Wednesday, April 6, 2011

time is like cabinets

21 months after Michael and I tied the knot, we purchased our first home. It was bank owned, which means the former owners were most likely foreclosed on, and we were blessed by their misfortune. It was a big house for just the two of us and our baby boy, much more than we needed. I hadn't been married long enough to acquire an arsenal of kitchen gadgets, and I remember thinking I would never fill all the walls of cabinets in my new cooking space. Ten years later we moved. We had three small boys by then, and a whole house full of stuff. In that decade I filled every last cabinet in that kitchen. Six houses later, I have learned that if I have the space, I fill it up.

I don't need more cabinets, I need less stuff.

Time is like cabinets.

My time seems to be filled up just as soon as I find some extra. That's OK, because I like to be busy, I think it is good to be busy, but recently, I have been feeling like I fit God in around my schedule, instead of fitting my schedule in around Him. My time with Him in the morning is always the first to get cut short if I'm running late, or have over slept. Evening prayers with the girls has been turning into short and sweet intercession, because I'm late getting them to bed, or I'm especially weary. We often pray quick over meals, so we can eat, and hurry hurry to whatever is next. My relationship with my maker is most often the first thing to go when I get busy. When I don't slow down and acknowledge His gifts as I walk through my day, commune with His spirit as I recognize His mercy, intercede for my loved ones and their needs, as well as my own, I am the one that pays the price. He then seems distant, but I am the one who has receded into my own business.

I don't need more time, I need less business.

Do you find that the more space you have, cabinets and time, the more stuff you find to fill them up?

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Heavens anesthesia

I felt it down low, almost in a place far below my soul. That slow brewing emotion that I keep hidden almost always, not because I am ashamed, or fearful of feeling the gnawing, but because life must go on, children eat and play, friends expect, strangers presume, and weeping just isn't living. Not always, only in quiet alone moments when vanilla scent brings up flashes of remembrance of his Pediasure diet, or the high squeal of a far away drill on wood conjures images of his uncontrollable giggles, or just a heaviness of soul longing weighs on my chest and I escape to an alone car, the shower, the basement, anywhere to feel, and wish, and regret, and weep, because a mothers heart misses a sons sound and presence. But this time, this time at bible study, with no one even suspecting the battle I was fighting in that back row booth, I could not stab it dead, freeze it quiet, it was brewing, slowly coming to the surface. I could almost hear it's groan as it passed the diaphragm gate, and entered my throat. I warred with the burning, defying it to surface, begging it to wait until we were alone, and the flood gates opened, and my sitting was now walking, then running, to the safety of the restroom, and then the tears were pouring, and the sound was escaping and I wept, and won only the battle to not scream that guttural death moan my body hoped to let out. My control was defeated, the weeping won, and I too, as the release was cathartic and cleansing, and mascara trails marked the way to peace. 

Weeping is heaven's anesthesia.

I know he speaks theology with Spurgeon now before audiences of angels, and dances with David and grandma Dee before the throne. He and John Calvin laugh together at the audacity of earthlings claiming to understand the intricacies of predestination and foreknowledge. The 12 year old earth suit he wore here no longer restrains his ability to think or move or see. He is perfect. He is not present in that filthy grave, with the sweet soft body that contained him once, and It is not for him that I weep. It is so much more than grief that fuels that soul groan, so much more than pain or sorrow, although those too are very present. It is the knowing that God's plan was best, that He is sufficient, that His ways are not my ways, and being so very grateful. It is in the making and receiving of tender memories that my savior so lovingly weaved in and around my boy's life, that grow me to Him, grafted to Him more purely, all because of the gift of one small broken male child with soft warm hands and deep brown eyes. It is because this is not my home, this beautiful place full of flowering dogwoods and azure blue skies, this is not it, and someday I will be with him, and.......with Him. And there, there will be no more pain, and no more tears.

No more tears? I ask Him in disbelief, but I NEED to weep. I like to cry, sometimes it helps Lord, No more tears? And in His most gentle of voices, calming and assuring He reminds me that no more tears, holds firm hands with no more pain. No more feeling inadequate, no more voices of you're not good enough, thin enough, smart enough, anything enough. No more striving for perfection with your home, your meals, your clothing, your children. No more fear, fear of the future, of loosing someone else, of being alone. No more being overwhelmed, no more guilt, no more hurt, no more regret, no more harsh words, no more abuse, no more hurt feelings, no more anger, no more unmet expectations, no more loss, no more sorrow. 

No more tears, He will wipe them all away. 
We won't NEED them any more.

He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.
Rev. 21:4

Proverbs 31 ministries seeks to connect women, and bring them closer to the heart of the sovereign God of the Universe who will one day wipe every tear. A scholarship is being offered to one brave sweet soul, who dares to peek through the veil of fear, and tip her pinkie toe into the iciest of rivers, in hopes of a cleansing bath in the warm pool of She Speaks acceptance. You could be that brave soul.

She Speaks Conference

Friday, April 1, 2011

He makes me laugh

Kartwright needed a picture recently for something he has going on next year, so we took a little stroll around the ol' homestead to see what we could come up with. Here are a few of the out takes.

"Hello, ummmmm anybody home???"

"Am I the only one who showed up for this shin dig? Wait, are you all going to roast me, or worship me?"

This is the look I will get when he sees this post.
Cute ain't ee ?

How did that one get in here??? sorry

"Next year I will be joining the NYC ballet!
Ballerinas can wear cowboy boots can't they?"

"Or, I might be a magician"

"No, wait, how about the opera."

"Hey, is this your dog?"

"Seriously Mom, 
Do I have to wear this big yellow head dress?"

Yeahhhhhhhh, there's my boy, he is cute ain't ee?