Because There is a Lot Worth Remembering

A year now, since the move. I miss, and keep missing each and every day.
Sights my eyes are sore for:

Edwin Warner Park was a retreat for me. When we first moved and I tried to use the double jogging stroller there I thought my legs were going to go on strike. Walks in the dappled light, playing pirate ship on the deck, and hunting for wildlife - we drank it all in.

The zoo in its beautiful setting. Though smaller than what we have access to now, it never disappointed us except that first time. But I hadn't given it credit and Noah dropped my sunglasses in the toilet that day. That time we saw the lady jump up from her wheelchair and grab the snake on the trail - well it still makes me smile. That one time was a bit dicey, but we all look back with fondness at our time there, especially time with friends. Levi will never forget getting to help hold the sixteen foot python. It was the highlight of his year.

Franklin and all its festivals was always a highlight for our family. We loved to drive the Natchez Trace to get there, and cross "the big, big bridge." That first year we went frequently to hear Chris play at the Irish pub. The boys tolerated the late nights really well, and Levi was obsessed with the banjo. I will never forget our visit to the Carter House. Our intense guide drilled the facts into our little group of eight. Two in our group were infants, and only three of us were adults. My boys were bugeyed at the eye popping details of the battle fought there. Mr. History Man must have thought they could handle it. Good thing they could.

The Village Chapel, our church the last three years we were there. That place was invaluable to our survival in Nashville. The people there were the body of Christ as it should be. I can still feel the strength and comfort it brought me when I think about it.

LL Burns park in Kingston Springs, and the Harpeth River. The kids and I spent hours there playing, hiking, and wading in the river. We always saw some great wildlife. An old bridge that spanned the river there was built by colored troupes during the Civil War. I made the boys go down and touch the massive stone blocks at the base one day. How often do you get to touch history like that?

To my family's chagrin I can't stop going on about how much I miss Publix. It was the first and last grocery store I went to in Nashville. Friendly service, buy one get one free every day! What's not to like?? I'll try to save face here and not go on.

Sounds my ears are straining for:

Music. In all tones, rhythms, and strains. Its why we moved to begin with. The music of the south is haunting and enchanting and made me feel at home. When I hear it I am just as homesick as when I see the Great Plains.

The rushing of wind through all those trees mingling with babbling brooks and rushing rivers.

People my heart aches for.
My dear friends become family. To not be near you hurts to my core. You are my favorite memories.

Being caught between the want for two worlds can make a girl quite nutty, but also quite lucky. Two worlds of memories warm my heart, moisten my eyes, and curl up the corners of my mouth. Here, in these words, I've barely scratched the surface.

Mud Men

If it’s all just dust to dust and the middle doesn’t matter, where does that leave us? If there is no forever after this shell gives out, what’s the point? We’d just be mud men destined to wash away in the next deluge. Without life breathed into us we would be formed lumps unable to keep our shape.

“…the LORD God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.”

Genesis 2:7

So we are born into this existence, creatures made of the crust of our world. Then life and its trials overwhelm us, dry us out, and threaten to scatter us by the wind. Must these storms, literal and metaphorical, undo us?  Couldn’t they shape and form?

The middle matters. Time on this sphere starts our journey to forever. We will be resurrected because Jesus was. Mud men can become pure creatures.  And this theme repeats and reverberates all around us: spring flowers, hatchlings, bullfrogs and butterflies, blossoms and buds.

I am formable after the rains, I have a spirit after I have been breathed upon, and I am a mud man turned eternal creature since Jesus is the forever in my heart.

Need to Change Your Perspective Today? Or Find Some Whimsy and Mirth?

