t say anything, you don’t go forward, you don’t say anything to
the person in need, and your prayers get turned inside out by the temper
tantrum transforming before your eyes.

Personally, this ‘setting aside’ of my inclinations became a pattern.
I accepted that this was just not my time in life to be apart of the group, and it
appeased my already aloof nature just fine. I worked hard at what was going
on in the temporal world, things that I could control. But the ever-present
guilt of not following the Spirit immediately remained.

All of us Mom’s have to push past sleep deprivation, painful relationships,
loss of relationships, homesickness, and numerous personal issues so that
we can just feed the baby. Somebody still has to, it’s great that my husband
can stop everything to get ‘right’ with God, but somebody still has to make
the peanut butter and jellies, wash the dirty laundry, smile and kiss the sticky
faces and fingers. But in the process I was never dealing with the pain or joy
on the inside, so what was going on in my soul never showed itself in my
outward state. I stifled my response, to the point I didn’t know what I felt.
I literally thought, “Who cares what you feel, feelings are here today and
gone tomorrow.” My heart was grievously misplaced. Why didn’t the will
that could push through life’s upsets push back to the Spirit-Father when the
children were asleep and the husband was away? The satisfaction of a clean
house and a tidy demeanor replaced my need for Him.

Seven years later I was still so busy trying to be responsible for everyone
else I forgot how to respond to my God and King. I watched in awe at
younger, more ‘heart healthy’ women respond to the Lord in a church
service with such exactness that I could not understand.

I remember thinking how do you do that? How do you put your feelings first, know that
they are pure feelings, and then follow through? I had forgotten a boldness
from my youth. The Creator God who made me to worship still wanted a
relationship with me that was more than militant. He reminds me that he
wants me to want Him, He wants to know what I feel, and yet I cannot seem
to articulate what I feel. The God I thought was my very useful, highly
acclaimed, commanding officer wanted to hold my hand and remind me who
I was. He came and searched my heart for things of my spirit because He
cares so much. Much enraged I lifted my fist at Him and said, “How dare
you, I can’t even get into my heart, how did you?” Where is that heart of
mine anyway?

Now, I know that my personality isn’t exactly constructed for doing a jig
around the church or even shouting out a hearty ‘amen’. But, I have found
myself crying out to God asking him, “Could you just make the head and the
heart work at the same time, and don’t forget to help my lips move.” It is
really hard for me, I would much rather secure my position on the line than
have to hear the utterance of my voice at any point. This is my struggle.

There is a reason while 1 Tim 2:15 says, “and she will be saved through
childbearing,” it’s because you have to stay true to your first Love who will
give you faith, love, holiness and self-control despite the demands your other
love’s throw at you. If you are in the middle of a diaper change, a sick little
one, a behavior issue, when the Lord comes near look full into His face and
catch His care for you. Don’t be like this writer and misunderstand that He
doesn’t want you to drop the baby so you can stand at attention. He just
wants your heart and that is something you give with full arms and a heavy
load.

Grace and Peace to You.

The day after the clocks turn back.

Monday after any time change come much to quickly for me despite the supposed extra hour of sleep that my son didn't know we were to have. I managed to wield a great school day, but as 4:15 snuck up on me and I realized that it was getting dark and I had three loads of clothes to fold, supper to get into the crock pot, and a task list to make for my husband to complete so we could all enjoy a meal together. I mechanically worked through the tasks at hand, and was patting myself on the back as I made another sock snowball for the drawer. That's when I hear my nine year old scolding my five year old about the mess he had made on the kitchen floor. I was actually noting the maternal tone to her voice, and thinking about how exalting it is to hear her God given ability to scold play out before my ears. Well, I should have gone to check on the son who had been reminded to clean up his mess. I made it downstairs with no minutes to spare before we high-tailed it to swim practice, when I found the dog's water had been upset into a pool on the kitchen floor. Dog and child were splashing about in it. I wanted to sop them up with the water and ring them out.

