Soaking

It happens so easily. 

Getting caught up in the details of life.  Forgetting the One who gives me life.  Running about taking care of things.  Neglecting to take care of my own heart.  Making sure all the relationships in my life are well-watered.  Letting the most important relationship grow dry.

And the only solution is to stop.

Stop the running.  Slow the movement.  Be still.

And breathe Him in.

To let the water of His spirit flow over my toes, lap my ankles, pull at my waist, rush over my head.  To choose to be submerged in His presence, leaving the shallow end far behind as I follow Him into the deep.

"Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me."  (Psalm 42:7)

And in that place of worship, I find healing.  Healing for the ache that comes when I stay too long on the shores.  The kind of healing that brings satisfaction to the places of restless longing.

And I remember again how good He is.  And how without Him, I can do nothing.

It's in those moments that He always reminds me. 

I don't have to leave the river.  I could stay.  And let its current carry me to the details of life, to the needs, to those relationships.  

I could live here, in this place in the deep.  I could go deeper.  And deeper.  And deeper still.

Table Legacies

A year ago, while my husband and I were on an anniversary getaway to Tennessee, I stumbled upon it in a little shop and it immediately caught my attention.  It was much smaller than the one I remember hanging in my Meme's house, but I didn't mind.  It was the same image, and that was what mattered.

A simple photograph.  A man, bowed in prayer over his soup and bread, his hands folded and his beard white.  But, it was always the Bible in the background that I loved.  I knew it had been read countless times and would be waiting for him when he finished his meal to be read again.  And it was so big!  Bigger than his soup, bigger even than the loaf of bread, as if it was the main course.

My husband bought me the print and it now resides on a shelf directly over our dining table, just where my Meme's used to be. 

And something happened inside of me when I placed that picture where the kids would see it at every meal.  I experienced a longing.  Looking once again at the man's Bible, I found myself wanting my children to love feeding their spirits as much as they loved to eat at that dining table.  And with three growing boys in the house, my children like to eat quite a bit.

So, that's how it began.  We started that week and haven't stopped since.  After every meal that we eat all together, my husband opens the Bible and reads to us.  Sometimes it's just a few verses.  Sometimes an entire chapter.  Sometimes we move on quickly, hurrying to the car to get a kid to practice.  Sometimes we stay and talk it over.  Sometimes questions are asked.  Sometimes we pray together that the words we've heard would come alive in us in a new way.

Over the past year, we read Matthew.  We finished a couple of Paul's letters.  We listened to the life of David.  We're now in Acts.

It hasn't been a big deal.  But, it has been a huge deal.  No fanfare, just life-changing.

Because when my children think back to our meal times together, they won't just remember my cooking, our conversations, and the laughter.  They will also remember it's where they heard the words of God.  And when they're all grown up, they'll know what the main course is.

Now that's a legacy.

Backyard Adventure

For his tenth birthday, my son got a zipline built in our backyard.  A real one, not like the attempts he had made over Spring Break with three feet of rope.  No, this one stretches a hundred and ten feet and flies out of the tree house, twelve feet in the air.

It was his father's idea, of course.  And my mother heart was a little slower to get behind the project.  But, I knew it would make two little kids' dreams come true.

Last New Year's Eve, our family sat down in the living room and spent some time praying together.  I then asked everyone to answer a few questions about their goals for the new year.  What ways did they want to grow spiritually?  What aspect of self-discipline did they want to see incorporated into their daily routine?  What was a fun goal they wanted to accomplish before the year was out?

My two youngest, independent of each other, answered "go zip-lining" on that last question.  I was immediately concerned about that.  We don't have a zip-lining facility anywhere close to our home.  My husband and I had only experienced it for the first time the previous year on an anniversary trip to Tennessee.  How were we going to help that dream come true?

And then a few months later, my husband solved the dilemna.  He would build them one.

And there I was.  Stuck.

I really wanted to see that happen, to see their faces light up with the dream accomplished.  And to have a way to not just do it once, but over and over again in their own backyard?  That was amazing.

