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.