Party of 15

We extended the invitation on Saturday.  Friends, who are really family, have company in town.  And they are living in tents while they wait for their promised land to rise from the dirt, so the invitation almost extended itself.  Come on over for dinner.  Gather around our table because the Lord has done great things for us. We can share with you from an abundant harvest and it would be our very great privilege to break bread with you.  Party of 8. Let’s gather.

By Sunday, I realized our friends’ out of town guests from last week were coming back into town for the weekend and so our dinner count grew by two.  And I remember the days when changing plans left me reeling.  But the Lord has done great things for us and He is doing great things in me and I am delighted and so grateful to set two more places for these people who are like my kin. 

Dinner is scheduled.  Monday at 5:30.  Party of 10.

On Monday afternoon, around 2:00, I started to wonder…. Did I ever extend an invitation to our friends that just moved?  Their life is packed in boxes and paint fumes are their normal and these people are our family, too.  And on a holiday marked with remembrance and sacrifice and BBQs and the dawning of summer, will they eat pizza again? Alone? Or worse yet, labor for dinner after laboring to turn a house into a home?

A phone call later and the count grows by 4.  Dinner is set.  5:30. Party of 14. 

I spend the day in the usual fashion when you are expecting to feed a crowd.  Vacuuming, washing surfaces, tossing veggies around in a bowl and trying to think of all the odds and ends that will gently say, “Welcome.  We are so glad you came. Gather around the table. We’ve been expecting you.”

5:30 strikes.  And, group by group, they all arrive.  We are gathered. We are communing.  We are walking steps on this path together.  And the doorbell rings.  I peer around the corner and it’s an unexpected guest.  Our friend who does some work for the Chef.  He’s here to pick up a check and he’s been working because he always works and he looks tired. 

 

I open the door to let him in.  And he enters timidly the way you would expect if you arrived on site in the middle of a party full of invited guests. And I offer words as he crosses the threshold, “Hey friend. Come on in.  Good to see you. Are you hungry?”

And he says it soft the way he says everything. “Well, kinda.” 

 

Dinner is ready. It’s 6:00.  Party of 15.

In the midst of the beautiful chaos, I stop and look around.  These friends who are our nearest family are making their way through the kitchen, filling plates, opening drawers like it’s home and the chattering never slows and it is paired with contagious laughter.  And I hadn’t realized until now how much I have missed this.  Gathering. Filling bellies and filling hearts.   Community in our home.

 

And I hold back the tears and bow my heart in worship.  God has done great things for us.  This winter our grocery list was our wish list but today we are hosting a dinner for 15. And I can’t say we waited on him gracefully or endured patiently.  In fact I remember a few dark days coupled with many harsh words and maybe even a clenched fist shaking toward the heavens.  But God, He doesn’t hold it against me.  He delights in showing me His power in His time.

And I think this is what I stand in awe of the most.  His patience coupled with His unwavering faithfulness.  The way He listened to every word I screamed at Him in my faithlessness.  And Him just nodding His head with a patient smile as He whispers, “Not yet, child”.  Because had he rescued us any sooner, I might never know this immeasurable amount of gratitude.  And had he done it the way I would have expected, in a Martha Stewart-worthy home, I might never experience the great privilege of just being able to open the doors of our home and say with love and gratefulness and sincerity, “Come on in. Are you hungry?  We have plenty and we would count it one of our greatest gifts to break bread with you.”

Counting My Way to Joy

 Photo credit

 

It’s been a hard couple of days.  A struggle for joy in dark places.  I finally realized this morning that the weight of seemingly inconsequential circumstances has been suffocating my joy and blinding me to the gifts...  because for a brief moment, I stopped counting them.  For a brief moment, I forgot how much I have, how little I truly deserve and how Jesus is more than enough.  And I know it is only because of the battle just behind the veil that rages on – daily, hourly, every single minute.   

“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Ephesians 6:12)

Yes, how quickly I forget.  And how easy it is to believe it is my responsibility to fight circumstances instead of my great privilege to stand behind Him who fights the real battle for me – and reigns victorious!

