Happy New Year

Why do I tend to think in terms of endings and not beginnings? What if I could look back and see this past year as half full instead of half empty? What if I could see this new year as full of growth, new creations, new hopes and dreams coming to fulfillment? And when the new trials come, (for they will most certainly come, in a kaleidoscope of shapes and sizes, sometimes in a trickle, sometimes in a torrential downpour) what if I could see them not as failures, not as obstacles, but as the very stepping stones that are leading me onward, upward, homeward? Further up, further in. 

The past year is laid out behind me. I see the shadows that covered parts, the rays of sunshine that lit my way in others. And I see, even on the cloudy days, the sun was shining the whole time. Hidden, perhaps, but always burning bright, hot. I see the new year laid out before me. I feel my fears rising. What is hiding under those clouds? Will this next year be hard, will there be more struggle than peace? Will I be ready for it?

But what if I could see the year as half full instead of half empty? 

I see the sun today. What if I could always remember it's there? He's there. And live like it.

What if?

I've been around long enough to know that a new calendar year is not enough to give me hope. But I've been around long enough to know who really can give me a solid, intrepid hope. And so I'm ready for this next year. I tilt my face upwards, to feel the warmth.

Rebekah

(Merry Christmas, Bekah! I figured that, as a writer, you'd appreciate the gift of words.)

Once upon a time there lived a girl. She was quiet, never one to draw attention to herself.  She tended to watch, to observe the people around her. Her eyes were what you might call "soulful." Blue-gray, poetic as the ocean after a rainstorm and just as deep.

This girl wasn't like most other girls, for inside her chest, at that place where her beating heart and living soul intersected, there was a light. Imagine a flashlight in a dark room or a ray of sun bouncing off the lake at sunset. Now stop imagining that any light that we've seen can compare to what shone from this girl.

She loved to share this light. Sometimes she would use her camera to snap photographs and on each image you could see a glimmer, a glow of radiance that mirrored her own shimmering beam. Other times she would use words to create new worlds and these creations sparkled like stars on a crisp, clear night.

Her hands were beautiful, ready to serve, to help, to heal what she could. Her arms, always ready to embrace a hurting soul, her lips, speaking truths and comforts.

You may think that I am describing a fairy tale princess or perhaps a queen from some mythical land far, far away. But no, this creature lives here in our world. She lives in and amid the darkness, the pain, and the tears. But that is why her light is so dazzling, so needed. The brightness in her chest was placed there by her King and every day, she goes out, ready to send its beams to the dark corners of this broken universe.

I've known this girl for years and, amazingly, her light keeps growing with each passing moment. It has touched my own soul. In this corner of the big, messy world, I see hope rising and taking over. This girl, this ordinary, but faithful girl, has brightened my life, my own little messy world. She's a gift. And I thank the Father of Lights for her and for her brilliant light.  

Isaiah 11

Malachi saw a hawk in our yard yesterday morning. I excitedly ran to get my camera while he watched it from our kitchen window. As I came back into the kitchen, he ran to me, tears in his eyes. "It's eating a baby bird!" he sobbed.  A quick glance out the window at the storm of feathers scattering on the snow told me he was right. One of the fat sparrows that enjoy our feeder and bring smiles to our faces with their antics had become the meal of a hungry raptor. The logical adult in me was ready to explain to him how this was the natural order of life and how that bird had to die so another could live and that's just how life works. But then I remembered. That's not how life is supposed to work. We weren't supposed to have to kill each other to survive. We were meant to live in symbiotic harmony, not in a linear food chain.

How is it we forget that? How have we become so hardened to this death- so used to life submitting to decay, beauty fading away, and temporary being the norm? Don't we say we have eternal life in us? How can we, who taste the perfection of eternity every time we sit in God's presence, see the vicious tearing of flesh as acceptable, as normal?

I understand that right now, this is how our world works. I understand that Yahweh was the first to slice flesh and watch the blood drain out. I understand that we cannot shy away from this wretched truth that slaps us every morning and chills our bones every night. But let's not embrace this condition as reality. Our reality is life- true life. No more killings. No more goodbyes. Just life. A permanent world- not this ephemeral vapor that I see out my window. Let's hold on the horror that death brings. But as we do, let's not let it paralyze us, rather let this grim world lift our gaze to the one who has conquered our bitter foe. Life is coming, I can see it rushing toward us, all the more bright in this thick darkness.

I held Malachi and I cried with him. Don't lose your hatred of death, little man. Hold on to the horror. Because true life is as beautiful as we imagine it might be. We are destined for a far better world than this one.

If We Were There: an Advent Story

To our precious children. May this story always bring you to your knees.

The early morning sun peeked through the crack under the door and shone into Lily's half closed eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to go back to sleep for a few more minutes, but the sounds from the kitchen told her that her mother was already up and working and she knew she needed to get started on her chores. She looked down at her little sister, still sleeping soundly next to her. Zoe was only four years old and was allowed to sleep in. Lily felt her heart start to complain, but said a quick prayer instead and gave her chubby sister a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Time to get started on another busy day," thought Lily as she got up off the large mat her family used as their bed.  She yawned and headed toward the kitchen.

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"The dew seems extra cold this morning," thought Malachi to himself. He was huddled by the fire his father had made in the middle of the field. All around him, sheep were grazing, bleating, and munching on wet grass. He had been so excited the day his father told him he was finally old enough to be out in the fields all night with the other shepherds. Now he wasn't so sure this was as fun as he had imagined. His father and another shepherd were walking toward him, talking quietly to each other. Both men sat down and started preparing a simple breakfast of hard cakes and dried fruit. Malachi stretched and got up to give his father a hug.

"What was that for, son?" his father asked with a smile.

"I'm just happy to be here with you, Father. That's all." And he realized he really was.

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All around, sleepy travelers were taking down tents and putting out cooking fires. Evangeline sat and rubbed her feet while she watched her parents preparing for the day's journey. They had already been on the road for two days and Evangeline's feet were sore and dirty. She kept asking her mother why they had to make this long trip to Bethlehem.  "Because," her mother explained, "we have to add our names to the census. Everyone does. And since Bethlehem was where your father was born, Bethlehem is where we will go."

