My Dad

As I was writing about my mom recently, it made me think about how great my dad is. My mom couldn't have been the woman she was if he wasn't the man he is. He was her foundation, her springboard so she could fly.

When you first look at my dad you'd think he is simply a serious, deep thinking, solid, wise, Reformed pastor. Well, yeah, because he is. But what you may not notice at first is his fun side. His laugh has cheered many a gray day for me. He gets excited and giddy as a schoolboy when he buys a new electronic "toy" like a tablet or phone. He tickles grandkids and lets them pile on him until only a glimpse of his salt and pepper hair shows me he's still under all the wiggly bodies. His hugs feel like coming home.

Growing up in my dad's house was pretty awesome. Mom made life full of wonder and Dad made life full of knowledge. That's a pretty unstoppable duo. Dinnertime conversations often revolved around math concepts, fascinating new words (remember "lacrimatory"?) or theological questions one of us kids would bring up. If all of life was school, then dinnertime was Advanced Placement.

When I was a preteen, I would often come to my dad with the many concerns of my dramatic life. He would gently counsel me, always pointing to scriptures in his old Bible, with the cover made of duct tape. His door and his Bible were always open to me. Because of that, my heart was open to him.

It's been almost thirty years now since the day my dad held me in his arms in that big rocking chair, just moments after I was born. My parents often told the story of how Dad got to hold me first when I was born until my mom demanded, "Give me my baby!" I always liked hearing that story. It summed up how my parents made me feel all through my childhood and beyond- I was wanted.

My dad is one of my best friends. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm his favorite kid. (Of course, my siblings say the same thing, but in my case it's true.) I don't know how it's possible for a man to make all his children know they are his favorite, but the thing I do understand is that this very trait makes me understand my eternal Father's love a bit better. It's because of my dad that I can comprehend, in the smallest way, what God's love for me looks like. I know what unconditional love feels like.

Thank you, Father, for my other father. He's the one who showed me what you look like. Thank you for loving me enough to give me this gift of a parent, mentor, and friend all bundled up in the package of a bearded man with a contagious laugh and an unconquerable passion for you.

My Mom

I was thinking about my mom's career and marveling once again. My mom was a counselor for the Women's Care Center here in Erie. Scared, pregnant young women would come to her, needing help, and she would lovingly help them get through the situation they were in and give them a boost into a better life. Sometimes she would help facilitate adoptions, other times she would invite them to come live with us until they could get back on their feet. I don't actually remember the Christmas Eve that a prostitute had dinner with us, but it makes for a great example of the way my mom brought her "work" home with her. She loved this job- this stressful, sometimes terrifying job that allowed her to help people and show them the gospel in action.

So when she left that job to stay home and homeschool us, she made a sacrifice that I'm not sure I'll ever understand. She was saving lives when she pointed scared, unsure mothers toward adoption. She broke cycles of abuse and misery when she gave hurting women a new home. And yet she knew that her children were more important than any of that. This blows my mind, quite frankly.

I know I was a big part of the reason for this career change. I was in 5th grade and struggling in school. I cried on the drive to school in the mornings. I cried at home. I was friendless and despondent. My parents saw the situation and weren't content to leave it alone. (I want to mention briefly that I had an incredible teacher at this time. None of my struggles were because of her. She was the kind of teacher that made you want to dive into books full of adventure and expand your imagination and when she read aloud to us, it was the greatest treat. But even with an amazing teacher, I was not doing well. I needed more.)

My mom stayed at home with my sisters and me (my brothers were older and mostly done with school) and our unconventional education began. We traipsed about historical locations and read plaques and pamphlets ad nauseam. We baked bread once a week, all gathered around the long, flour-covered dining room table, thumping and bumping the bread dough. We wrestled with math, grappled with grammar, and splashed into literature. These were the days I learned to love Shakespeare and dislike Dickens. We would read history out loud while my mom knitted and interjected her comments on various eras. We studied Greek and Latin root words and that is when I fell in love with the mystery of our language. I learned how to cook, how to keep to a budget, and how to refinish furniture. These were the days when I learned that all of life is school.

Please understand me, I'm not saying that all women need to quite their jobs to stay home and teach their children basket weaving. This is just my family's story. For my mom and for her children, it was the right choice. She left a job she loved to be with her kids whom she loved more. She gave us a great childhood and an amazing and unique education. I'm eternally thankful for this gift. She didn't just give us her time and energy, she gave us herself.

Thank you, God, for my mom's willingness to sacrifice for us. I'm starting to understand that now. Help me to be more like her.

Nighttime Walk

Moving in the dark, He speaks to me

Over the sound of the wind-
Through the wind.