Now, the spirit-filled, God fearing woman that I am should have said, "We all make messes, now help Moma clean them." But oh no, I had to grip the child by the shoulder and shake him just so as to make his teeth rattle. Which he took note of, and began humming in the back of his throat so it made that sound that kids like to make when they hum while going over bumps in the car. This produced a giggle from the child who I was shaking which just sent me over the edge. I pulled his body to mine and whacked his back quarters three times rather harshly. He then produced a pout and an impenitent sob. Dish towels (we all know they are just for dishes) and a nearby rug served as mops and we all got into the car. After replaying the past 10 minutes in my head, feeling the guilt rush in, and the "I can't believe I lost it like that" come from my mouth. I said, "D, can you forgive me for shaking you." And he does, every time.

I made an agreement with me that I was going to chill out and just pray and think while we waited for practice to end. The swimmers came out of the pool to awaiting towels, and as I escorted my swimmer to the family locker room I vaguely remembered noticing a sludge coming from her shoes. After arrival to the locked changing room I verified caked mud from the bottom and inside of her favorite sandals. There was a mud puddle the size of large pie around her feet. The exchange she made with my eyes was irrevocably, fear. First the old lady sigh came from my pit, and then the eyebrow, usually the right, one signifying I am done. She apologizes immediately, four years on her little brother, she knows that it's best to just confess and apologize. I had to let the tongue go again, dog gone it, and I roughly shoved her foot into one pant leg and manhandled the other wet leg into the warm-up clothes. Once again in a two hour time frame I was using absorbent anything to tackle a mess I did not make. I don't know what I said before this, but I have a name I call her when she has slowed me down, "Are ya ready Gertrude?" It is a weak and evil thing to mock a child. I wished that I hadn't done it as soon as I did. She looked down and said, "I don't know where all that mud came from."

The car ride was quiet and I was so looking forward to dinner and a table ready for the mess making, mess cleaning bunch. The cook had lost track of time and was scrambling to cover up the fact that he had not followed his list. This talented individual who calls me help-mate forgot to put the pre-packaged all white meat nuggets in the oven.

After tucking my daughter into bed, she smiled at me (I couldn't believe it either), and said, "You really gave it to Daddy." And this is when you say...

I didn't give anything good, in fact, I could have given grace to you, your brother, and your Dad, but I didn't and I am really sorry. I need Jesus to help me see that messes are made for us to see that we just need Him to help us clean 'em.

Grace giving God, help me to give good gifts to my kids, to anyone in my reach, and mend the ears of my kids from the foolish things I said today. That cup of tea never tasted so good after the goodnights were said, the dishes were done, and the assorted wet articles went into the washer.

When A Sister is Hurting

October 4, 2010

Lastnight we got a call from Julie, Chad’s sister, the newborn was worse, his nasal congestion was awful, Julie hadn’t slept, but no fever and he is eating and peeing. She asked for me. This sister, my sister, I was wanting to reach through the phone lines days prior, but big brother prays loud and demonstrative to the powers of sickness. I wring my hands for the little baby and the bend in the back of my little sister. I could feel my fist form as I wanted to know whether the doctors in a foreign land were doing everything possible. But I know our Father is listening to the prayers and to the plea’s. I join the praying, hoping that the baby’s body will fight. This time I heard her ask for me. I took the phone with a sigh, hearing the tearful cry of one of my own, it feels so unjust for some reason not to be able to do anything. Instead of crying with her I ask questions, the Martha takes over, what has been done, how is he breathing, and what is the plan. Then I hear her voice trail off… Almost like a second nature I tell her what I know to be true. That she is a good Mother, that she is doing everything she can, that she will get through this, that she needs to sleep when she can, and ask for more help. But I knew there was a hesitation in her voice. What was that? I went to bed only to be tormented and I prayed against guilt.

