Today I had to write a card to a dear friend. The same card I've been writing every year for seven years now. In which I try to express my gratitude and heartbreak to those parents, who suffer a million times more heartbreak and a thousand times more gratitude. Impossible words. There are certain affairs of the heart that will never pour out in writing.
And this year it falls on Easter. The day sweet Caleb died, April 12. What a juxtaposition: the day Christ conquered the grave...conquered the grave...the day Caleb entered it, and through it, the doorway to the Savior's arms. Caleb was the last person, among many, who drew my husband to Christ. It was through the tiny example of 5-year-old faith, unwavering belief as he walked toward Jesus and away from his parents, that my husband finally understood the depth and breadth of grace. How am I to thank a grieving mother and father, arms still empty, for forever filling mine? For eternally giving me Aaron? Through their willing sacrifice, he was brought finally to salvation. When they laid their baby down on that altar, that funeral pyre, he looked on and saw the cross, beautifully and lovingly displayed.
I watched a hundred Marys as they walked their sons and daughters to that familiar doorstep. I stood by deathbeds and saw this passion played out, over and over again. What was a final knell for these mothers...a last touch...one more kiss...a precious child's body cooling under their caresses...that is what Christ conquered. Because of His sacrifice two thousand years ago, Caleb's mama and papa can look forward to a reunion someday in heaven.
Once again this year, I praise...through tears. I weep and worship. Remembering his hands, that gripped our hearts without thumbs, blue eyes that pierced us with their surprising joy, a tiny child who submitted so completely to parents and God that he laid still...stock still...under the most impossible physical conditions.
And I am once again led to deeper faith, taken by that tiny little hand and brought closer to the cross. Thank you, Caleb, for turning my eyes to Jesus in new ways each year as I remember your miraculously mature example of faith.
Fear: reverential awe
1. Snow streaks by the porch light during our April 4th blizzard."You are resplendent with light...You alone are to be feared. Who can stand before you when you are angry? Surely your wrath against men brings you praise, and the survivors of your wrath are restrained. Make vows to the Lord your God and fulfill them; He breaks the spirit of rulers; He is feared by the kings of earth." (Psalm 76)
I don't think much about "fearing" God. Obeying, honoring, following, loving, praising, worshiping, becoming like, drawing near, knowing, studying, understanding, choosing...all verbs that describe actions I see in my relationship with God. Fearing, trembling, bowing before...those are the verbs I still need to work on! I make vows to the Lord my God, but I do so out of reverence or love. I wonder if that is why I often fail in keeping my vows? If I were motivated out of fear - out of the sheer realization of the awesomeness and limitlessness of His power - would I be more determined to follow through?
I serve the God of hosts, the Creator of light and darkness, the One who flooded the earth, Whose voice is like the roar of rushing waters. I need to learn more about this fearing God business. I need to be bowed low by His might and glory. Yes, I have a relationship - a wonderful, vibrant, consuming and joyous friendship - with a personal God and Savior who moves in amazing ways in my life. But He is God, no less, and demands and deserves my awe.
I don't think much about "fearing" God. Obeying, honoring, following, loving, praising, worshiping, becoming like, drawing near, knowing, studying, understanding, choosing...all verbs that describe actions I see in my relationship with God. Fearing, trembling, bowing before...those are the verbs I still need to work on! I make vows to the Lord my God, but I do so out of reverence or love. I wonder if that is why I often fail in keeping my vows? If I were motivated out of fear - out of the sheer realization of the awesomeness and limitlessness of His power - would I be more determined to follow through?
I serve the God of hosts, the Creator of light and darkness, the One who flooded the earth, Whose voice is like the roar of rushing waters. I need to learn more about this fearing God business. I need to be bowed low by His might and glory. Yes, I have a relationship - a wonderful, vibrant, consuming and joyous friendship - with a personal God and Savior who moves in amazing ways in my life. But He is God, no less, and demands and deserves my awe.
2. Long afternoon light through the front room window on April 5th, when it was near 60 degrees.Immortal, invisible,
God only wise,
In light inaccessible
hid from our eyes,
Most blessèd, most glorious,
the Ancient of Days,
Almighty, victorious,
Thy great Name we praise.
Unresting, unhasting,
and silent as light,
Nor wanting, nor wasting,
Thou rulest in might;
Thy justice, like mountains,
high soaring above
Thy clouds, which are fountains
of goodness and love.