He walks with me, He talks with me.
I tell Him my worries,
He speaks love.

I'm sorry, I've damaged again,
I mutilate, I tell Him. See, I mutilate
What I touch.

A wicked witch, I groan, yes, a beast
This fairy tale cuts me down,
My heart sinks.  

I contemplate, I gaze inside, inspect all corners.
Blackness, darkness, wretchedness
Covers all.

His hand comes as the wind whipping my hair,
"Uncover these eyes," He commands.
Scales fall hard.

They say the sun can dazzle, its fire too much to bear
What brightness it boasts falls short.
Oh, this light!

There is good in the blackness, there is good
In my depths, there is cleanness, brightness,
There is good.

I know it is Him, all Him. I whisper,
"What good is in me, is You, my love,
It is you."

They say the sun can dazzle, its fire too much to bear
His smile beams, a thousand suns
Shine on me.

I bask, I warm. His arms surround.
Whispers travel as clouds, enchantments
Brush my ears.

"'Princess' is hardly enough, 'Queen' can't compare.
What shall I call you,
My Beloved?"

I look behind, for surely He speaks to another.
But no, Charming's gaze, like magic
Draws my own.

They say true love's first kiss is all in all,
I know, they are close, but that is too small.
I know it.

"This prince's happy ending has not yet come."
He waits for her, He says- for me.
Still He waits.

What reward can my prince hope for?
For all these years of bitter waiting?
He smiles still.

"Turn the pages, Princess, look through them, Queen.
See the story's ending. See it coming-
E'er after."

Bliss, bliss, yes this. The Prince is waiting
For his prize. The battle was fought,
Blood ran swift.

Bliss, bliss, oh, more than this!
The pages flutter, the pages flip.
He reaches

He takes my hand, away we run, the Prince and I, 

His prize, I, his bride, I, His happily ever after. 

Close the book-

The story is here, in the wind that rushes
His caress tells me I am (can I speak it?) I am-
Beautiful

That is all I need, that is all I know.
My name is Beauty, not the Beast.
The wind blows. 

The Lesson I Learned From My Keurig

This morning I was taking pictures of my coffee maker like a crazy person in my pajamas. See, there's this little metal piece that covers a drip tray that catches all the little spills that happen around a coffee maker- excuse me, I mean a Keurig gourmet single-serving coffee brewing system.

You can see that this metal tray has a star punched through it with little holes that allow the gourmet beverage drips to pass through, collect below, and bother you no longer. But why is it in the shape of a star? A grid of these holes in straight lines would also serve the same purpose just fine. Yet, the makers of Keurig chose a star design. Why? Because it's pretty. It makes the user feel a little classier, a little more special. It adds charm and whimsy.

Well, the reason I was taking pictures of this tiny detail of my kitchen was because I wanted to mark the moment I saw a real-life example of how I want to live. Sure, a life of straight lines would work just fine, but why not do a star instead? A nicely decorated house would serve my family well, but why not paint murals on the walls or use chalkboard paint with abandon? A well-ordered day would be a useful thing, but why not occasionally toss the chores and schoolwork out the window and go run on the beach? Or make lunch in the shape of silly faces? Or write a poem about a dream you had? 

I never want my life to be straight lines. Yes, we need order and structure, but we need beauty and whimsy just as much- and sometimes more. If ever given the choice between straight lines and a star, I want to always choose to add that touch of charm, that gentle kiss of beauty that makes life pop off the page and become worth living.

Why Are You Cast Down, O My Soul?

I'm having a rough day. I'm feeling down, discouraged, uninspired. My self esteem (whatever that is) has plummeted and I keep telling myself that I'm unlovely, unneeded, unwanted- a failure. Days like this are not abnormal. I know there are many of you who, unfortunately, can relate only too well with what I'm describing. But the thing that hit me today was the sudden realization that I haven't had a day like this in a while. There was a time when this was my everyday. Depression covered my eyes like a gray curtain that I could never dream to have the strength to pull back. 

That was my then, but not my now. Now I'm happy. I really am a happy person who loves her life. My brow furrows as I type those words that I know are true even though it feels strange and foreign to say that today. But the sunshine reminds me that what I'm feeling isn't what is true. I am lovely. I am wanted. I am not failing in every part of my life.

So I lift my chin high, push back my shoulders and stubbornly refuse to believe what my heart is telling me. I'm not listening to you, Deceiver. I know what is the truth- clouded and blurry though it may seem right now.

Days like these are becoming rarer and rarer in my life. I'll focus on that. On how I'm being rescued, instead of on the trace remains of this curse that haunts me. 

The sun is shining today. I think a ray just broke through the clouds.

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.