Her sandals were starting to get worn down and one of the straps looked ready to snap.  She sighed and carefully put them back on her aching feet. Just then her father came up behind her and lifted her up onto his shoulders. "Good news, little daughter! We should arrive tonight! No more sleeping on hard ground for us; tonight we lodge in the finest inn we can find!" Evangeline laughed and clapped her hands.

"Now, quick, go help your mother finish packing." She ran off with a smile. Tonight their hard journey would be over.

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Zoe wandered into the kitchen just as Lily came through carrying clean bed linens. "Oof! Careful, Zoe!" Lily managed to not bump into her sister, but just barely. "Why don't you go play outside?"

Everyone in her family was always busy these days. Zoe tried to understand that her parents and sister had a lot of work to do, but she just wanted to play with them. She didn't know why so many people were staying at their inn all at once. She saw her father working in the stable and walked over. She didn't like the smell of the animals, but she wanted to ask her father a question. "Daddy, why are there so many people here?"

Her father smiled at her. "It's because of the census, little one. Remember when I told you everyone has to go back to their hometown and be counted? Well, everyone who comes here to Bethlehem needs a place to stay. And what better place than our beautiful inn?" He winked at her. "Now come here and fill this old cow's manger with fresh hay while I muck out her stall." Zoe wrinkled her nose, but did as her father asked. "Here you go, cow," she said as she heaped the hay into the old feeding trough, "I hope you're hungry."

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It was getting dark and Evangeline felt ready to fall asleep as she walked. "Are we almost there?" she asked her mother yet again.

"Almost, sweetie." Her mother looked just about as tired as Evangeline felt. She could see lights up ahead. They were nearly to Bethlehem and  everyone in the caravan was ready to stop their long journey and find a bed.

After what felt like an eternity, Evangeline's little family reached the city and came to the first inn they could find. Her father went inside while Evangeline and her mother stayed outside with all their luggage. Evangeline looked around her. "So this is Bethlehem," she thought. "I'm not so sure I'd like to live in a place that's this busy." Her father came back looking discouraged. He spoke with her mother in a low voice while her mother sighed and wearily closed her eyes. Evangeline could tell something was wrong, but she knew better than to ask questions at that moment. Her dad looked at her and then forced a smile. 

"Well, how's this for a surprise? We get to sleep in a stable tonight! How fun! Shall we pretend we are adventurers from long ago, caravanning with our livestock? Or perhaps we can pretend we are animals ourselves!" He sounded  lively, but Evangeline could tell he was doing it for her sake. Her mother looked close to tears. They picked up their belongings and walked wearily toward the stable behind the inn.

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Lily watched as her mother had to turn yet another family away from their inn. "We're sorry, but we don't have any more rooms. We even have guests sleeping in our own living quarters. You are welcome to bed down in our stables for the night, though. My husband keeps them clean and in good order. I'm so sorry. All the inns are full tonight, but at least this way you'll have a roof over your head. Please let me know if I can get anything for you. Goodnight."

Zoe tugged at Lily's sleeve. "What's wrong, Lily?" she asked with wide eyes. "Oh, nothing. I just feel bad for those travelers. They look really tired." She looked at the family walking slowly away from the inn. There was a little girl who looked about ready to drop from fatigue. Lily had an idea. "Hey, Zoe, let's gather all our extra blankets and take them out to the people in the stable to make them more comfortable." Then she realized all their blankets were already being used by guests. "Um, well, how about we get our other clothes and maybe we can find some rags somewhere. I'm sure anything would be better than just scratchy hay."

The two girls hurried off to find as much soft cloth as they could. Zoe giggled as she thought about sleeping next to a cow. Then she thought about how bad their cow smelled and stopped giggling. "Maybe we should give them something to cover their noses," she said as she wiggled her own. "Our stables are stinky with poo. Who wants to sleep next to poo? Yuck!"

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

It had been a long day of walking and watching sheep. Malachi had hoped for some excitement like a lion trying to get one of the sheep, but he had no such luck. All was quiet as he got ready for another night of sleeping under the stars. His father had gone on ahead to scout out a different field a few miles away and wouldn't be back until morning. Malachi felt very grown up as he sat by the fire listening to the other shepherds tell stories of the things they had seen in their years of herding sheep. Some of the men were quite old and had seen some incredible things, though Malachi suspected that their stories were a little dressed up and exaggerated. Not that he minded, of course. They were good stories and Malachi loved a good story.

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The stables were indeed stinky as Evangeline's family tried to arrange the hay into a makeshift bed. She was trying hard to not be grumpy, but it was hard. A cow lowed a few feet away and startled her. Then she heard something else. It sounded like someone crying. There were a few other people in the stable with her family, all trying to get a good night's sleep, so Evangeline tried to be quiet as she tiptoed away from her parents toward the furthest corner of the stable. She peered through the darkness and saw a woman lying on the hay, moaning and clutching her belly. At first Evangeline thought the woman must be sick, but then she noticed how big her belly was. "Oh! She's going to have a baby!" Evangeline realized.  Just then, a man appeared and rushed over to the woman. He held a cup to the woman's lips and helped her drink from it. Evangeline heard him speaking softly to the woman, but she couldn't make out the words. The woman started weeping as she rocked back and forth in pain.

Suddenly, her mother's voice called in a loud whisper, "Evangeline! Where are you?" She crept softly back to her parents. There were two girls standing by her mother holding a motley assortment of rags, old tunics, and stained cloths. They were offering these to her mother to use as bed linens. The smaller girl looked at Evangeline.  "Hi," she said with her fingers in her mouth, "my name is Zoe and this is my sister Lily. Who are you?"

Evangeline smiled and replied, "I'm Evangeline. Thanks for the blankets, but I think maybe there's a woman over there who needs them more than we do."

Lily walked over to the woman lying on the ground and gently laid the pile of cloth down beside her. The man looked at her gratefully and started putting rags under the woman's head to cushion her. She tried to open her mouth to give her thanks, but shut it quickly and grimaced with pain. Tears streamed down her face and soaked the crudely made pillow.

