Wake to rainbows, sleep to purple moons


We wake, one morning early last week, to a rainbow. My camera doesn't capture it in its glory of the just-blooming dawn sky. But we all stand on the porch in awe, the covenant sign filling our hearts. I will never destroy you again.


That night, the moon is bright orange and falling too quickly from the sky, and I set the camera to catch it's color. The picture turns out like a pillar of fire in the night sky. I remember the Israelites, led out of Egypt by a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Led out of captivity by these pillars, and yet even as the pillars are swirling in plain view, they still have doubt.


The next night, it is a fingernail moon shining pink in a lavender sunset sky. Again, click goes the shutter. A wink at the glory of God on display for all to see.

The diversity of life overwhelmed me, yesterday, as I sat in my porch swing and thought about my troubles and peace begins to overtake as the cricket song cracks the shell on my hurting heart, as the bright yellow of the goldenrod bends in the wind, and I smell the oats growing for hay in the field. If this world keeps spinning on it's axis, and all this amazing conglomeration of creatures and plants and rains and winds keeps calling me to praise, my troubles melt. Yet, like the Israelites, doubts can crowd out the cricket song and the goldenrod waves. I remember this time, quickly, to "turn my mind". Because, from beginning to end, He has sustained me and loved me and never forsaken.



You are the First and the 
Last Beginning and the End 
The promise of wonders to come 
The future is in Your hands 
Caught in the light 
With all the earth we will sing 
You are the author of love 
Our freedom within Your Name 
Embracing the cross meant for us 
And bought us to life again 

Caught in the love 
With all we are we will sing 

God our hope Our salvation 
Worthy of all the praise 
Be our light Everlasting 
Great is Your Name Jesus 
the First and the Last 
Show us the way of Your love 
Lead us toward the truth 
Stir up the fire in us 
To live out this life for You 

Caught in Your Name Jesus 
forever we'll sing 

Every heart every nation will hear the sound 
As Your light breaks through the darkness 
And Your Name rings out 
Every distant horizon will meet as one 
Singing holy is Your Name 
We sing holy is Your Name 

You are the first and the last 
You are the Alpha and Omega 
The beginning and the end 
Our salvation 
You bring freedom God 
Your grace knows nowhere 
You are the name above all names 
Forever now I'll stand 
You are the first and the last 
You are the first and the last
~First and the Last, Hillsong ~




How we love


Life has taught me this 
Everyday is new 
 And if anything is true 
 All that matters when we're through 
 Is how we love 

Faced with what we lack Some things fall apart 
 From the ashes the will dream start 
 All that matters to the heart is how we love 

How we love 
How we love 

From the smallest act of kindness 
In a world that smart and hurt
In spite of our mistakes chances come again
If we lose or if we win
All that matters in the end is how we love

How we love
How we love

I will not forget your kindness when I needed it so much
Some times we forget, trying to be so strong
In this world of right and wrong
All that matters when we've gone
All that mattered all along
All we have that carries on
Is how we love



This is what God is teaching me through cancer
through pacemakers
through abdominal surgeries
babies lost
weakened immune system
depression
anxiety

Every day, the only thing that matters at the end is how we loved.

The best of therapies




She has a seizure about once a month, while she's falling asleep. Many days she loses control of her bowel or bladder, still, at almost five. She has her raspy Bostonian lisp that reminds everyone of Fran Drescher, but through speech therapy, is relearning how to use her tongue to swallow and speak more clearly.


She's a quirky one, with hilarious postures, faces, and ways of pairing words that often has our whole family in giggles. She's stick straight stiff-limbed and melts only after a half hour of rhythmic rocking and sucking at bedtime. Even then, she sleeps stiff, and I have to use force to bend her joints when I carry her back to her bed from ours in the dark of the night.


Her eyes don't always track together, and she is a klutzy one, running into things frequently and forever bonking her head and nose on things, with a torrent of tears to follow.


But the best of therapies for my child-forever-changed are the simple things in life. Riding horseback with the York girls. Jumping on her trampoline. Going swimming. Conversing over books with Mama.


I wonder if it is different for any other child? We all have our quirks, our weaknesses and strengths. I am in therapy myself, and there I learn about fear and anxiety and how it steals from the moment you're in and borrows trouble from tomorrow.


