Grief Unlike the World's

The moment I have been dreading since we moved into our home nine years ago happened this weekend.  Our precious 85 year old neighbor died.  First the phone call, then the visit from the grieving son, and then the telling to our children that their elderly playmate was gone.


It was their first true loss, the first time they learned what it meant to want to hold a hand, to hear a voice one more time, and not be able to.  It was a long time we sat together and cried, the sounds of grief coming and going like waves lapping. 


And slowly, the words came.  How we always pictured him taking care of his yard, his farmer's hat attempting to shield his weathered skin.  How thankful we were that he once rescued our third born wandering close to the street in his diaper, coming over later with a new latch for our gate.  How he had laughed watching boys sling mud in the moat they built with their own hands.  How we would treasure his gifts, the pocket knives that spoke of manhood to hungry boy hearts.  How we wished we could turn back the clock to see him one last time.  How we would miss the light in his workshop.  How we didn't understand.


Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words. (I Thessalonians 4:13-18)


And we spoke of hope.  And we spoke of the joyful expectation we now carry of seeing him again, healed and whole.  And we spoke of praise, for He is good, and it is when we hurt the most that our hearts must praise the loudest.


And we waited until each one could give voice to their praise, holding and rocking in between. "I love you, Jesus.  I praise You, for You are good." 


My children woke this morning with new wisdom.  They are discovering what it means to treasure the ones you love and to make each parting a benediction.  They are learning what it means to care for the orphans and the widows.  They are beginning to understand that it is in the sacrifice of praise that faith comes alive.


And they now know what it means to look forward to the day when we shall once more be neighbors with those our hearts miss.

Still Growing

When we moved into our home nine years ago, I tore blank fly leaves from hundred year old books, loving their aged and yellow tones.  I hand-lettered the names of the fruits of the spirit, one on each worn page, and framed them.  All nine still stretch across our kitchen, reminding all who live here what kind of character the Holy Spirit is building in us.


Love, Joy, Peace, Patience....


And which frame was it that constantly tilted off-center to the right?  Patience.  And how many times did I have to haul over a chair, climb onto it, and reach to straighten it?  Too many to count. 


In exasperation, I purchased a product that promised to keep frames from moving around on the wall.  It wasn't until I was on the chair once more,  using more than was necessary, that I realized God was speaking to my heart.


Patience was off-center on my wall because it was crooked in my heart.


I've had nine years of working on patience since that moment, my nine year old son standing in as a marker of time. Has patience grown in me as much as he has grown? 


What do I do when the cashier rings me up wrong without an apology, me with two kids corralled in the checkout line?  What do I say when my husband comes home late for the dinner I've worked hard on all afternoon?  What do my eyes communicate when my daughter wants to tell me a long story in the middle of my project?  What does my heart meditate on when God does not answer a prayer on my timetable?


And while I may have grown over the years, it wasn't until this summer that I finally had a breakthrough.  It was while my husband and I taught the small ones at church that it happened.  It was his turn to help them see, and I marveled at how he does it so well.  So many pairs of eyes fixed upon their pastor wearing a silly hat and standing at the fruit stand of patience.


"Do you know what patience is?  Patience is knowing other people are special, too."


And that was the key I needed.  Because I really do know they are.  And I want to treat them that way.  I want them to know they are loved and appreciated when they look into my eyes.


When they give me incorrect change.
When he's made a mistake.
When she needs me right now.
When I don't understand.


Love, Joy, Peace, Patience...because other people are special, too.

First Day of School Blessings

All the backpacks are lined up by the front door.  The first day of school clothes are waiting on their hangers.  The crayons are pointed and unbroken.

My birds are asleep in the nest, ready to fly away tomorrow.  And it's this hour that a Mama kneels and prays.  She prays that the small wings will be strong as they carry her precious ones into a world not always hospitable to young things.  She prays that His breath will blow, lifting them higher, above the reach of that which would entangle.  And she prays that they will fly safely home again.

Mama bird blessings:

• I Bless You with courage. (Joshua 1:3-9)
• I Bless You with the Father's protection. (Ps. 91)
• I Bless You with a Godly child’s heart that respects and honors his parents and authority.
• I Bless You with the Holy Spirit’s marking your life so that you stand out in a crowd.
• I Bless You with the favor of God on your life so that others want to go out of their way to do you good.
• I Bless You that people speak to you with kindness and honor.
• I Bless You with confidence in your looks and abilities: you will like who God made you to be.
• I Bless You with strategies of the Lord for your future.
• I Bless You with purity in thought, speech, and action.
• I Bless You with confidence and a complete lack of fear of man.
• I Bless You with the ability to be a good friend.
• I Bless You with the ability to be grieved by sin and the desire to make all things right with the Father.
• I Bless You with truthful lips.
• I Bless You with the ability to honor those around you, even when it costs you.
• I Bless You with the knowledge that you are a joy to your parents and that they are proud of you.
• I Bless You with the knowledge of the Father’s unconditional love for you and your parents’ unconditional love for you.
• I Bless You with the desire to pray at all times, with all kinds of prayers.
• I Bless You with the spirit of a warrior, a Godly warrior.
• I Bless You to be a blessing to everyone you meet.