But, I'm a mom.  And moms worry about their babies being safe.  I was the one who had insisted the tree house have lattice all the way around every edge, making it virtually impossible for anyone to fall out.  And now my kids were going to launch themselves out of it, attached only to a wire?  And not just once, but over and over again? 

When he asked my opinion, I agreed to the plan, keeping my concerns fairly well hidden.  I knew I was being overprotective.  I knew he would make it safe.  I knew they would be fine.

But, still I found myself nervous about it. 

Until I remembered something that happened in that same backyard, many years ago.  Our oldest two boys were small, one of them still in diapers.  We were out on the back patio, eating a watermelon.  I had cut slices for them and thought I was a cool mom by letting them eat them while running around, the juice dripping around their chins.  This was pretty out of my normal routine, as I had always been the eat at the table and don't make a mess kind of person.

And then it happened.  Laughing the whole time, my husband picked up the end of the watermelon that was lying on the patio table and smooshed it down on top of my oldest son's head.  "Here's a watermelon hat!" he yelled, as our son giggled and tried to lick the juice that now ran out of his hair and down his face, dripping down his belly and landing all over the patio.  

Of course, our younger son wanted a hat, too.  So my husband lopped off the other end of the watermelon and smooshed it down on his head as well.  Then, the two boys spent thirty minutes running around the yard with watermelons on their heads, laughing endlessly.

I remember watching my husband who was watching his boys with a smile, realizing that he thought nothing of the incident.  I, on the other hand, was having a major life-change moment.  You never really know when those are going to happen.  But, something was breaking inside of me.  And something was being born.

Watching my boys play with such abandon.  Seeing my husband chase them around the yard while they had big melons on their heads.  Listening to their cries of amazement as he helped them throw the melons as far as they could be thrown when it was time to come inside, the shrieks of delight when the watermelon ends busted into pieces as they hit the ground.  Loving the playfulness in him as he scooped up my filthy boys and dumped them in the bathtub.

It somehow set me free.  I understood that I was going to have to step back and let him be dad.  Because of course, kids need the tender ways of mom.  But, they also need the wildness of their dad.  They have to have someone in their lives who nudges them into risk, beyond the limits of mom's safe world.

And I've realized through this journey called parenting that he's rubbed off on me.  I've grown to be the kind of mom that can handle the mess, even though I still like to clean it up when we're done.  I have found my own ways to challenge our kids to try new things--in fact, I was the first one who took our oldest out to a country road and let him try his hand at driving the car last summer.  And when I really stop to ponder it, I realize that just living with this man called my husband has made me more ready to take risks in my own life, challenging myself to go beyond what is comfortable.

And so I watched, these many years later, as he built the zipline, and one by one, every one of my four children left his arms in the treehouse and flew to the other end of the yard, out into the great adventure.

And I thanked him sincerely for his token of love to me.  A new gate on the treehouse, ensuring that when they aren't ziplining, they still won't fall out.

My Blue Eyed Treasure

My baby boy turns ten today. 

He's the youngest of the brothers.  The quickest to laugh.  The one who most often drives me to prayer.  His ability to make people smile is unparalleled.  He has not yet located the dirty clothes hamper.  He possesses incredible compassion for the hurting.  He's the only one of our children that has needed a trip to the emergency room--twice.  His imagination is astounding.   His teacher's phone number is on my speed dial.

I have realized he is the answer to my prayer to know what my husband was like as a child.  I would caution you to watch what you pray for, but really, it's a joy to have this desire fulfilled.  I just have to remind myself of that often, encouraging myself by thinking on how well his dad turned out.

And the whirlwind called my son is worth every smile, every anxious moment, and every howl in the dark after stepping on a lego.

Ten years old.  A decade of joy.  I cherish it.

This morning, I held him close and blessed the next decade of his life.  I blessed the choices he will make.  I blessed his ability to hear the voice of God.  I blessed his body, soul, and spirit.

May the next ten years see my baby "grow in wisdom, stature, and favor with God and man."  (Luke 2:52)  And may I, as his mother, remember to breathe every moment into the deep places of memory.  Even the legos.