She feels guilty because she has had to make choices for herself that affect her child. These are the choices that twist and turn our insides out. Oh, the sanctification of child bearing, and she was getting a double shot. In a short amount of time she has had a baby, surgery, and now this sickness. I know how hard this is, the temptation to give up, to curse, to find blame, and I know that she is so familiar with her Father and His love for her. I am so confident in her. I prayed and prayed and when we awoke I felt tired, but I am sure not as tired as she is. I reach for the phone.

I can hear life, the going’s on of everyday child rearing, the oldest voicing her joy at the beauty in the day because the Moma already did so. I am thankful for this, the sorrow our children force us out of just because we are Moma’’s. There is no guilt here, no place for the enemy to swallow her up. She is the first Mary I ever really knew and came to love. The baby is still sick, our heads are still bowed, and the Lord is big enough to handle the small.

My gratitude list:

hike's with eager children

heart shaped rocks

the smell of the forest in autumn

pockets full of acorns

a friend that shares

a husband that takes teasing well

the anticipation of long Saturday morning runs

newlyweds

honeycrisp apples

my parents resolve to be missional

cigar muffled prayers

Had to push through that last one. Yup, I'm thankful.

Genetically Guilty

There are few mothers who don’t deal with guilt on some level or another. I have thought for awhile that moms are some of the most guilt ridden people on the planet. The children we are blessed with become mirror images of the things we do and don’t like about ourselves. Extended family loves to sit around at family events and point out who has what grievance or attribute. “She’s just like her Mother,” or “I’ve seen that before.” I’ve been wrestling for years with a raw place that has been a plague since childhood. Is it in my genetics? Is it just a series of personality traits and circumstance? I still don’t know. What I do know is that I am going to pray, not fear, not prevent, and not control the guilty trait from being passed on to my genetically ridden children. What if I could bless them, not curse them? What would that look like? What my flesh wants is to have the power to choose, but the spirit in me knows the blessing happens when I let go and let them breathe.

I took my two image bearers to the dentist this past week. We were hopeful for healthy clean teeth, but were worried about the verdict at the end of this trip. A beautiful woman was waiting in the ‘holding’ room while her young son let the ‘happy’ juice take affect. I’ve been through this recently as my radiant active child turned into a monster before my eyes. At one point he turned to me, leaned in real close and said, “I don’t like you, Mommy.” It was exhausting as his head seemed too heavy for him to carry on his shoulders and I had to keep him upright. Needless to say, her little one was having a hard time. The uniformed people came for him and she sat down next to me. I asked her if this was his first time to get the happy juice. She teared up and said no, he has been here often recently. The woman crumbled. “You see, he has gastric reflux and the acid that should remain in the deep caverns of his stomach rise and destroyed his back teeth. So, one by one the teeth were being extracted.” She went on to explain she had suffered with this disorder for so long as a young person, but not until she was twenty was it discovered and the healing medicine of Prevacid given to her. I felt the weight of her guilt as it was her fault he had this disorder. She spoke of her genetics, her erroneously made DNA, and I recognized despair. We discussed the happy side of his being able to receive the medicine now, and that the many surgeries and tissue repair would hopefully not await him. This didn’t seem to lift her. What do I say? I’ve felt this. Is it the code or is it just a bi-product of life on earth? This woman told me her husband had told her that God had made their boy. The words sat there between us, and I said it sounded like a truth she could believe. The unsaid was whether or not she is or is not going to trust the God that made the boy, which made the Mom, who knows the end, and will finish the story for each and every one of us. The door opened and a weepy little boy reached for her and she wrapped her arms around him. The gauze in his mouth gave him a crooked little smile, but he was at peace with her.

The door swung open again and my Crest sparkling little ones were peering out at me. Then the verdict, “We don’t have cavities!!!!” “Look how clean our teeth are.” “Mom, can we get a treasure out of the box? “ I love dentist treasure boxes as the sugar has been removed from the spelling of T-r-e-a-t. We made it to the waiting room where this Mom was struggling to hold the very asleep little one and pay her bill. I offered to help, but she was shouldering her genetic material, her guilt, her purse, and her pride all at once and well, she didn’t need any help. I sighed and said a prayer for the woman and the child.