Yes, I must not put the cart before the horse.  Fight.  Stand firm.  But first, suit up. 

“Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.” (Ephesians 6:11)

Today, nearly halfway through my Quiet Thanksgiving, I choose joy and an impenetrable suit of armor designed for a battle I cannot see but an enemy I am certain is on the attack – looking for my exposed areas of doubt and discontent.  And by counting the gifts, by taking notice of all the good things God has done, is doing and has promised to do, my discontent becomes a vapor and the enemy has nothing to attack, no foothold at all.

So the count picks up, carries on, crushing doubt and discontent on the way to joy. Here are just a few of the gifts I’ve counted these first 14 days on this quest for joy.

An anchor that holds within the veil.

 

The Chef and his mad soup making skills who uses them on his day off.

 

Our first Spanish lesson.

 

Park playdates – good for kids and moms.

 

Gluten-free pasta.

 

Coffee by the fire with a warm friend.

 

A worn Bible.

 

A tattered, well-loved book: Woman’s Complete Guide to Running.  Evidence of many miles logged.

 

Running with an 8 year old who beholds everything as wondrous – and who collects treasures too big for running gear pockets.

 

Evening family story time learning about those who have sacrificed much for the sake of the Gospel and how it captivates us all.

 

Encouraging words from unexpected places.

 

Encouraging words from any place.

 

Boy feet.

 

The right to vote.

 

Voting with the Chef at the kitchen table over morning coffee.

 

The freedom to homeschool.

 

My freedom from sin through the blood of Christ.

 

The sound of make believe from two boisterous, healthy, imaginative children.

 

A family fieldtrip and everyone anxious to learn about the people of Pompeii, A.D. 79.

 

Sparkly, 8 year-old girl birthday presents.

 

 

A little girl and her camera – seeing what she sees, what she finds beautiful and curious, what she doesn’t want to forget.

 

The Rocky Mountains a thousand different ways: the colors of each season, sunrises & sunsets contrasting against the highest peaks, the view just after a huge storm – crystal clear, the adventure they offer, the ecosystems… just to name a few.

 

Family fieldtrip to the election polls.

 

The children clothed in wild abandon the minute they step outside into the fields, the minute they step outside at all… the walls hold something in us all and somehow we exhale deeper, breathe more free in the fresh, open air.

 

Sharing a seat with my favorite 6 year-old playing a friendly game of Jenga.

 

 

The crashing sound of game over.  And all the laughter and chatter that follows.

 

Mud pie makers.

 

 

 

My church family, the pastoral team, the worship team, the choir, the congregation, the servants in the places seen and unseen.

 

How holding someone can make them melt right back into reality.  The gift of human touch.

 

Faith like a child dreaming God-sized dreams – translating the Bible for all the people groups who don’t currently have one.

 

Homeschool lessons that resonate with one little girl whose capacity for knowledge is unquenchable and whose heart is a well of compassion.

 

Math our way.

 

 

 

Unlocking the treasures – reading!

 

 

 

 

A visit from a hairy woodpecker in our backyard during a snowfall. 

 

Exploring this craft of writing in a grace-filled space.

 

 

So many gifts hidden in God's word.  This one recently speaking to me in a new way: "With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible." (Matthew 19:26)

 

 

A season of isolation full of intimacy with God who is showing me His strength, His power, His sufficiency all while offering me a greater appreciation for my beautiful sisters in Christ and the true gift and purpose in fellowship.

 

How he looks at me and whispers the words because really the heart always needs to hear the words... even when we know.

 

The hundreds of gifts I left out of this post, counted in just 14 days... and the hundreds I counted before this month.  And the hundreds that are waiting to be counted as joy.