Why A Moth Needs The Dark

I was in bed, about to attempt sleep, and then I heard it - the familiar, frantic flapping of frustrated wings. It sounded like a horsefly or wasp at first. I was a bit miffed at the mystery creature because I was tired and I'm a light sleeper. I figured I was going to have to get up and shoo it from the room. Then, it left the window it had been throwing itself upon and flew in crazy loops about the room. It was a moth. I was surprised it had been able to make so much noise. Now I was no longer considering my potential lack of sleep. I was captivated by this wild flight. We can all picture the graceful ballet of a butterfly above spring blossoms. A moth, being a similar creature, does not immediately conjure up this crazed and dazed display before my eyes. In fact, most often I see moths still, perched on a wall or window. This was the most active moth I had ever seen, and it circled tighter towards the light on the ceiling. Being for the most part nocturnal, I can see why a moth would be drawn towards a light source. It flew just under the bulbs and danced around the dead bug parts that had settled. It stirred up a dust cloud of bits and pieces, some of which rained down over the edges of the light fixture.
Someone should really clean that...
I was a bit concerned that it would burn up. I know how hot lights can get. Thankfully it escaped before being burned and flew off to the shadows somewhere to recover from its freak out.
It's not meant to live in a house with lights. It's supposed to be out in the night air finding night blooming flowers and sweet fermenting fruit. Though it's cousin gets all the attention for beauty,it is just as lovely. And here this little one was struggling to figure out what to do with this draw towards something artificial that would just kill it given long enough.

And here is where I also find myself these days. I've been comparing myself to the beautiful - but to who I am not. I am chasing the artificial light and ignoring who I am. I am the trapped moth when I try to be not me, and lose my identity in fake fluorescence.
I'm never comfortable when I'm trying to live up to something. I fall pathetically short when I try to impress. I feel damaged and bruised, like I've been bashing my own self into a wall after a session of trying to convince someone they should like me, that I'm impressive. I reach my hand out for that tantalizing glitter, risking the burn all over again.  But, if I'm willing to be the moth and not the butterfly I can shine. If I can let go of fake promises and embrace the only true Light then I will be free to really find my life and my purpose. My God sees through the night of my life and knows my true colors and how to bring them out.
 If I could just try to please God as hard as I try to please others...
So, next time you come across a trapped moth, do it (her, him) a favor - set them free.

Thoughts about Death, and Wrecked Seeds of Life

Am I not Judas? Am I not Peter? That look Jesus gave Peter, the one after the third crow, don’t I deserve that look?
But because the curtain is gone, ripped open to allow access, I am not condemned.
I should crawl to the Father. If I spend a mere few seconds examining this black heart, I know what I deserve.
And that is where I find myself these days. In a conflict over the grace I am freely given, and the weight of my sinfulness, and how Paul’s words can’t stop flowing through my mind.
I am a hermit crab, and this shell I have makes me itch and hurt. I am longing for a new shell, but death is the only way out. A beautiful, but difficult, sweetly surrendered death to self. Death to all my wants and wishes. To accept completely what Christ accomplished I have to say “no” to me, and “yes” to Him.
Where does a sinful misfit, clothed in a failing shell, in a world of raw beauty marred by black, find any peace?

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.  You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 

~Romans 5:1-6

One of my very best friends sat in the hospital this whole week. One night, she was within seconds of death, a whisper really. I am twelve hours away, and it’s killing me.
“Could you send me some verses? Anything.”
I feel so inadequate to try to help with her pain. My eyes scan the pages, and I keep coming back to the Psalms. My fingers shake as I text, and I feel the surge in my heart. I am at peace, I know God has her, saved her, and will heal her. We both know, we’ve talked about it - true healing may not be in this world.
Christ’s victory is her hope. With a long journey ahead of her, I see how my perspective should be changing.
There is so much beauty in her pain. It’s been years of struggle, near death several times. She wouldn’t be who she is now without a transforming God, hope in something better.
Jesus shows us, the perfect example, of how to find your life.

“No plant ever came from anything but a wrecked seed.”