And would you know not even one minute later, we are getting into the car and my kids are repeating the words of the dentist, about the space between their teeth, the room in their mouth, and about their ‘good’ teeth. Without thinking I said, “You have my side of the family to thank for that.” The words just hung there in my throat. You dumb, dumb, woman, what are you saying! Our parents have no control over what we do or do not get, this is not where the gratitude lays. But we thank the Lord for the good and the bad, right? Right? Say it Beth, say it… I hung my head at the heaviness I felt over my own reckless behavior. I have to undo this. Lord, help…

Our lunch was greeted with smiles and busy talk of the video games at the dentist’s office and the taste of the cleaning products. We bowed our heads to thank God for the verdict of healthy teeth, a place to have our teeth cleaned, and for making us just how we are. It didn’t seem like enough at the end of the prayer. I should have gone on about how He is the potter and we are the clay and we should not question why He made us so. I still felt guilty as I’m pretty good at recognizing it by now. While the veggie sticks crunched, and the plans for play were created, I managed a second prayer. “Forgive me Jesus, help me not feel guilt and help me to recognize quickly from whom all things come.”

The Secret to Clean Floors

Ok, I have to sum up what life is like just one of the four days when my husband travels.

August 5, 2010

I was enjoying a early morning snuggle with my little boy, who never wants me when my husband is around, when I heard my house guest and Purdy, the dog, on the steps. Thinking our guest was frustrated with me I went downstairs to take care of my dog duty. Our puppy was diagnosed with intestinal parasites three days ago, so I have been to the vet twice in three days. I fed the dog it's food, with it's medicine, and the yogurt, that the vet said would help, and it vomited it, and then played with it on the cement outside the back door.

The dog then plays in the mud, comes inside and jumps on the couch. My daughter locked eyes with me, wondering why I wasn’t screaming. Mostly because it’s before 7am and I was way too out of it.

I made biscuits and served them to the kids with my neighbor’s gift, Huckleberry jam from Montana.

David didn't like the jam. Said it was yucky. Into the trash went the biscuit.

I took the dog on a walk in 86 degree weather at 7:15. God, I ask, why do I live in Nashville, TN?

I washed the dog because it had played in it's vomit.

I washed the couch and clean the floor AGAIN.

The kids started fighting about what to do today. Anger because they couldn't go to the dentist as we all have colds that my pilgrim husband brought home to us. We decide on Paleta's, a really expensive popsicle joint, and the bookstore.

While in the car driving to our excursion David realizes that Paleta's is not the same as Gelato and insists that he is not going. In my sweetest Mommy voice I say, “Okay, you don't have to have any.”

We go to the bookstore where my easy going nine year old immediately picks out a 50% off Bible that she likes and David screams and throws Bible's on the floor because he cannot have the Bible that has a little door that opens like a Harry Potter book ($30). I commence to tell him that the cover is a gimmick, that this Bible doesn’t have pictures, and being as he doesn’t read, he’s going to want pictures. The store clerk follows me around the store picking up after me with the look of "Oh Brother". I check out and apologize for my children making a mess in her store.

Jesus would have apologized I am sure of it. Since there were WWJD paraphernalia everywhere I made sure I apologized.

We go to Paleta's where David gets the coconut strawberry and Sydney the cookie one. David ends up throwing his out the window because of the consistency of the Paleta is Yucky. I said I told you so, I told you 3 times to get the lime one. There went the $2.50 popsicle.

We go home and barely make it in the door when the storm came. Lost power and water. David is beyond the pale at this point because he was watching Starwars. David continues on his downward decline. He pulled the cat's leg in two and kicked Purdy in the stomach.