 

Quiet Thanksgiving

The Lord has held me quiet lately.  And there is a grumbling within me.  A storm in the making.  The lightning is flashing on my failings and the thunder is crashing in on my expectations. The clouds are forming into a nearly visible shape and the wind is blowing through this stubborn stance of disobedience I’ve held firmly.  And I know. It’s time.  Time to do the only thing I can do. Let go. Exhale hard and let the tension fall to the ground.  And hope anything of me falls right with it. 

Bring on the rain, Lord. Let’s wash this vessel out.

It’s the month of Thanksgiving.  The month we focus on giving thanks. 

This November, I am choosing to quiet the noise around me so I can focus on the gifts that surround me. I am choosing to give my thanks to Him alone, to count His countless gifts, to nestle in quiet with the Giver, to take notice of gifts I may have missed, the ones I have been enfolded in all along. I am quieting what I can to hear Who I must and see what I already have.   

And, I will make my pleas that this giving thanks becomes a daily habit that leads me straight to joy, uncontainable joy.

 

I'm taking this month to form a habit of thanksgiving in the quiet, real-life places.  No Facebook. No meaningless cyberspace browsing.  Some occasional blogging, maybe.  Some necessary homeschool research, assuredly.  But no more aimless wandering with this machine.  It's a call to hush the virtual world and take hold of the real world.  A chance to embrace the story He's giving me instead of the story the world wants me to tell. The story I want to tell.

 

Thank you friends.  For grace. For you, your hearts ablaze with God-love. I am thankful for each of you.  And if any of you want to stop by for coffee in my messy, real world... well, I would certainly count it a true gift, a simple pleasure.  Call me, girl.

"Come, let us sing for joy to the Lord;
let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation.
Let us come before him with thanksgiving
and extol him with music and song.

For the Lord is the great God,
the great King above all gods.
In his hand are the depths of the earth,
and the mountain peaks belong to him.
The sea is his, for he made it,
and his hands formed the dry land.

Come, let us bow down in worship,
let us kneel before the Lord our Maker."

 

(Psalm 95:1-6)

Winter Reflection

They are calling for snow again in the Rocky Mountains, and at the end of February, with the snowiest month still to come, I have hit the winter wall.  The truth is I am a beach girl at heart who fell in love with a modern-day mountain man, an Alaskan one at that.  So here, a mile high in the Lower 48, is compromise.  Many things I love about this place.  The lingering threat of snow is not one of them.  

And as I cringe at the white flakes appearing again in the forecast and look out at the landscape partially buried in old, dirty, trampled snow awaiting a makeover of crisp white, I remember.  I remember a different season, a brighter, warmer season.  One where life is in full bloom, beautifully dressed in color and all this raining down of gifts and grace is illuminated and exposed. A time when I feel enfolded in the Giver’s presence and I see the path stretched out.

That season seems an immeasurable distance from this dry, cold, dark spell and I strain to take notice of Him.  The shade is drawn on any signs of life and there is “just enough light for the step I’m on”.

But God is still God, faithful even in this darkness, in this apparent deadness and I trust that new life is underground just waiting to emerge because He promises.  And so, I wait, sometimes patiently, for this promise fulfilled.  And as I do I recognize the need for this deadness, this dark season. It’s a time of reflection, stillness, remembering who He is, what He can do, what He is certain to do, what He has already done.  A time to slow down and remember the deserts He has brought me through, the manna He has sent straight through the clouds and the distance We have traveled together from the tents to the Promised Land… and back again.

The dark cold of winter has a way of stopping me still.  The darkness reminds me, “Apart from me, you can do nothing.” (John 15:5b)  So, I trust His heart with all that I have and I know new life is looming and I wait in anticipation for this glory, His glory. 

God is love.  He is a tender Father and this time with me in the shadows, me groping and straining and searching for Him, He uses it to draw me close, to whisper in the night, “Never will I leave you.” (Hebrews 13:5b)  So I stretch out my hands, feeling around for Him to lead me because I can’t see to lead myself.  I am blind.  But it’s worth this short season for what awaits on the other side.  Just ask Paul.