So I try to let her do what she can, try to protect her, but allow her freedom. I try not to imagine a 20-year-old who sleeps in a diaper and poops in her pants. I try to believe that she will be fully functional as an adult, and just focus on the moment. Watching her navigate the barn stairs in her own fashion. Smiling huge over the horses, and giving her deep, tenor belly laugh so many hundreds of times each day.

Please, Lord, keep healing. And keep us all focused on the ABILITY in disability. The CAN in can't. The many prayers answered instead of the prayers still being prayed.
There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but in all of them and in everyone it is the same God at work. Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good. All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he distributes them to each one, just as he determines. (from I Corinthians 12)

An angel named Tony


Last night, I met an angel. Aaron and I both. At least we think we did. He pushed past us on the way to the microphone, and whispered to me, "This one's for you." Immediately, upon his touch, the goosebumps and hair standing on end told me to listen up. I looked over at Aaron, and he was pointing to the lyrics on the screen. He knew this was something big right away, and so did I.


I live in fear that, as I struggle through the muddy bog of past memories and trauma, someday the feed spout will quit spouting. Yet every time I open the feed spout - the yellow leather of my Bible, the Living Word - He has words for me. Today it was:
"Come let us return to the Lord; for he has torn us, that he may heal us; he has struck us down, and he will bind us up. After two days he will revive us, on the third day he will raise us up, that we may live before him. Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord; his going out is sure as the dawn, he will come to us as the shower, as the spring rains that water the earth. What shall I do with you, O Ephraim? What shall I do with you, O Judah? Your love is like a morning cloud, like the dew that goes early away. Therefore I have hewn you by the prophets; I have slain them by the words of my mouth, and my judgment goes forth as the light. For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings. (Hosea 6:1-6)
These verses speak deep, to my sacrificial but fleeting thoughts of the God who jealously desires my every waking moment. To the discipline He has meted out to me in the face of my failures and deep, caustic sins in my high school and college years. To the time between when he tears us to the time he raises us up. It is not immediate, the rise again. He allows us to sit in our pain for until that third day. I am sitting in that pain now, and waiting for His revival.


I desire peace more than anything else. From the moment I wake up to the moment sleep finally relieves me of my memories, I look for peace like treasure, in the moments in my swing on the porch, in the quiet, resting house when the children are sleeping, in the coolness of twilight and browsing around behind the lens of a camera. I play peace in my melancholy improvisations on the piano and I write peace in my journal. But I am still torn.

And so He sent an angel to sing to us last night. A man named Tony, a huge man, with a voice like gold and gravel all mixed up together. And this is what we heard.

Up and down that lonely road of faith 
I have been there 
Unprepared for the storms and the tides that rise 
I've realized one thing, how much I love you 
And it hurts to see, see you cryin' 

I believe we can make it through the winds of change 
God is great indeed If you believe, in the everlife 
Yeah we gotta 
Make some sense of the peace that's not defined 
And if you just hold on, I won't let ya fall 
We can make it through the storms and the winds of change 
Though I walk through the valley of darkness 
I am not afraid 
Cause I know I'm not alone 

And if the wind blows east, would you follow me 
And if the wind blows north, would ya stay your course 
And if the wind blows west, would ya second guess 
And if it blows to the south, would you count me out 
And if the sun don't shine, would you still be mine
And if the sky turns grey, would you walk away
Would you say I do, if I say I'll be 
And walk this road through life with me 
You know I love you  
On this lonely road of faith 
On this lonely road of faith

I never thought I'd hear the truth - be bound to my husband through this trial, even tighter - from a barfly named Tony in the lyrics of Kid Rock. But I'm still riding high today, because I know that feeling, when the angel touches you, and I had it again last night. God hasn't left me. He is waiting to raise me up and give me the peace I so desire..."make some sense of the peace that's not defined".

I met him again - Tony - the man Tony, at the same karaoke night the next week. He couldn't remember the song, and said he didn't know it. When he sang, tears came to my eyes, but not because of the gold and gravel. It was gone, and all that was left was a flat-pitched sweaty man singing about everything but Jesus Christ.

I thanked him anyway, for singing in an angel's voice to me the week before. He looked at me like I had sprouted horns and went back to his shots of vodka and pitchers of beer.












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