Lily hurried back to Evangeline's family. "What's wrong with her?" Lily asked Evangeline's mother.

"Oh, there's nothing wrong, dear," she replied gently. "Her child must be born and there's only one way for that to happen." She looked over at the careworn couple on the ground, "She just needs time. She'll be okay."

Zoe covered her eyes and pressed up against Lily. She didn't like seeing anybody in pain. "Let's go inside, Lily. I'm sleepy." Lily looked at Zoe and tried to give her a smile. "Sorry, Zoe, Mother says we need to sleep out here tonight, too. There's no more room inside. Here, I saved your favorite blanket for you." She held out a small woolen blanket that was coming unraveled at the edges. "It'll be fun- like a little adventure!"

Zoe didn't look convinced, but she took the blanket and laid it on a clean patch of hay. "Will you snuggle me, Lily?" Lily looked at Evangeline and the two girls shared a smile. "Okay, Zoe, I'm coming. Goodnight, Evangeline. I'm glad we got to meet you."

The smells of the stable seemed to lessen as exhaustion took over. Lily wrapped her arms around Zoe as the girls drifted off to sleep on a bed of hay. Evangeline tried to get comfortable on her own strange mattress. The sounds of the woman in labor continued on. Evangeline whispered a prayer, "Oh, Yahweh, please make that baby get born soon. Please keep this mother safe and please make her stop crying and please..." She drifted off to sleep before she could finish.

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Malachi rolled over and tried to rearrange his cloak to cover more of his body. It sure got cold out here in the fields at night. He had fallen asleep shortly after eating his sparse supper, but the frigid air woke him up and made it impossible to get comfortable again. He heard a sound nearby and stiffened, ready for anything. What was out there in the dark? A lion? A hungry bear perhaps? Malachi groped around for his staff and gripped it tightly, preparing to jump up and fight. He slowly raised his head and stared out into the darkness. There was the sound again! Something was moving out there. His heart pounding in his ears, Malachi slowly stood up and lifted his staff to throw it at the monster he was sure lurked nearby.

"Hey, kid," a gruff voice startled Malachi. It was the night watchman who had been sitting a few feet away from Malachi watching his preparations for a fight with an amused grin on his face. "Kid, go back to sleep. It's just the sheep you hear. Just the sheep."

Malachi quickly lowered his staff. So maybe it wasn't a wild beast this time, but who's to say what was roaming around in the night? He held his staff under his cloak as he lay down again. "I need to be ready for whatever happens tonight." He rested his head on the ground, determined to stay awake the rest of the night, but eventually even the cold couldn't keep his drowsy eyes from slowly shutting. His gentle snoring drifted on the wind to the old watchman as he sat with a small smile on his lips.

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Lily bolted upright. Something had woken her up, but she couldn't figure out what. Everything was dark and for a moment she forgot where she was. Zoe started whimpering beside her and she quickly put her hand on her little sister's back to comfort her. Suddenly, a cry shattered the silence. Was someone in trouble? What was happening?

Another cry. It sounded like a woman. Then Lily remembered. The woman in labor! Was she having the baby now? Was she okay? Lily realized Zoe was awake and sitting up next to her. "Lily, what's happening?"

"Shhh," Lily shushed Zoe and whispered, "Everything is going to be okay.  A baby is being born. Right now."

A rustling sound told Lily that Evangeline was also awake and listening intently. The three girls sat in the dark, fetid stable and listened to the scared young woman weeping and moaning. Evangeline crawled over to Lily and Zoe and whispered, "I'm going to get closer. I want to see if she's okay." Lily wasn't so sure this was a good idea, but she found Zoe's hand in the dark and half crawled, half walked over to where the man was kneeling beside the pregnant woman.

Someone had brought a lantern and set it next to the woman's feet. The flickering light cast strange shadows on the walls and glinted off the man's forehead which was flecked with sweat. His cheeks and nose were streaked with dirt and his brows were furrowed deeply. A grimace showed on his face every time the woman groaned. Lily stared at his eyes and realized that he, too, felt every pain that this woman felt and the tears on her flushed face were like torture for him. Lily saw how tightly he held her hand. It was all he could do.

Evangeline's eyes widened as she saw the woman shut hers again. She wasn't breathing and her teeth were clenched with effort. Suddenly, her head fell back onto the pillow of disheveled rags. Her face softened as she gasped and breathed deeply. Before the girls had a chance to worry if something was wrong, they heard the most beautiful sound their ears had ever known. A baby crying. The man, almost prostrate on the hard ground, was holding in his dirt-stained hands a baby, wet , bloodied and crying. The child stretched his arms wide as he filled his lungs with newly discovered air and let out the scream that only a newborn can make. The woman held her own arms out as the man breathlessly laid the child on her chest.

"Why are you crying, Lily?" Zoe whispered as she saw her sister's tearful face in the lamplight. Lily smiled and held her little sister close. "I don't know why, Zoe." The three girls looked at each other. They had never seen anything like this before. And somehow they knew they would never see anything quite so beautiful again.

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He was dreaming. Malachi saw in his dream a lamb, the whitest lamb he had ever seen. The lamb kept getting whiter and brighter and started to glow. It was so bright, that even in his dream, Malachi threw up his hands to cover his face. All of a sudden there was light everywhere. Malachi jerked awake, his eyes looking wildly about him. The sky was on fire! No, wait- no flames, just light. What was going on? All around him, the other shepherds were awake and staring up, wide-eyed, at the bright sky, trembling in fear. Malachi looked up, too. He had never been more afraid in his life. Suddenly, a man appeared, standing in the middle of their camp. But was it a man? His clothes were glowing bright as sunlight and his face- Malachi found he couldn't look at the shining face of this mysterious man. The man spoke.

"Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.  And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger."

Suddenly, the sky exploded. Malachi covered his eyes and wished his father was near. And then he heard voices, hundreds of voices, all shouting,

"Glory to God in the highest,  and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"

Malachi looked up and his eyes widened in wonder. All around him there were bright men standing in the field, their clothes glowing, their voices shattering the silent night. The words that were streaming from their mouths were praises, all praises. Malachi felt his chest expand. He wanted to join them. He wanted to shout these unknown words into the sky just as they were. He stood up, his staff  lying forgotten on the ground. He raised his hands.