So, finally, I stop wrestling in the dark to find the path, stop fighting to move forward and I surrender and stand still on sure footing. And in my giving up to see beyond here, beyond this moment, I gasp in wonder and notice I am still enfolded in His presence and drowning in the gifts.  And I wonder how many I have missed as I was frantically trying to know the moments beyond this one.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

#313. Working alongside the Chef in the kitchen, stirring around small talk and sweet caresses.

#314. A little boy reading and the smile that comes with "The End".

#315. A sweet little voice singing his ABC's so out of tune, full head of blonde hair cocked to one side, smile wide, body bouncing 26 times.

#316. Putting down the shovel to make one big snow angel which encourages a small snow angel right next to me... "They're holding hands, Mama."

#317. All the gifts wrapped up in this one moment.

#318. The unending whispers from the Creator of the universe... and the feeling that I need pen and paper at my side at all times... or a voice recorder.

#319.  Seeing siblings all around me reunite on school grounds after a day apart.

#320.  The wetness in the last snow... spring is near.

Welcome Home, Child

She was only gone for a night.  Less than 24 hours. I pick her up early for a whirlwind of a morning.  In the car on our way to church, we have the typical Q&A exchange you would expect after a night away.  We arrive at church, drop Brother at his class and walk the long hallway on the way to her class.  We emerge into the lobby, bustling with people and conversations, smelling of the coffee bar and Sunday perfume.

The chaos stops her cold and she grabs my hand, something rare for her no matter her age.  She looks up, her bed head untamed from her adventure full of 7-year old girls and giggles in sleeping bags and chocolate chip pancakes with whip cream.

“Can I go to your class today?”

Not unusual that she wants to go to “my class”, but unusual in the way she asks. No fit. No whining. Just a genuine desire to come, to stay, to be with me. She’s been out in the world, alone. And she’s seven. And thank God seven year olds still need their mama’s adoration and caress and presence.  Thank you Lord for this gift, this gift of desiring my presence.

 

We head into the sanctuary, “my class”, and find two seats in our normal section.  The first time we’ve slowed since I picked her up.  We shed coats and shift and settle in and finally we rest.  But not for long. Soon the worship music starts. She sits with her activity sheets as usual and I stand to worship our God who brought her home safe and full of new memories.

As I’m singing and inviting His presence, her presence is what I notice.  She’s standing beside me, looking up with those blue eyes that stole my heart more than 7 years ago and this face I know… she needs to be held.  She is 45 pounds and her long legs dangle past my knee caps, but she still longs to be cradled after an adventure away from home.  And my mama heart just can’t say no to this.  I pick her up, grip her heavy body against me and as I do, I feel her weight press in, her little body let go of all she’s been holding in.   I feel all that courage and bravery this little girl has carried around for half of a day fall to the ground.  In mama's arms, she doesn't need courage.

I breathe in deep and I worship and thank God I still get these moments because I know they are fleeting.  Someday I won’t even be able to lift her, someday she won’t desire my comfort, someday I won’t be the one she’ll collapse into.  And I stand there in all my hope that I am training her well, that I am leading her to the One she can always collapse into, now just as easily as when my arms are too small to wrap around her fear.  I pray and I sing and I raise open hands for this little girl, that our hearts are strung together in Christ so when the storms of life hit, she is not shaken and her heart is not silent.

The music stops and I sit and she has a seat reserved in this place that houses a multitude but she picks my lap and sits facing me. And I whisper another thanks straight through the rafters. We needed this Lord, these two girls that You made so much alike that knock heads and hold hearts tight and closed needed this moment.  The gifts are falling faster than I can count. Thank you.

As we sit, she plays with my earrings and the buttons of my shirt and studies my face and smiles her smile that spills pure joy.  Then she leans in and lays her head down. Her worldly adventure has left her exhausted and in a room of a thousand strangers, she finds peace and rest on my lap, in my arms.  Another whisper toward the ceiling.  Simply. Thank. You.