We go downstairs to the cool basement and I have a hot cup of tea when David jumps on me, which I then spill all over my front and have blisters on my chest. My daughter locks eyes with me again wondering, "what’s it going to take for my Mom to crack?" David decides he wants me to read him a book, thank God, however he decides to trap the cat in his stealth hands and strangle it to get it to stay. Okay, that’s it!!!!

I loose it with David and remove his little self to his room, where it’s 100 degrees because the A/C is not working . I don't know exactly what I said and I know a ruler was involved on his greater end, but he was a changed man.

FINALLY the kids make a tent and get distracted, I make their snack supper (the power is out), and take it downstairs where David breaks the glass cup that the smoothie was in all over the floor.

I clean it up, and come up and eat my dinner when Sydney somehow finds the one piece of glass I missed and cuts her foot, and bleeds all over the floor. I clean the floor for the 4th time today. Every-time I bend over with a head cold I feel like my brains are going to come out of my head.

After this I have to drag Purdy home out of the neighbors yard.

Make a new tent for David as I had to go hunting for glass. Then they beg me over and over to sleep downstairs under the new tent, I decide to be a 'yes' Mom.

By this point my body is just moving and the head is no longer attached. I drag Purdy's kennel up the stairs and set up the kids bedding.

I turn and smile as Sydney and David are reading their Bible's together in the lantern light like little Angel's. Remember, David can’t read, but he is looking at the pictures.

Now I have Chad's cat on my bed giving itself a bath and I would really like for it to take it's affectionate little fur ball self somewhere else, but he will Meow without Syd in the room across from me. So, after kicking it off my bed twice and chasing the cat out from under the bed, I extend my grace to the cat and it’s litter box onto the back porch. Where I give him my best goodnight you “b-e-e-p”.

Exhaustion!!!! And why do I feel tense? This is God's idea of testing? Perseverance? I don't know? I do know that I am not sure what curse words I said in front of the kids today. I will apologize tomorrow.

We love Sugar

We lost our dog Sugar on Monday morning, and we don't totally understand what happened. She got overheated on a walk, collapsed, and stopped breathing. Oh, my heart just aches over this four-legged companion. Why did I suggest she go for a walk? Why did this happen? Knowing full well that the Lord has all things under control, nothing is out of his hand.

We went through our pictures, trying to find the picture to remember her by. There are videos of David, then in a diaper, riding Sugar. Sugar just set real still, until David tried to pull her tail and then she went round and round with him, as is she knew he didn't know any better about tails.

The first week Sugar came to live with us Sydney accidentally dropped her and she spent the night sleeping on my belly, atop the little boy who would soon pull her tail. This dog was so much more than a dog, she ran thousands of miles with me, looking up as if to ask, "Are we done yet?" But she would plod on, bounding into the tide pools of the Puget Sound by the end of our run. She became apart of my mothering, "Okay, you play with Sugar while Mommy deals with your brother." Sugar would follow commands to follow one child at the beach while I went after the other. I was completely confident in her, much like the character Nana in Peter Pan, the dog governess. Then there are the countless nights she kept watch and knew I needed her right beside me to be the eyes and ears while mine went to sleep. She could play tether ball by herself at the park, and draw a crowd. She loved to catch bubbles with the kids. And her complete focus on any ball, stick, toy that was to be retrieved would have brought a chuckle to the hardest cat lover. My neighbors knew Sugar before they knew me, "Oh, your Sugar's owner, nice to meet you." Recently I found out that she knew just how to nose her way into my neighbors kitchen especially when bacon was on the menu.

How do we replace such a sweet friend? We don't. My kids don't understand that this dog was special and that it's hard to move on. David said, "We just go to the chocolate lab store and get one and bring it home. I want a dog Mom."

Yeah, I know buddy, just want her back too.