The glowing men shouted again and just as quickly as they had come, they were gone. Malachi saw them lifting off the ground, held up by nothing, flying heavenward. He watched them until he couldn't see even a glimmer of light shining down from them. He looked around at the camp. The shepherds were huddled, talking excitedly. "Did you hear that?" "What do you suppose it means?" "What has the LORD shown us?"

One man stood up and shouted over the noise, "Listen to me! We must go and see this thing that Yahweh has made known to us. We must go into Bethlehem and see this child."

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Zoe couldn't take her eyes off of him. This was the cutest baby she had ever seen. She watched him cry and watched his daddy try to comfort him. His mommy was still lying on the ground. She looked so tired. And she was a mess. There was mud, hay, and blood all mixed on the ground around her. Zoe felt bad for her. She tugged on Lily's arm. "Lily, can't we help her?"

"Um, maybe I should try to hold the baby so his father can help the mother get cleaned up." Lily started to stand up, but Evangeline stopped her. "Wait a minute. Look what his father is doing."

The man was gathering up bits of cloth from the ground and tore off a few strips from his own tunic. He started wrapping them around the baby, pressing the child's arms close to his body and making the cloths as snug as he could. He lifted his eyes and looked around the stable. There, next to the exhausted, but joyful woman he saw the cow's feeding trough, full with the hay that had been placed there earlier that day. The father gently laid his infant son in the manger. He reached his rough hand and softly touched the baby's cheek. He turned to the child's mother and smiled down on her. She raised her shaking hand up to touch the manger where her newborn son now slept.

She stroked the rough wood. Her weary eyes were almost shut with exhaustion, but a small smile rested on her face. As she drifted into a healing sleep one word came, whispered, out of her mouth,

"Jesus."

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The three girls knew it was no use trying to go back to sleep so they crept outside the stable to quietly discuss everything they had seen. They spoke in hushed tones so as to not wake the new baby or his tired mother.  They heard a commotion from in front of the inn and looked up to see what was going on. There was a group of filthy men quickly making their way toward the stable.

"Who are they?" Zoe asked.

Lily noticed their shabby clothes and unkempt beards and hair. "I think they're shepherds, Zoe. Quick, let's get back inside the stable. They don't look like nice people, do they? I don't think I want them to see us."

The girls quickly got up and hurried back to where Evangeline's parents still slept. The noise from the shepherds got louder and soon the whole crowd was right outside the stable door. Evangeline whispered angrily, "They're going to wake up the baby!"

But, as if on cue, the whole assembly of ragged men became silent. The shepherds walked quietly into the stable and carefully made their way past the huddling girls to the back of the stable where the baby slept soundly. As the group walked past, a young shepherd boy turned his head and noticed the girls cowering in the shadows. He smiled at them. "Hey," he said, "can I ask you a question?"

Evangeline spoke up, "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Well, it's like this," the boy began, "I am Malachi, of the house of Joshua, the shepherd. We were out in the field tonight and, well, something happened.  I can't explain it, but I think the LORD told us to come to this stable. I think we're supposed to see a baby or something."

The girls looked at each other, wide-eyed and speechless. Lily found her voice, "How is this possible? Who is this baby?" Malachi saw the wonder on the girls' faces and asked, "What happened here tonight?"

Silently, all three girls pointed toward the cow trough in the back of the stable.

Malachi turned and saw the man and woman, sitting on the ground and there, lying in a manger, was the child that the gloriously shining man had told him about. Malachi didn't understand this. What was so special about a little baby? What were the words that had shattered his sleep tonight? 

"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord."

This was the Christ? The Savior? This baby was going to save them all?

Malachi looked again at the newborn face, surrounded by hay and the smell of manure. "How can this be?" he wondered. He felt something catch in his throat and a strange feeling started to grow in his chest. He felt lighter, braver. What was this feeling? He closed his eyes. Ah, yes, it was hope.

He sank to his knees.

Beside him, Zoe knelt down. Her eyes were locked on the baby. She didn't want to look away or even blink. She didn't know who this baby was, but she knew one thing for certain, she loved him.

Lily slowly lowered herself down, not wanting to disturb the moment. She saw the look on Malachi's face and she knew there was more to this story that she hadn't yet heard. She wanted to hear it all. She wanted to know everything there was to know about this special child. She didn't understand it, but somehow she knew, without a doubt, that this child would change her life. Somehow he already had.

"For to us a child is born,  to us a son is given..." Evangeline whispered the words before she realized she was saying them. It was something her father had often read to her from the Holy Scriptures. This child was a gift.  A gift to them. As she looked across the crowd of kneeling shepherds, she too sank down. "This child should be treated like a king," she thought, "Maybe he is a king." 

She heard the shepherds call this precious baby the Savior. She lifted her head to see the royal face again. His eyes fluttered open for a brief moment then closed again in blissful dreams. He seemed so fragile. His head looked downy soft; she wanted to stroke it. His hands, that had somehow worked free of the cloths that wrapped him, were delicate, clenched into tiny fists. Could this tender head wear a crown fit for a king? Could these frail hands really save anyone?

The children looked at each other, each seeing the amazement on the others' faces. One by one, they all turned back to see the baby. He slept on, unaware of all the attention he was getting. They knew, in their hearts, that tonight the world had changed. It didn't make any sense. None of them understood the mystery sleeping before them in a manger full of hay. But they didn't need to understand.

They bowed their heads and worshiped.

Young Love

I had briefly met a married couple in passing several years ago and their love story was so beautiful that it stuck with me. I wrote this in their honor.

He straightened his tie as best he could without a mirror and shifted slightly in his chair so as to not wrinkle his freshly ironed shirt. Today everything had to be perfect. He didn't want her seeing him even with one hair out of place. Not that she'd mind, of course. She never seemed to care about the little imperfections that always bothered him. She had a way of laughing off gray skies, spoiled plans, and his perpetually unruly hair. His face cracked into a smile as he thought about her twinkling eyes that  always managed to make every problem seem insignificant. When she laughed he completely forgot there was anything wrong at all.