As she folds up into me, I smell her hair.  She’s been somewhere I’m not familiar.  I can smell the world in her locks and it’s different and doesn’t sit well in my heart and she'll need a bath before the day is over.  At seven, her adventure was innocent.  Even at her most unruly she is innocent. 

But as I sat there smelling this new odor on my own daughter, I marveled at this gift of perspective.  Is this how it is for my Heavenly Father when I return from my own wanderings out in the world, so far from Him who rises to show me compassion, who longs for me to come, who loves me as His nature in a way I will never comprehend. 

Yes, yes I think it is.  After I've gone off gathering the stench of the world, He is quick to lift me up, open His arms, hold me tight and watch my burdens fall heavy to the ground as I finally return to rest in Him.

And I wonder... when I return from my not-so-innocent wanderings, do I delight in Him the way my daughter did in me?  Do I study His face and fold up into Him?  Do I play with His hair and enjoy His presence?  Or do I return ashamed, feeling condemned. 

"There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.  For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death." (Romans 8:1-2)

And for the remainder of the service, the time devoted to understanding more about God and His nature and His word, He impresses my heart with this image of sitting in His lap like a child, delighting in my return and not giving one thought to what I've done while I was away because I am home.  After He enjoys my return to the fullest, He will wash me clean and cover me in the fragrance of Christ as He whispers softly, "Welcome home, child." 

Just Keep Counting

A new year but the count doesn't start over... it carries on.  Our God, He lives in us and outside of time and His raining down love on us just never stops.   And, the waves of our days that carry tides of gifts crashes into eternity where we come face to face with the Giver.  O glorious day!

#299. A little girl singing of God's good gifts, reminding me they are everywhere and only today matters.

#300. Every effort behind our worship team's writing and recording "Good Gifts" onto a CD that fills my car with His praises and resonates in the heart of a little girl so it fills my house with His praises too.

#301. Morning quiet time alongside a little girl... her reading Proverbs 1 quietly from her Bible and me quietly from mine. And the way this silence echoes through eternity.

#302. Freshly fallen snow blanketing the winter landscape - the ugly dead now white as snow and beautiful.

#303. Family snow day with 20 inches and still counting and nowhere we have to be except together.

#304. Winter quiet that comes with the never-ending snow and warm blankets and fuzzy slippers and terry robes for little people... and the sound of the heater breaking through the silence.

#305. Warm sunshine days just before a blizzard.  Remembering the promises in 70 degrees before the storm that stops us still.

#306.  A zoo visit that unleashes their curiosity and deepens their adoration of this loving Creator.

#307.  Brave women opening wounds and bleeding on cardboard to testify in a room full of women, "You are not alone."

#308. A husband who shovels joyfully while it's still snowing, clearing a path where there looks to be no way.

#309.  Four wheel drive and a husband who thinks about using it in 2 feet of snow.

#310. Hot cocoa and rosy cheeks after snow tubing and playing with friends.

#311. A neighborhood that is a community... plowing streets and plowing sidewalks and coming together to weather the storm.  Dare I whisper the word... love...

#312.  Sweet words whispered, kind words shouted.  All our words meant to be a gift.

And I just keep counting...  because if I don't recognize the gifts, how will I see the Giver?

Gifts from the Heart

The Christ-child received three gifts on that Holy Night and He would take on the sin of humanity so we could live in freedom, in eternity, in relationship once again with our Creator.  A Christmas tree packed full of wrappings and bows for us every day folk seems… well...

This time of year, it seems to be all about the gifts.  The retail gluttony consumes the media waves and the everyday places and I find it hard to settle in the sufficiency of giving from the heart to recognize the ultimate Gift-Giver who loves and gives.  I find myself trying to stuff my tree with new, shiny packages, trying to fill expectations instead of hearts.  

Maybe if I wrote down the gifts I’ve counted on individual pieces of paper, and wrapped them, and set them under my tree, I could see an example of the abundance of gifts we each already have.  And whatever I choose to give, from the heart, well maybe that might be included in someone else’s accounting… of the gifts that fill their heart because they are really from His heart, the One who taught us to give.  Maybe…

And just when I’ve written and wrapped the last gift, the count, it doesn’t stop, because He never stops raining down the gifts of love from His heart… it’s only a matter of looking. 