Echo from 1979
The erosion of our confidence in the future is threatening to destroy the social and the political fabric of America. The confidence that we have always had as a people is not simply some romantic dream or a proverb in a dusty book that we read just on the Fourth of July. It is the idea which founded our nation and has guided our development as a people. Confidence in the future has supported everything else. We've always believed in something called "progress." We've always had a faith that the days of our children will be better than our own. Our people are losing that faith. For the first time in the history of our country a majority of our people believe that the next five years will be worse than the past five years. We were taught that our armies were always invincible, and our causes were always just, only to suffer the agony of Vietnam. We respected the presidency as a place of honor until the shock of Watergate. We've got to stop crying and start sweating. Stop talking and start walking. Stop cursing and start praying. The strength we need will not come from the White House, but from every house in America.
~ Jimmy Carter, July 15, 1979
I came across this speech while doing some research for school. I can't say Jimmy Carter is someone who has ever really entered my conscious thought before. After all, this speech was given when I was about 4 months old. How it resonates, though, with the current crisis we face as a nation. I found myself hopeful as I listened to his rather monotonous, yet convicted, delivery of this speech.
Most of all, this speech compels me as mother, leader of these little children. Around my feet and tugging at my pant legs at any given moment of every day...four little ones who will grow up and perhaps change the course of history. I am one person. I can't do much to change the world. But I can direct the development of four more minds, and that, perhaps, will change the world we live in. With that in mind, I found these six rules in Nightlight for Parents, a book I never really like while I am reading it, but return to again and again. These six guidelines capture the spirit of how I hope to mother, and have aided me many times as I muddle through what to expect of my children and how to teach them so:
1. Define the boundaries clearly and in advance. If you haven't spelled them out, don't try to enforce them!
2. Once a child understands what is expected, hold him accountable. This may lead to a contest of wills - be sure to win those confrontations when they occur.
3. Distinguish between willful defiance and childish irresponsibility. Forgetting, losing, and spilling things are not challenges to adult leadership.
4. Reassure and teach as soon as a time of confrontation is over. By all means, hold your child close and explain lovingly what has just occurred.
5. Avoid impossible demands. Be sure that your child is capable of delivering what you require.
6. Let love be your guide! You will make mistakes with your child, but a relationship characterized by affection and grounded in God's love is certain to be healthy and successful.
Kind of like thinking about earth rather than thinking about heaven, isn't it? If I focus only on myself, I've limited my resources to one life span. But if I direct my energy outward, to others - my children included - I have exponentially increased the impact my life has. Think global. Think eternal. I want to do something that matters each and every day - and that probably doesn't mean "looking out for number 1"!
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. (Ecclesiastes 1:9)
We know the strength of America. We are strong. We can regain our unity. We can regain our confidence. We are the heirs of generations who survived threats much more powerful and awesome than those that challenge us now. Our fathers and mothers were strong men and women who shaped a new society during the Great Depression, who fought world wars, and who carved out a new charter of peace for the world.
Working together with our common faith, we cannot fail.~ Jimmy Carter, July 15, 1979
I came across this speech while doing some research for school. I can't say Jimmy Carter is someone who has ever really entered my conscious thought before. After all, this speech was given when I was about 4 months old. How it resonates, though, with the current crisis we face as a nation. I found myself hopeful as I listened to his rather monotonous, yet convicted, delivery of this speech.
Most of all, this speech compels me as mother, leader of these little children. Around my feet and tugging at my pant legs at any given moment of every day...four little ones who will grow up and perhaps change the course of history. I am one person. I can't do much to change the world. But I can direct the development of four more minds, and that, perhaps, will change the world we live in. With that in mind, I found these six rules in Nightlight for Parents, a book I never really like while I am reading it, but return to again and again. These six guidelines capture the spirit of how I hope to mother, and have aided me many times as I muddle through what to expect of my children and how to teach them so:
1. Define the boundaries clearly and in advance. If you haven't spelled them out, don't try to enforce them!
2. Once a child understands what is expected, hold him accountable. This may lead to a contest of wills - be sure to win those confrontations when they occur.
3. Distinguish between willful defiance and childish irresponsibility. Forgetting, losing, and spilling things are not challenges to adult leadership.
4. Reassure and teach as soon as a time of confrontation is over. By all means, hold your child close and explain lovingly what has just occurred.
5. Avoid impossible demands. Be sure that your child is capable of delivering what you require.
6. Let love be your guide! You will make mistakes with your child, but a relationship characterized by affection and grounded in God's love is certain to be healthy and successful.
Kind of like thinking about earth rather than thinking about heaven, isn't it? If I focus only on myself, I've limited my resources to one life span. But if I direct my energy outward, to others - my children included - I have exponentially increased the impact my life has. Think global. Think eternal. I want to do something that matters each and every day - and that probably doesn't mean "looking out for number 1"!