What I learned about Motherhood from my Dad

There are few men quite like my Dad. He can pound nails, cut down trees, diagnose cars and people, and manhandle just about anything, but there is a tender nurturing side to him. He has been a steady compass for me in my adult years, he has by-passed his own principle’s and particularities to maintain a voice in my life. When my daughter was two I spent most of my days solo, without husband or Daddy around to take the edge off. On a much-needed trip to visit my parents I arrived rigid, absolute, ‘Darth Mom’ as my brother calls it. My Dad is discerning, a gift from the giver of good things, and openly rebuked me for smothering, which I thought was mothering. It hurt, I cried, couldn’t stop and never can after my Daddy corrects me. However, during the heart stripping crying before my Dad, I told him he had no idea what it was like to be a Mom alone all the time and that I kept my life orderly and secure so that nothing ‘bad’ would happen. The look on his face was compassion, his voice was silent, and thus began a trust between us. I talked and he began to listen.

When my son was six month’s old he refused to be cared for by anyone but me. I felt frustrated and resentful that I could not have one evening out or take a bath for that matter without his little demands. I never in all my life thought I would be the Mother of a ‘Mama’s Boy’. I never talked about my feelings with anyone, no complaints, but I wear my emotions on my sleeve, I know it. After several sleepless nights and naps resigned for the two of us my Dad put his hand on my shoulder and said, “You know it’s because your such a good Mom that he’s like that.” I was not thinking about the circumstances in that light whatsoever, I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong, how had I spoiled this boy? Dad said, “Yeah, he feels safe with you, your giving him what he needs right now, and it’s a good thing, honey.” I remember thinking that yet again my Dad had not a clue what Motherhood was all about and I should send him a parenting book. Then it sunk in, I was doing what God had ordained for me, for some reason my little son needed to know I was with him. He needed a Mom who would hold him in the night, talk to him softly, and smile at him not scold him when he just couldn’t get to sleep. How did my Dad know?

What my Dad knows is that children need a place to land, and in the presence of their parents is often that place. Children need to be able to speak in earnest, to rest peacefully, and to hear the thoughts of one who has walked longer than they have. I do not always provide my children with the attention, position, and dignity that these little image bearers need. I do ask Jesus to keep me close, to remember how I stray and how I need mercy.

Most recently I overheard my daughter telling my son about Papa, my Dad, and how Papa can do this, and Papa can do that… I laughed to myself as I might have exaggerated a few stories here and there. No harm done I figure, he is my hero, why shouldn’t he be theirs too? Dad would deny it all, correct me promptly for making him out to be more than he is, and I would hang my head. The reason is that I do want to please him, but I like to revert to childhood wonder where there really are good guys and they always win. There is hope in seeing a pilgrim make his way through this life and stay the course. I find encouragement in giving witness to a brother in faith continuing to change and mold himself late in life instead of masking himself behind individual beliefs. Mostly, I want to model his behavior that the person is more important than the plan and the people in our lives are what makes life worth it.

There is no hiding that I love my Dad. This is a great Father’s Day, a time to rejoice in the idea of Father’s and their children.

Kickstart Monday

Mondays are gratitude days.

For someone who is so good at counting (bricks on the church wall, miles completed, panels on the ceiling, nutritional requirements, days of incubation, days until, days since, etc), I am not so great at counting and writing what I am thankful for.
So, who's counting? Me...

burdens shifted

siblings that play constantly even though there are 4 years that separate them

the squeakuel (chipmunk music can really make me thankful for other music)

pastor's of providence

the Exodus story

my little warrior's hugs

homemade play-dough

sewing machines

women like Abigail Adams

my mother's ability to improvise (and her instruction)