Many thanks to Melba Burk, who taught me the power of blessing.

Closing The Door

I found myself in that same place again today.  Doing the thing I have told myself I will not do.  Speaking the words that I have promised not to utter.  Wishing I could start over on the conversation and not draw attention to my wounded place.  Regretting that I opened the door to the sin that crouches and watches for the smallest opportunity to storm in.

Paul knew what he was talking about.


 “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good.  As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.  For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature.  For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.  For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.  Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.

So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:15-25)

And I wish I could pull up a chair beside him over a cup of Starbucks and ask how he changed it.  What went through his head right before he succeeded in kicking out the unwanted habits and closing the door to sin that one last time?  What did it practically mean to see that deliverance from slavery in his mind and over his mouth?

But without Paul, and Starbucks being forty-five minutes away, I sit on my couch instead and I read the last sentence over and over again.

“Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

And I give thanks that He is here.

And I give thanks that He knew when I woke up that I would mess up today, and He spoke love to me this morning anyway.

And I give thanks that He knows what it means to be wounded.

And I give thanks that He works on healing me, again.

And I give thanks that I can see what He’s changing in me.

And I give thanks that some day I’ll sit in Starbucks and explain to a hungry heart what went through my head right before I closed the door that one last time.

As My Oldest Turns Fourteen

I held you for the first time as a girl doing her best to be a woman, hoping she looked like she knew how to handle an infant.  As many times as the nurses came to check on me, I believe I must have failed fairly miserably at that. 


Your dad and I gave each other brave smiles and whispered our questions to each other about exactly how the diaper was supposed to fit around your healing unbillical cord and was that soft spot on the top of your head supposed to be there? 


We wrapped you up tight and covered you in the new blanket as we carried you out into the West Texas heat and put you in the car that had sat in the hospital parking lot all weekend.  We triple checked the straps that held you in the seat and gently tucked another rolled up blanket between your scrunched face and the head support, trying to fill in the extra space so your neck would be safe.  I rode in the back beside you, shielding your eyes from the sun, and your dad drove the thirty miles home at a speed I'd never seen him attempt, elderly women passing us in the turning lane with angry looks.


It wasn't until we went to take you out of the car and carry you into the trailer house that we realized you had been carefully strapped into a carrier that hadn't been belted to the seat.  One detail overlooked.  Two deflated parents.


Thank you, my love, for your patience with us.  You are, after all, the first time we've done this, you know.  Even now, as I scour the internet to find out what face cleaner works best for teenage boys, as your dad tries to explain what the doctor will need to check at your first sport's physical, as we set guidelines for your cell phone, and as we answer your questions about life--- you are the front-runner.  We won't always get it right, as I'm sure you've figured out by now.  We may forget to strap you into the car.  But, we will always love you.  And we will always pray for God to cover our mistakes and grant you grace.  And we will always be proud of the way you love us, your imperfect parents.


On your fourteenth birthday, I am now a woman who fondly remembers the girl-mother she once was, thankful for your part in helping me grow up, honored to do the same for you.

Home

Growing up in West Texas meant cotton fields and burnt grass and thunderstorms and sunsets that reached from one end of the horizon to the other.  It meant dried up tank beds and pump jacks and incessant wind.  It meant tractors and cows, boots and skirts, and slow-talking men in donut shops who still went out of their way to open the door for a lady.  It meant mesquites for trees, cactus for flowers,  and rain showers being the cause for celebrations featuring children in swimsuits running wildly through brown yards and neighbors gathering on porches giving thanks.  It meant unlocked doors, Friday night football games, and Sunday afternoon naps after church.  It meant catching horned toads and going barefoot and staying out until it got dark.  It meant sweet tea and chicken-fried steak, pecan pie and rib-eyes, and gourmet being something that had a sprig of parsley on the side.  It meant people whose hearts were as wide open as the sky.

The older I get, the more I realize this land is in my blood.  When I come home after being away,  I breathe easier and my smile comes faster.  Home, with all its faults, is right here where my heart leaps.

And then I find myself wondering, what will this land be like when He comes and makes all things new?  How will it reflect His beauty then?  What part of Him will be newly birthed in the fields, the trees, the wind?  Will I recognize my homeland and all my old lanes of memory, or will I need a welcome tour? 

And I find a prayer on my lips that when the time comes, He will take my hand and show me how it was meant to be, the old passed away and the new wine running free.