…

“The whole explanation of the apparent wreckage of the world or of our personal lives is set forth here. We can understand how our good God can permit the existence of sorrow and wrong in the world He has created and in the lives of the human beings He loves: It is His goodness that compels Him to permit it. For He knows that only through such apparent wreckage can the fruition of His glorious purpose for us come to pass. And we whose hearts also long for that fruition will, if we understand His ways, be able to praise Him for all His goodness, even when things seem hardest and most mysterious.

~Hannah Whitall Smith, The God of all Comfort

And in my brokenness, my dying, I only mirror where my Savior has already been.

Dear Lizzie...(14)

Dear Lizzie,
I was painting last night, and I was alone in the house. The light was dim as the storm moved in, and where "Evening Twilight" met "Chocolate Brown" the rain drops started to fall. The traffic had stopped on the street just north of the house, and so I had the noises just the way I liked them; timeless. Who can say what year it is when drops of life hit the roof, riddle the dry soil, and spatter off leaves? The gentle rumble, staccato beats and pings - a soothing rhythm.
I can imagine your family, after a hard day of farming, rushing in as the first pelting began. What a relief from the hot summer sun. As the water plunged down, you would need to light candles. Windows open just a bit, or a door halfway, would offer a welcome cool breeze.
I love the summer rains, Lizzie. A gentle, all day rain is my favorite. We are so dry right now, and need a true toad soaker to make a difference. It's been a weird spring.
Dad still farms this place, though you would hardly recognize it now. We are trying our hand at a garden this year, our first solo attempt. There is some corn planted just east of the barn, but it better rain or it isn't going to make it.
I marvel at how hard your life was. Lack of rain is inconvenient  for me. For you, it could mean the difference between enough to eat, or not.
After the rain stopped I went out to feed the cats. They aren't tame. Since no one has lived here in nearly a year they only come near humans to be fed. I sat near, and one let me put my hand on her head, but only briefly. I am like the black one in the back - wanting what she needs, but wary and unsure, unable to trust.
I would love to see what you thought of my color choices, Lizzie. I suppose you didn't have much option in your day. I wonder what you would have picked, if it had been possible.
Yours Truly,
Charity

The Girl of my Dreams

Claire. My Princess. How I longed for you. I had these three wild boys, and I thought my baby days were over. I had dreams of adopting a Chinese baby girl. I never really thought I would birth a girl of my own.

I was in a bit of denial that another child might be in the works. Times were a bit rough, and I was job hunting and submitting my resume. 

I told your dad that it was probably nothing, but things were running late, and maybe we should check on nature a bit later in the week. 

Really? Now? After trying to (but not wanting to) prevent this? Fear and hope surged in tandem. It was the worst timing. Looking back, we see it was the perfect timing.

I held off getting a new job till we made sure you were doing OK. After what happened with your brother I was a little spooked. Little did I know what was to come.

It the thick of morning (all day) sickness we realized things were not OK with your daddy. Pain, blood, overwhelming nausea, followed by symptoms of infection - we had to see what was going on. After the longest journey of our lives we found out he had cancer. We were told he would barely live to see your first tender months at one point. I nearly collapsed. 

Well, all of that turmoil is for another time, my dear. This is about you. We ushered you in, with gentle prodding, a week before your due date. We needed your daddy to be there and not in the hospital himself. He was there, along with your three brothers and grandma Kathy. I had to fight big brothers for you at one point. They have protected you and loved you from day one, and it was hard to tell who was more proud that day.

You were the good medicine dad needed while he fought for his life. You were soft and pink and gentle. You were easy for him to hold, and you gave him new purpose. Such a beautiful girl! How did you come from us? We took great pleasure in the stares and gasps we got walking down Vanderbilt halls when the nurses would see you. They would come five or six at a time, and open the door and say, “We just wanted to show them your sweet baby girl.” We just smiled, knowingly, and for a few seconds forgot why we were there.