faith

attentive husband

snotty noses and tears at church

twelve year old girls' Birthday parties

Southern thunderstorms

breathe in, breathe out

http://www.aholyexperience.com/

Hidden Romance

February has been cold, really cold, I have felt cold from the inside out and cold from the inside in. I have seen more varied types of snow than I ever thought possible. My kids started the month ecstatic over the first sign of falling snow yet have now retreated indoors with a soft blanket versus trotting outside with their sleds. I have tried to think "happy" thoughts, but every time I head out for a run on the slick streets I end up muttering something under my breath that I have to repent for half way through my run. To make matters worse I have been reading the "weeping prophet," Jeremiah. Although there are numerous encouraging verses the overall picture of this book has been painted severe. I have ruminated about how does God put up with us, how we so quickly fall out of love with Him and how I am just as bad as 'those people' He is dealing with in the scriptures. It has been a hard, passionless month, oh and throw Valentine's Day in to the gloom blender and this natural cynic begins to produce mass loads of unbelief. I cover it up rather nicely with a steadfast exterior and a cast iron glaze over my true self. Lately I have felt a surge of panic as I realize I don't feel anything; apathy. I really don't like me when I get like this.

Then I pray, "Lord please have mercy, fill me afresh, I don't know how I got like this, but You and I both know where this leads."

Leave it to my precious kids. Today I was really stretched with a fragile four year old, there was nothing I could do right. Every attempt I made towards peace was thwarted by this cloud of "not enough," hanging over his eyes. I was exhausted by noon, ready to give up and fall prey to depression and discouragement all over again.

I sat down with my daughter to read today's "The Holy Experience," post by Ann Voskamp only to find myself getting choked up. My voice was wavering and tears were stinging my eyes as I thought about God keeping a record of my laments. My daughter smiled at me and said, "Awe Mom, enough of this romance stuff." A little perturbed at her, I asked her what romance she was talking about, she snickered and said, "You know, you and Jesus." I was taken back because I struggle with intimacy with Jesus, and how she saw me sniffle a little and knew that there is a romance between me and Jesus that I rarely have eyes to see. I felt encouraged. I am not passionless, I am not cold and heartless, I do love Jesus, He lives in my soul and even though I am not a riot of expression my daughter knows my true self.

I have looked upon you

Every year I try to skirt the questions concerning the highs and lows of the past year. What was good or what was bad? Where did I find success and then the inevitable failure. For a couple of years I came up with a short cute comeback to the question regarding my New Year's Resolutions, "I resolve to continue." Which is the farthest from the truth, I am a diehard overachiever, always striving for the next level. Although I might settle with where I am at, I am rarely content with it. All this critical exactness is completely personal, rarely voiced, but always calculating. This year, I need to make some changes, deep changes, outward changes, and so I write for eyes to see. There needs to be a change from striving-surviving to thriving. Although I will never cease from trying to mortify the deeds of the flesh, I want to turn my gaze. You know, the gaze of a soul, puppy love, stuff that makes me blush and look directly down. Just now my four - year old son was trying to get my attention. I was trying to make my personal goals for the up coming school term. He must have told me his plans for our day three times before I realized I was giving him second place. So, I turned my body towards him, looked him square in the eye and said, “What are your plans?” He didn’t sigh, he didn’t roll his eyes in exasperation, he laughed. Laughed because it was so funny for him to see me be at his disposal. He was a buzz of delight, “When I finally get the next Star Wars toy that I want we can make a big play area in front of the fire and play all day.” Instead of scolding him for his desire for toys, and there never being enough, I said yes. He was ecstatic, I could read his mind “She said yes.” Could this be the end of restrictive thinking for me? Well, not completely, I reminded him he had at least a week’s worth of chores to do before he was able to purchase this addition. Thanks to the Holy Experience (www.aholyexperience.com) for reminding me of this need in my life to find a 'yes'. I used to boast, “There is nothing I can’t say no to.” A condition I have worked hard to achieve only to find out this is not an achievement. Nope, no blue ribbon here, in fact if I am not careful I will be a cultivator of wild grapes (Isaiah 5). It seems to me I need to direct my attention.

(Psalm 63), I have looked upon you,

though terrifying, the Psalmist tells me it’s a good idea.

So, this is my prayer, I am sorry I shift my gaze, I need your hand under my chin to lift my eyes to You. I have lost my childlike determination to see you. I don’t deserve your persistence to hold my gaze, help me to be a better lover. Amen.