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. (Ecclesiastes 1:9)
The boiling point
His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.
~ The Solid Rock, Edward Mote, 1797
1. Vapor & heat roll off the sap pot in profile in the afternoon sun.
March is maple syrup time in Wisconsin, as the snow recedes from the dappled ravine behind the house. The sun seeps through the bare branches and flits over the deep roots of the sugar maples that stand forgotten in the forest during the long winter. In a flurry of activity, we drill, and pound taps, and collect the clear, slightly sweet life blood of the trees. Sap. Then the boiling, evaporating off the excess and concentrating the sugar. The rich, deep brown syrup that results lasts us all year long, usually until the following January.
I feel as though I've been in the giant vat, at the boiling point, for the past year. My dross is being brought to the surface. I am being purified, condensed, refined. Cancer is the fire under the vat, raising the stakes of life - and death - and forcing me to confront the hidden corners of the soul that I've left linger for so long. Crisis is what takes us out of the ordinary and makes us face the deepest parts of ourselves that we hide from sight. Even our sight. It seems so silly to me, in retrospect, that I've ever tried to hide self from self. Yet I know, deep down, there are still many ways that I am hiding. Though I strive for truthfulness and authenticity as I walk each day as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, I won't really be laid truly bare until that moment in heaven, when I stand before Christ and hear my name read from the Book of Life. I've often wondered about that moment: will I cry tears of shame when He asks about this sin, or that one? Will I cry tears of thankfulness and utter, complete humility as I realize the fullness of His sacrifice for me at the cross?
I am always thankful, after the fact, when I look back at these times of refining fire in my life. I feel more prepared to face my Savior in heaven because I have faced Him in new ways here on earth. There is a verse that always comes to mind as I ponder salvation and what it means to come to a more complete realization of Christ's gift. My salvation is a "done deal" - completed when He hung on the cross, and realized when I first believed in that fact at age 5. Yet I won't understand it fully until I stand in His presence. So what does this verse (Philippians 2:12-13) mean? ...continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. Continue to work it out? It's already accomplished - and "not by works of righteousness which I have done, but by His glory He saved us"! (Titus 3:5) Yet, when I receive a gift, that isn't supposed to be the end of the story, is it? I'm sure the Giver hopes that I will use the gift, understand it's import, be thankful for it and be changed by it. And that is where the "boiling point" takes me...a new level of understanding and thankfulness.
That's where I am today. A new level. Coming down from the boil. Still at a simmer. Still evaporating. Still refining. Still praising God for cancer and - even more merciful - good news.
Support me in the whelming flood.
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my Hope and Stay.
~ The Solid Rock, Edward Mote, 1797
1. Vapor & heat roll off the sap pot in profile in the afternoon sun.I feel as though I've been in the giant vat, at the boiling point, for the past year. My dross is being brought to the surface. I am being purified, condensed, refined. Cancer is the fire under the vat, raising the stakes of life - and death - and forcing me to confront the hidden corners of the soul that I've left linger for so long. Crisis is what takes us out of the ordinary and makes us face the deepest parts of ourselves that we hide from sight. Even our sight. It seems so silly to me, in retrospect, that I've ever tried to hide self from self. Yet I know, deep down, there are still many ways that I am hiding. Though I strive for truthfulness and authenticity as I walk each day as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, I won't really be laid truly bare until that moment in heaven, when I stand before Christ and hear my name read from the Book of Life. I've often wondered about that moment: will I cry tears of shame when He asks about this sin, or that one? Will I cry tears of thankfulness and utter, complete humility as I realize the fullness of His sacrifice for me at the cross?
I am always thankful, after the fact, when I look back at these times of refining fire in my life. I feel more prepared to face my Savior in heaven because I have faced Him in new ways here on earth. There is a verse that always comes to mind as I ponder salvation and what it means to come to a more complete realization of Christ's gift. My salvation is a "done deal" - completed when He hung on the cross, and realized when I first believed in that fact at age 5. Yet I won't understand it fully until I stand in His presence. So what does this verse (Philippians 2:12-13) mean? ...continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. Continue to work it out? It's already accomplished - and "not by works of righteousness which I have done, but by His glory He saved us"! (Titus 3:5) Yet, when I receive a gift, that isn't supposed to be the end of the story, is it? I'm sure the Giver hopes that I will use the gift, understand it's import, be thankful for it and be changed by it. And that is where the "boiling point" takes me...a new level of understanding and thankfulness.
That's where I am today. A new level. Coming down from the boil. Still at a simmer. Still evaporating. Still refining. Still praising God for cancer and - even more merciful - good news.