#285. The sound of imaginations running wild in the dead of winter.

#286. Spending 24 days discussing our Savior’s birth… as a family.

#287. The wonder found in the barn on that Holy Night… they are young but they can already behold it.

#288. The Provider who always amazes us with the ways manna falls from the skies.  Daily. Bread.

#289.  A little boy washing his hair, mesmerized by the lather he creates… and the way he investigates when he thinks no one is looking. Abandoned.

#290. A lack of excess to see there is still an abundance.

#291. A big sister always seeking a companion to enter the dark places.

#292. A little brother who goes without question.

#293. Exchanging dreams over hot cocoa with marshmallows.

#294. Traditions, old and new – the way they pull out memories from the archives and log new ones.

#295. Hearts tied together in Christ.

#296. The tender, gentle way God answers the same questions over and over. 

#297. “What if” pondering with the kids over a meal I didn’t cook.  “What if this restaurant was totally dark?” “What if there were windows in the ceiling so we could see the stars?” What if…

#298.  A little girl who sees moments worth capturing... a budding photographer...

Beyond 30 Days

In November, I traditionally post 30 Days of Thanksgiving on Facebook. Each day, I proclaim something that I am thankful for... But shouldn’t thanksgiving go beyond 30 days? Beyond social media? 

“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.” (Luke 22:19)

His last supper… and Jesus gave thanks. Faced with the hardest of circumstances, Jesus still spoke the language of thanksgiving. Thankful, Jesus broke the bread. Broken, the bread was given. “Do this in remembrance of me.”

I’m like the bread… broken. Less than perfect circumstances, less than a fairy tale past, less than righteous choices. But am I still thankful? It’s easy to be thankful on the mountaintop. It’s a harder language to speak in the valley of the shadow of death. But if I am not broken, how can Christ be given? If I am not thankful, even in my brokenness, especially in my brokenness, how can I know true joy? Because it is in the thanksgiving that contentment and joy are found… isn’t it? When I stop wishing for what I don’t have and take notice of all I do have. When I stop wishing for better circumstances and take notice of opportunities in my existing ones. When I stop wishing for the Jones’ blessings and take notice of the blessings given just to me, by an intimate God who searches and knows me.  It's in this place I discover I have all I need and find joy, unending joy.

And, what do I really deserve, anyway? A loving husband? Two healthy, beautiful children? The opportunity to stay home and serve my family in love? A Savior who lifted me out of the muck and mire? No. None of it did I earn or deserve. Yet, Jesus labored at Calvary, while I was yet His enemy and conquered the grave. Why? So I may have life and have it in abundance! (John 10:10) So you can have it too! Not abundance of things, abundance of thanks, abundance of joy. And so I am thankful. Everything beyond salvation is just gratitude upon gratitude because my Savior died to rescue me from death... life in abundance!

And so, I count the gifts, ever thankful, an accounting of the abundance. The month of thanksgiving comes to an end but I will count on… Wanna try it?

#275. Heavenly combinations – coffee and writing, children and nature, strawberries and chocolate, faith and trust, thanksgiving and joy.

#276. A string of handmade gifts and notes, left for me here and there, now and then.

#277. God’s ever-gentle way of removing scales from my eyes, one layer at a time.

#278. Opportunities to teach my children the language of thanksgiving.

#279. Quiet, productive hours.

#280. Mother-in-loves full of wisdom because generations repeat certain things.

#281. A little boy that climbs in bed in the morning to snuggle and whisper his dreams in my ear. He’s going to be a dentist... that rides a motorcycle.

#282. “Thinking of you” card spilling an unexpected message from the heart – a beautifully unexpected message.

#283. People coming and stuff going… the way it should be.

#284. A writing adventure destined to be less than perfect, but grace-filled companions accompanying me on the journey.