You are my bud, my best girlfriend. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. You are so smart and quick witted. I love how you talk on the phone and learn ten new words a day. You laugh at your own jokes and keep your brothers in line. I get to put you in dresses and hair bows one day, and play clothes for dirt the next. You are just as comfortable holding a doll, or fawning over a baby kitten, as you are riding the tractor and playing trucks with your brothers.

You love to be outside and don’t think it crazy at all that we go look for snakes on purpose. You love shoes, and get excited at a new pair. You already know how to turn on the charm with your daddy. I fear he has no hope. You love one of my all time favorite movies, The Wizard of Oz. You can sit and watch the whole thing through, singing along and marveling at Dorothy. Born in Tennessee, but to a Kansas mama. It was bound to happen.

I am smitten with you, but refuse to let you be too much of a diva. You know you can’t pull that screaming pout on me. I’ll sit you on the stairs and give you a mama look. You look back, in full understanding, but don’t back down in fear because you know I love you. 

At times I can hardly comprehend the differences in this little female after three rough and tumble boys. I wasn’t sure I would know what to do with you. You teach me each day, however, and I am happy to go on this journey with you.

Sweet, beautiful Claire. God has been so good. He gave you to me at the last second, before it was too late to have anymore children. You slipped in under the wire and have changed our lives in the best way.

Your laugh, your squeals, your eyes that are copies of mine.  I love you so much.

Brown Eyed Cutie

Silas! My third son, a pleasant surprise. We didn’t really plan on you, but I sure was over the moon when I found out you were on your way.

I named you at a stoplight. Well, I already loved the name, but I didn’t apply it to you until I was on my way to an ultrasound. It was time to see how well you were growing, and if I would have three sons or get that girl I wanted. But while at the stoplight it hit me - I was going to have another boy. I literally said, out loud, “It’s a boy. It’s Silas.” Also at that appointment, I found out your placenta had implanted much too low, and I would have to be extra careful for the rest of the pregnancy. A few drops of blood about a month later nearly stopped my heart.

Your name means, “man of the forest”, but it also means, “third.” I found that out after I chose it, by the way.

Your exit from the womb was hard on me. Eight days in the hospital due to premature rupture of membranes, followed by your birth at only 35 weeks. I was prepared for it to be bad, but there you were at seven pounds and looking full term! Your two brothers got to be there, along with grandma Kathy, and we were all instantly in love. Alas, later they took you, and it was the longest three weeks of my life till I got you back. I sat with you every day, all day, despite the whispers about me behind my back. I didn’t leave you, little buddy, until I just had to. I functioned on about four hours of sleep a day for that time. 

We got you home and you fit right in. I held you tight and long. I can still see the panicked look on your face when it got bad and you couldn’t get it swallowed down, couldn’t breathe. You were such a trooper. 

Granted I had two under my belt, but you were such an easy baby to care for. That little face! I still OD on cuteness when I see you.

You learned early how to keep up with big brothers. My fears that you would be odd man out due to your age were quickly stifled. You never know a stranger, and anyone is your friend after thirty seconds of conversation. Random winks and thumbs up at people in the Vanderbilt halls made me smile, shake my 

head, and marvel at this little gift I had. Your smile can melt hearts. 

Oh, and those eyes! The biggest pools of brown I have ever seen. I get lost in them all the time and I am pained that you have to grow up. I ask you to stay little, and with a forlorn face you tell me you have to eat, otherwise you will stay hungry. With a sad laugh I tell you that it’s OK to grow up, mommy will be fine. 

“You’re the best, mom!”

You say it frequently, and it is usually accompanied by a tight squeeze and some of your smile magic. 

While your anger can rage, and your stubbornness can drive me to my limit, your sweet spirit is the highlight of my day.

I love you so, Booger! You are such a gift to me. Mommy’s little man.