He thought back to their first date. It didn't seem so long ago. It wasn't really anything special, just a group of friends enjoying dinner together in a crowded dining room, but he knew he was with her. And she knew it, too. How quickly their hearts connected. He knew she was meant for him the first time their eyes met across the table. She told him later that she knew she was going to marry him from the first moment she saw him, nervously flattening down his rebellious hair and checking his watch every few seconds. How did she know that then? he wondered. Well, she had been right, as usual. He fingered the little black box in his lap, resisting the temptation to open it yet again and polish the simple gold band that was snugly secured in dark velvet.

She had wanted simple. She never needed much to make her happy. He had wanted to give her a ring that somehow started to express how lucky he felt every time he realized that she actually wanted to be with him. To live out the rest of her life with him. But neither of them had much by way of material possessions. He tried to think of a way to get some extra cash to get something a little nicer for her, but when she heard about his plans to sell his high school ring she promptly scolded him for being ridiculous. It was their first and only fight. He had hated every second of it.

"When you've been through what we've been through, you don't just throw out your past like it's a cheap bauble and nothing more!" Her voice had been raised and he could see his next door neighbor craning his neck trying to get a good view of the quarrel. "You listen to me, Paul," she went on, "we promised that we would never say we were starting over. We promised to always hold on to the lives we had before we met each other. That was the deal. I'm not willing to forget my life before I met you and you better not be willing to throw away even the smallest connection to your past either!"

He remembered the way she had cried after her outburst. He felt so foolish. He should have known better. He knew how much it meant to her to be able to reminisce about every small detail of her life before she had met him. They had both been through so much that it made sense. Both of them had seen their share of heartache and yet she always told him, "Every day I've lived has turned me into the person I am now and I'm happy being this person." He knew how much her past, the good times and the horrible times, meant to her and he never mentioned selling his ring again.

He cracked open the little lid and caught a glimmer of light bouncing off the smooth, golden surface. He felt butterflies fluttering in his midsection. Not that he was nervous at all; there was nothing to be nervous about. He realized the feeling he was experiencing was happiness. Pure happiness. Oh, it had been such a long time since he'd felt truly happy. But life is full of second chances. He'd had to learn that the hard way. And what a second chance this was! Her face shimmered in his mind's eye. No, that hadn't know each other for very long, but he already had memorized every curve of her face, every slight imperfection that somehow made her look even more perfect. The lines that stretched from her eyes when she laughed looked like wings and they made him feel like he was flying. The butterflies in his belly started up again.

A head peeked around the door to his room. "Good morning, Mr. Roberts! I hear today's your big day! Are you ready to head down to the chapel?" She said it in the overly cheerful manner in which everyone around here spoke. She walked around to the back of his chair and grasped the handles firmly. "And off we go!" As she pushed his wheelchair through the halls she kept up the chatter with the people they passed. "Mrs. Carson, you sure look fancy today! Oh, Mr. Mells, you'd better stop flirting with all the girls in here!"

He tried to shut out the prattle. The attendant was pleasant enough, but today he wanted peace and quiet. He shut his eyes and pictured her face again.

"Here we are!" The chapel door creaked open and he saw in the few sparsely filled pews his family and the few friends he had left. His great-granddaughter, Sophie, (was she sixteen already? Seems only yesterday she was turning six) got up from her pew and planted a gentle kiss on his wrinkled cheek. "I'm so happy for you, Papa," she whispered. He smiled up at here and patted her hand. His throat didn't seem to want to let any words out.

He was rolled up to the front, right next to the reverend who would be performing the ceremony. He looked down again at the ring box, still clutched tightly in his shaking hand. He wished for a brief moment that his hands would be well behaved  like his legs. They didn't move anymore. They just sat there useless and still, but at least they didn't shake uncontrollably.

The piano behind him started to play and suddenly there she was. The chapel doors had opened once more and his bride, his love, was being wheeled slowly down the aisle. Her chair was narrower than his and slightly lighter. They had often joked about having "his and her" wheelchairs, but at that moment he didn't see a chair. She looked beautiful, her silvery hair was freshly styled and gave the appearance of a halo. The look suited her. She had picked out a pale lavender suit to wear and her delicate hands held a bouquet of baby's breath and forget-me-nots. His eyes traveled down to her feet and the bright, ruby red heels that bedecked them. "These feet aren't any good for walking anymore so they may as well look pretty!" She said this every time he noticed a new pair of glamorous and terribly impractical shoes on her feet. He realized he was grinning like a fool.

She finally met him in the front. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. How was it possible for an eighty-seven-year-old man to feel so light? He almost got up from his chair right then, but he caught himself just in time. That's what she did to him. She made him forget his worthless legs and his withered hands. He didn't hate his colorless hair when he was around her and his faded eyes grew brighter when he looked at her. How can people call these my twilight years? He had wondered this every day since that  first dinner date. Life didn't seem boring around her. Every day seemed brighter and full of possibility.

The reverend shuffled his notes. In the brief pause he caught her eye. He slowly raised his trembling hand and gently grasped hers. "Hey, baby, " he whispered softly, taking in the sparkle of her eyes and the way her hand gripped his tightly, "after this, you want to go dancing?"

Bird on a Wire

I am not fond of crows. These black scavengers are scruffy and mean-looking and insult the rest of the winged world with their ugliness. It seems in the past few years the crows around here have grown in size and in number. Or maybe it's just my distaste for them that's grown.

Earlier this week, Joshua came home from work to find me tired out from working in the yard. He brought out two cold beers and we sat on our patio enjoying the coolness that was coming along with a light summer rain. We heard the crows cawing loudly nearby. One solitary black bird, with feathers ruffled by rain, was sitting on the telephone wire calling to his friend, maybe his mate. One caw, then another would answer. We could see his beak opening as the harsh sound burst out. Hardly mellifluous. But then I could see another crow, almost hidden by tree branches, calling back and responding in kind. What are they talking about? Could it be that even these wretched birds have relationships? Could it be that even they need each other?