Second To None

A few months after deciding it was time for another child, surprise! I was wrangling a toddler while you grew in my womb. I felt more ready, it wasn’t my first time. I named you Noah because it means “peaceful.” Mommy is now smirking, my dear. You were two weeks overdue, content in your warm little universe. But once things got started you nearly rocketed into air and light. My second son and I was thrilled.

A month after your birth I was in the hospital in septic shock, a mere day away from the intensive care unit. A retained piece of placenta would have taken my life without modern medicine. Maybe I should have realized then that I wouldn’t be getting a lot of peace from my time with you. 

You struggle with being second in line and stuck in the middle. You are overcome with the urge to push boundaries and test rules. I am weary by the end of the day, quite often, in a desperate attempt to parent you with firmness and love. We are a lot alike, so sometimes we rub each other the wrong way.

I see through all that though. You love to please and take pride in doing so. You are a crazy hard worker - I am always amazed at how much you can accomplish without giving up. I have trusted you with your sister because you have proven yourself responsible. You helped me with her when dad was sick, and I would have never made without you some days. She isn’t the only young one you have worked your magic on - you are good with every baby I have ever seen you with. You show your peace in these moments.

I take comfort in your loyalty. I know you want to do better, and you know I want to do better. You are solid for me, and I think we have some great times ahead.

I love you tons, my boy who thinks he is man and my equal. You are going to be the best dad, husband, and provider some day. For now, I know you really wish you could just climb into my lap. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. 

I love you , Noah

First Up, Life is Changing

I waited such a long time for you. Looking back, I was hardly ready, and certainly not nearly as mature as I should have been. You are the only person that has changed me in a split second.  I named you Levi because it means, “attached.” I couldn’t think of a better meaning to apply to the first life to ever grow inside me.

Your boyishness didn’t take long to emerge. Where did you learn truck and tractor sound effects?

I felt fear, love, pride, fatigue, failure, and purpose in ways I never knew existed. 

You won’t stop growing and now you are up to my shoulder with your long lean self. I swear those arms and legs are ten feet long!  Your face is now thin and structured, but if I’m lucky I catch a look that plunges me back to your toddler hood. 

You are wild and rough, and you love to play war. You pour over history books and fall asleep with them in your bed. At times I don’t know how to contain you, but then I wonder if I really want to. I pause mid-step, almost daily, because you’ve said something that reveals your brilliance. I wonder how you know these things.

Just when I think I might go crazy because I can’t get you to be quite, or hold still, or just listen for a minute, it happens - you come to me, your wide, blue-gray windows to your soul all moist. 

“I’m just so sad. I don’t know why.”

You are so full of emotion and it spills out into my heart and then I hurt. I hug you hard because I am this way too, and I understand. Our emotions make us fragile and vulnerable. But not weak. 

I love you so, and can’t wait to see who you become. 

My firstborn. My boy with man trying to bust through. I’ve made more mistakes with you than with your siblings. Curse of the firstborn.

I’m still proud enough to pop over you. You have the ability to change the world. While I may try to shape you a bit, help you see things in a different light, I don’t want you to change.

You are exactly who God knew I needed. 

Mommy loves you, Levi

Growing From Trouble

I’m going to grow something out of it.
It’s waste, cast off.


It was foul. It drew flies and beetles.

Time has changed it. While it sat, forgotten, it dried, solidified, became lighter.
As I set the boys to work to dig it out, it was easier to remove than we thought.
“Why do we need to put poop on the garden anyway?”
“Well, it’s fertilizer. Think of it as vitamins for the plants.”
I see it then. My pain, my mess, and my failures, what are they? After time they feed the changes in my soul. When do I grow and flourish? Not when all is well. After the pain and the storm. That’s when I see change that is needed, that’s when I have been fertilized so I can grow.
I don’t want to have to work with things that are hard. I’m tired of struggling to be honest.
But new growth is hard work, and it doesn’t happen passively. Working against the curse is like running against hurricane force winds.

I’ve got a God who is my Gardener. I’m trusting Him to grow me into what I am supposed to be.