It's raining again today. I don't mind it. I needed the refreshment as much as the dirt and plants did. I hear from my window another cawing. But no answer. There it is again. I find my heart tugging at my mind. Is that the same bedraggled bird I saw the other day? Why is there no answer? Is he lonely? Why do I even care?

But I do care. Maybe it's the kinship I feel with any creature that has the appearance of loneliness. Maybe it's me overreacting in my melancholy way to this gray day. Or maybe it's my heart telling me to stop. To listen. To listen to the voices I hear around me. To not be so taken with my own comfort, my own pain, my own life so that I don't even hear the people around me. And once I hear these cries, these caws, to feel them and respond. To try to heal the hurt in whatever small way I can.

Did I really just liken these miserable birds to people? I suppose I did. But aren't we all wet, bedraggled creatures, sometimes without even a beautiful song to help us through, just hoping someone will answer us when we call? And if I'm just like that crow, sitting on the wire, can't I at least answer a fellow crow? And then we'll both know, we aren't alone. And wouldn't that make all the difference in the world?

Wouldn't that change the world?

Home Is Where The Heart Is

I've fallen in love with a building. Yes, it seems silly as I read the words written out, but it's true nonetheless. It's amazing how a structure, a mess of wood, cement, glass, and wires, can hold such a prominent place in my heart. I suppose it's not so much the building as it is the people, my family, who are inside it and the memories that were birthed there.

I first met this love of mine when I was about two years old. I honestly can't remember the first time my family crossed the now familiar threshold. I have other people's memories to call on when I want to know what it was like then. As I get older, my own memories start taking over. Blissful hours of childhood spent running in the yard. Smiling friends planning and plotting and forming not-so-secret clubs. Eating delicious meals and then sneaking off with an extra brownie before a game of soccer outside. How many rowdy meals have I eaten here? The kind of gatherings that just about bend the walls to bursting with so many people crowded in, laughing and enjoying each other. Too many to count and more to come.

I suppose it really is the people that give life to any building. The people who walk beneath my roof are so dear to me that I'm at a loss for words to describe my affection. I guess family does that to you. I wonder if I could ever remember each and every time I laughed under this roof. And every time someone else's laugh met mine.

I'll be the first to tell you that it's not a perfect place. The kitchen gets on my nerves, an extra bathroom would be a huge boon, and maybe a little more space would be helpful, but I put up with it because it does what it needs to do- it brings the people I love together. I can put up with a lot because of that.

Over the years, I've poured myself into this building, as any good homemaker should do. I've cleaned, decorated, and arranged the furniture. I've painted the walls. I even painted a tree on one wall. I've framed my photos and hung them up. I've killed spiders, washed dishes, taken out the trash. I know where the light switches are and can flip them on in the pitch dark.

My heart lives here in this old building. My children see this love and echo it. How many generations will continue that love?

Today is Saturday. I've only seen my building twice so far this week. I'll head over there tonight for another family meal. And tomorrow, when my building is full of voices and bodies moving about, I'll be grateful that these walls can hold us all. And when we lift our voices as one, in worship of our one Father, I'll be joyful that this little building was chosen to help us do just that. And when the Spirit descends on my old building, I'll thank God once again for gathering us here, in my beloved church.

Father's Day

An open letter to the two most important men in my life. For Father's day.

To Dad and Joshua,

You two are the most influential people in my life. One of you gave me life and formed my youngest memories and moments and the other captivated my heart and now guides me through this bewildering life. So how do I properly express my full appreciation to you both? Where does one find words suited to this task? Ah, words. I think I'll start there.

Dad, when I think about the main ways you've blessed me over the years, these four rise to the top: you showed me the way to live in righteousness, you loved my mother, you gave me my siblings- the best friends I could ever hope for, and you instilled in me your love of words. I learned from a very young age that words are the key to unlocking beauty, truths, stories, and relationships. With the love of words that you gave me, I've been able to unravel many of the mysteries of life and through these same words I've reached out and touched other people's hearts. Words have become my greatest allies, the weapons I fight with, the colors I paint with.

It's no wonder then that I fell in love with a man who devours words as eagerly as I do. A man who knows where to find answers and how to read truths. Joshua and I share this friendship with words that began, for me, when I was a child sitting at the dining room table as you read to us after dinner. And now, Joshua, you are carrying on that tradition in our home. Our children are being showered with these words in your voice and they are grasping onto our love of these syllables, these sounds that meld together to communicate, to display God's glory. They love these words because you do.

What a strange thing for me to give my honor and devotion to one man all my young life only to transfer my affections to another man when I was eighteen years old. And yet, perhaps it wasn't quite so strange, after all. My father taught me unconditional love, high standards of morality and ethical integrity. He showed me how a man is to lead with a servant's touch and how a husband tenderly cares for a wife. So when I saw all these attributes in that handsome college student, now over a decade ago, I knew that what I was seeing was what I had wanted all along. This transfer of my affections was smooth and natural because it was moving from one honorable man to another.

Joshua, I wish you could have seen "behind the scenes" of the beginning of our relationship. The way that my dad eagerly asked if you had yet responded to that first email I sent you and then his giddy excitement when you did write back. It was quite the group effort, our courtship. Having my dad's blessing on our relationship meant the world to me. When he walked me down the aisle on that glorious July day and put my hand in yours, I know he did so with happiness and the knowledge that you were worthy of his daughter that he had poured his love into for eighteen years.

As I dwell on these memories, I'm utterly convinced that I have been blessed beyond what I can comprehend. I was raised by a man who sacrificed much to love me and now I am raising my own children with a man who is constantly putting his family's needs above his own. On this Father's day, I am overcome with gratitude for you both. My past, the foundation I built my life on, was sturdy because of you, Dad. It's because of you that I can run and jump and not be shaken. Joshua, you hold my future. I trust you with my life because you have shown me that your love has no end. You push me, protect me, forgive me, teach me, strengthen me, guide me. It's because of you that I can fly.

These words I love so dearly are struggling to keep up with my heart, to show how much I love you both. Thank you for being who you are and for loving me like you do. Happy Father's day.

Love,
Adiel

Lessons From a Thrift Store

Yesterday the kids and I hit the Salvation Army and got a few fun deals. One of our finds was a bouncy, pogo stick type toy that the kids immediately fell in love with. Unfortunately, as anyone with a few kids will understand, the bickering and fighting over the new toy started before we even left the store. Ugh, how did this ugly sin make its way into my minivan so quickly?

When we got home, before I let them play with it, I gathered them together and asked a simple question: "Which do you love more, the pogo stick or your siblings?" They quickly answered with a slightly mumbled, "My siblings." I told them that when they are playing with their new toy and are tempted to fight over it, to then ask themselves that question again.

I can't take credit for this bit of wisdom. I found it in some parenting book, blog, article, or something- I can't remember where. But it stuck with me and I'm hoping that it will stick with the kids, too. My goal is to make them crave and value peace with each other even more than a turn with the new piece of plastic. I want them to love each other so much that any breach in their relationship will be so distasteful and painful that they will quickly work to remedy the situation. I want them to always value relationships over anything material or even over their own comfort.

If, by the grace of God, my children do learn how to love like this, can you imagine what kind of adults they will turn out to be? If they are constantly asking the question: "Which do I love more?" and answering it correctly, then how beautiful will their lives be? How brightly will they shine Jesus' love to a world that needs it so desperately?

But of course, the only way they will learn this love is if they see it acted out first. Which means I need to be asking myself that question every day. "Which do I love more, a moment of quiet or my kids who need my attention?" "Working on my own projects or taking the kids to the park?" "Which do I love more, me or them?"

My heart is selfish and even though I know what the answers should be, I all too often answer them poorly in real life. But there's grace for parents like me and there's grace for kids who fight over pogo sticks. That grace is there because of how Jesus answered this question, "Which do I love more, my life or these unloving sinners' lives?"

And because of His answer, we can strive to answer well, too. 

How a Foot Learned to Love

I've been wrestling lately with the idea of belonging. How do I know that I belong here? What is my role here in Erie? How do I fit in my church family? Does anyone actually need what I have to offer? What do I have to offer anyway?

I've been trying to figure myself out and trying to see how my unique talents and skills could possibly benefit the people around me. I mean, I see how my creativity, for example, is a good thing for my family because it affects our home and our daily lives, but how can I translate that skill into something that the people at Faith Reformed Church need? Maybe they don't want my style invading our calm and peaceful church building. Maybe my signature impetuous ways aren't the best thing for the beautifully staid and contemplative Reformed folks there.

1 Corinthians 12 has been a huge help to me in this struggle. Verse 15 says, "If the foot should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body”, that would not make it any less a part of the body." Yeah, sure, sometimes I feel like I don't fit in where God has put me, but this verse is telling me that I belong where I am. I may feel like I'm different from the people around me, but being different in His church is good. Different is how God designed us to be. Different helps us function well and grow. And even in those times when I'm feeling like a left foot in a right hand world, I know that somehow I'm needed right where I am. And my skills, habits, and tendencies are exactly what my church body needs. 

And see, here's the best part. 1 Corinthians 12 is followed by 1 Corinthians 13- you know, that famous "love chapter"? 

Paul spends a chapter talking about how each member of the church has an important part to play in the well being of the body and how necessary diversity is in the church and then he finishes with this, "And I will show you a still more excellent way." And, boom, he dives into chapter 13.

"...if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."

So all that stuff he just said about how important all the members of the body are, everything I just learned about how needed I am in my church- if I don't have love, it doesn't mean shit. 

Anything and everything I do, whether in my home or in my church or in my neighborhood, must flow out from a heart that is so busy with love that I don't even have time to wonder if what I'm doing is needed or appreciated.

Honestly, I'll probably still feel like the odd man out sometimes. I'll probably still doubt that I'm supposed to be here. But I'm trusting that my God will keep changing me into a person who is more concerned with loving people than with being accepted.

I'll keep doing my thing here. I'll decorate my house with oddly bright colors, plan church events, and paint rocks with the neighborhood kids. God made me a foot and so I'll be the best foot that I can be. So what if the hands around me don't understand what I'm doing? I'm not sure I understand what they're doing sometimes, but I know I need them. We're in this together. We're all the same body and we are bound together by love. I think that's all I need to understand right now.

"Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love."

The Mystery of a Mother's Love

Occasionally, a bee or yellow jacket will make its way into our home. My first reaction is to close the door on whatever room the accursed insect is in and then I contemplate my next move. When I realize what I have to do next, my heart shrinks a little. Then I gather my bee-killing supplies and approach the closed door. After a quick prayer or three I cautiously open the door a crack and then abruptly shut it again. At this point, I'm so afraid of that wretched buzzing creature that I'm just about frozen with fear and considering just keeping the door closed until Joshua comes home 7 hours later and takes care of it for me. But then my mothering instincts kick in and I do the one thing that my brain keeps telling me is a bad idea. My feet barely move, but I make them take me back to the closed door. I open it, step inside, and shut the door behind me.

It's just you and me now, you vicious winged killer.

Maybe it sounds silly to be so afraid of such a little thing, but for me, the act of a mother setting aside her own paralyzing fear just to protect her children is a phenomenon that puzzles and intrigues me. Why do I face my fear and shut myself in that room inhabited by the thing that makes my heart pound and skin crawl? Why do I face that danger (whether real or imagined)?

I do it so that my babies don't have to. I'd rather be shut in with a dozen of my fears than to step aside and let any of them touch my children. Where does this love come from? When did it get put in my heart?

And what can I do to make it grow?

Riding Bikes

Riding bikes in the parking lot.
The sound of training wheels on the pavement.

Golden sunlight splashes
on smiling faces and shimmering laughter.

Wheels spinning,
Like their childhood racing away from me.

So I breathe in this golden moment
And carry it in my soul

Always.

Little Moments of Big Grace

My kids are messy. I don't think that they are messier than the average kid, but my understanding is that the average kid is pretty darn messy. So when I found a pile of brightly colored, used plastic cups on our enclosed front porch, no doubt left over from a lunch that happened approximately three years ago, I shouldn't have been surprised. Really, as messes go that was SO not a big deal. I've seen much, much worse, but they had neglected to be responsible and so they needed to be called on it. And it's not likely that I'd be using my sugary-sweet voice as I did said calling.

But then the thought hit me, "What if I just picked them up?" Not extremely novel as thoughts go, but you see, I'm a stickler for having my children clean up after themselves. How else will they learn to be mature, responsible cup picker-uppers contributing to society? But a little voice in my head told me that this wasn't a moment to be a stickler, this was a moment that could be filled with grace.

At that moment, I knew my kids didn't need to be scolded yet again, but what they really needed was a mommy who picked up after them while they played outside in the sunshine. Sometimes the most gracious thing a parent can do is scold and discipline their child, but sometimes the best thing to do is to bend down and clean up their mess.

They'll never know this little internal struggle I went through. They'll never know they got out of doing some work. But in that moment, they were covered by grace. And my prayer as their mommy is that this grace will, by the power of God, change their little hearts and turn them into gracious, loving people.

It was such a little thing. It took 45 seconds at most, but our days are made up of little moments. It's the little moments that can bring smiles or tears. It's in the little moments that the battle for my children's souls is being fought. And it's these little moments of big grace that will turn my children's faces toward Jesus. 

And that's no little thing.

Death in His Grave

The song, "Death in His Grave," has been going through my head since we sang it at church on Sunday. It was perfect during worship that day. It was Mother's Day, which is a tough day for me, so getting to sing about how Jesus conquered death was a welcome reminder. It's good to sing songs like this when we are feeling discouraged or missing people we've lost or just longing for our heavenly home.

And then there's today. It's a gorgeous day. The sky is bluer than seems possible and the sunlight almost  laughs as it filters through the trees to touch the fresh, green grass. It's been a good day. I'm accomplishing tasks that I was dreading, my to do list keeps getting shorter, and I'm surrounded by my healthy, beautiful children. And I couldn't help thinking that today is a perfect day to sing about Jesus defeating my brutal enemy, Death. Because, you see, while today is a good day, death is always just around the corner. I don't mean that any one of us could drop dead suddenly, though that certainly is a possibility. I'm talking about the way that every moment we live here is tainted by darkness and death.

Even as I look out at the sapphire sky, my heart feels a touch of sadness. There are parts of my life that aren't as they should be. There are bits of my heart that are chipped. Not quite broken, but not quite whole.

Why am I writing about this? Trust me, I'm not trying to be a downer or be depressing. I'm writing about this because we need to accept that we will never feel that perfect happiness here. There is no such thing as a "perfect moment." That's our reality. But you know what else is reality? One day, we won't be sad anymore. We will be perfectly happy. Jesus conquered death- and not just cancer, miscarriages, or bee stings. He has conquered every touch of death on the beautiful days. Every tiny speck of darkness, every moment of doubt, every twinge of disappointment.

So I look out at my day, the sunshine, the birds singing, the gentle breeze, and I know that, while my enemy waits just around the edges, he has been defeated. He will not touch my days forever. Jesus has laid him in his grave.

The Transcendence of Laundry

I've been a mom for a decade. Throughout those years, God has been impressing on my often discouraged heart that the way I spend my time here and the tasks I've been called to are crucial and vital to our world. Let's face it, parents of little kids have a tough job that tends to feel pointless and endless. We wipe bums and noses over and over, wash the same dishes multiple times in a single day, and then there's the laundry. Oh, the laundry! It forms into piles of such impressive heights that even the most accomplished mountaineer wouldn't dare try to confront them.

But all these seemingly pointless tasks are really the stepping stones that our children will follow on their way to maturity and holiness. They need to see what a servant looks like. They need to know how to handle responsibility and work hard to achieve a goal. They need to see what it looks like to live faithfully in this world.

My children rely on me to care for their little bodies and souls and to guide them through each day. And as they see me claim the Everest-like laundry, they see a woman who will do anything to get her babies to where they need to go.

Even if I have to move mountains to get there.

The Trusting Broken Heart

Every year I struggle with the days leading up to Mother's Day. I keep thinking I'm getting better, but then I find myself in the greeting card aisle looking at all the words I wish I could say to my mom and then nothing in me feels okay. I was thinking yesterday about how my mom is no longer a part of my life. She once was such a part of my life that I literally couldn't have lived without her. At one point, about 29 years ago, her life sustained mine. It was her heart pumping life into mine. I used to live inside her and now I have to live without her.

What kind of God does that? How could He possibly think that is okay to do? Who does He think He is?

I think these words and I write them to relieve the pressure against my chest, but I don't doubt His love. I don't doubt that this was the best way. This was the best plan.

 When He took my mom almost 10 years ago, my heart shattered. I could feel the shards flowing through my veins, slicing my soul with each surge of blood. But even in the midst of the pain, I could feel a hand gently reaching through my skin to grasp one piece at a time. He placed the fragments, one by one, back in my chest and slowly, painstakingly rebuilt the puzzle of my heart. As He rebuilt it He cut out some of the parts that were poisoned. He formed it into something better. Only He wasn't able to finish it. One piece is missing. One piece was lost. The hole is there, always gaping, never healing.

 But it will be whole someday.

 And so I trust His healing hands. I trust that He broke my heart so that He could rebuild it into something better. I trust in His skill as surgeon to cut into me to help me. To make me bleed so that I can have life- a far better life than I could have had before. The life that my mother's blood once gave me is a mere imitation of it. I trust that when His hammer came down on my heart and the splinters flew apart that He felt it too and the shards of His heart mixed with mine as they flew. And I trust that when I someday stand in His presence, His tools of surgery will be set aside and His scarred hands will wipe these tears off my cheeks. And my heart will finally be whole.

A New Beginning

I have had some thoughts bumping around my head and I thought it might be helpful to get them out on "paper." My plan is to write very occasionally on various topics that I'm thinking through.