When Life Interrupts Yours

Dad and Mama, Christmas 2014

So my last post was in September. This, after several years of blogging regularly. I have many good reasons, some of which I'll be writing about in the coming days.

At the top of the list: my sweet dad, who was in precarious health for a few years, reached a crisis point at the end of October, and he passed away on November 21. It's hard to even type that. It's almost impossible to even think it, much less "accept." And it's been almost four months.

My sister, who blogs regularly at Ministry and Motherhood, wrote an amazing (a word I rarely use because it is so patently overused, but in this case it's a good fit) post while Dad was in hospice: Thankful, Tired, and Traumatized. I point you there because it's perfect, written far better than I have words for right now.

I've composed posts in my head, but I can't seem to get them out yet. One day. For now, I re-read Alicia's post, look at the photos, and grieve.

The Power and Necessity of Human Touch

“It’s this way,” my dear friend said, smiling over her shoulder at us. Miss Priss and I followed her from the waiting room into a hive of activity. Pedicure clients lined the wall to the left, feet soaking, buffing, sloughing, and toenails filing. To the right were manicure tables and hair stylist chairs, some occupied, others waiting for the next clients. And everywhere students dressed in black moved purposefully, carrying tools of the trade, chatting with clients, mixing mysterious potions, talking with each other, comparing notes.

My friend and the fellow student she’d introduced to us opened a door and instantly everything changed. The hubbub of the cosmetology part of the school disappeared as the door closed behind us. We entered the realm of the aestheticians-in-training. Delicious scents enticed us. Piano music enveloped us. And a sense of calm descended upon us.

Miss Priss and I smiled at each other. We had come for facials.

Within a few moments, we were besmocked and swaddled in blankets atop comfy padded tables, our hair pulled back and protected by towels. By a happy stroke of fortunate timing, Miss Priss and I were the only clients there.

And then the loveliness began.

*************************************

We seem to be losing the beauty of human touch in our culture. Too often, touching is seen as a negative, something forced upon us, unwanted, perhaps even violent.

Touching is even discouraged. Teachers can no longer hug their students. Strangers lean away from one another. The fear of misinterpretation immobilizes us.

Human touch has been relegated to Displays of Affection Only. And what a loss. We crave touch. Babies from whom human touch is withheld fail to thrive. Those who live alone wither either in spirit or in body and often in both without the benefit – the benediction – of another’s touch.

This fact comes home to me clearly when I’ve served food to homeless men in a church shelter downtown. Many of them, young and old, squeeze my hand in thanks when they come to the kitchen window for second helpings. They don’t have to. Some just say thank you. Some simply smile. Others, however, reach out and grasp my hand, giving my fingers a light squeeze. For a second we connect and then part, both of us a strengthened by even such brief contact.

My friend says that quite a few of their aesthetics clients are elderly and frail. They often express quiet gratitude to her at the end of their treatments. “Oh, thank you,” they sigh, as she helps them to sit up. She wonders about them. Do they live alone? Are they lonely? Who takes care of them? More importantly, who cares for them?

As I lay quietly on the table and my precious friend’s fingertips lightly skimmed over my skin, it came to my mind that aestheticians are in the enviable position of ministering to others through touch. In a time when so many of us are hampered, hindered by fears, suspicions, and, frankly, the concern of being misunderstood, aestheticians and others in such professions freely give us what we yearn for, what we need: human touch.

To each client they say without words, I acknowledge you as a fellow human being worthy of my time and consideration and compassion. They understand and take seriously the gift they have to impart to others. Their hands bestow a temporary peace. A blessing.

Photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/tamaar/3480501471/">Tamara van Molken</a> / <a href="http://foter.com">Foter</a> / <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">CC BY-NC-ND</a>

Community Caring in a Tossed Salad

I just finished making a tossed salad and will be taking it to our neighborhood clubhouse inn a few minutes. A family whom I do not know lost their teenage daughter just before Christmas. More than a year ago, she was hit by a car while crossing a busy intersection. She was at fault, but somehow that simply didn;t matter as she lay in a coma for weeks after ward and then woke up to a frightening a shocking new world of nonverbal paralysis.

Oh merciful Father in heaven. . . .

Several neighbors made arrangements to take meals to the family when caring for their daughter became a full-time job. When I took a chicken pot pie, I was humbled by the father's quiet gratitude and graciousness. "Homemade chicken pot pie," he said, smiling. "That will be a treat!"

This evening they will say goodbye to their child, they and other family and her many friends. Again, several of us in the neighborhood will provide food for this, their celebration of their daughter's life. As I chopped mushrooms and sliced tomatoes, my heart said all the things that I know I will not be able to say, words that seem meaningless in the chasm left by their beloved.

I'm sorry.

I don't know you, but I grieve for your loss.

Perhaps they will hear those words and the words of other neighbors in the pasta casserole, the chocolate cake, the veggie tray.

Here is our love.

In the beginning. . .

Photo credit

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God. And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

-- John 1, selected verses, KJV


Blessings for a merry Christmas as we celebrate Emmanuel, God with us.

Before They Push Their Boats from the Safe Shore

Photo credit

Earlier today, Miss Priss finished reading Jack and Jill, by Louisa May Alcott, and she quite enjoyed it. At the end, she called me into the family room, where she was curled up under a blanket on the couch, to read aloud to me the last paragraph. We both thought it was lovely and wanted to share it with you. Perhaps you'll be inspired to add this book to your children's reading list.

There are many such boys and girls, full of high hopes, lovely possibilities, and earnest plans, pausing a moment before they push their little boats from the safe shore. Let those who launch them see to it that they have good health to man the oars, good education for ballast, and good principles as pilots to guide them as they voyage down an ever-widening river to the sea.

Words both wise and true, don't you think?

I have been considering today that the second sentence ought to be my mission statement, since I serve as both parent and teacher. As we all know it is far too easy to get turned aside by the minutiae of life. Often, I allow the tricky trivialities to have too much power in the day to day. These little tempests in teacups are tricky because they seem important -- critical, even -- at the time, but are mere and momentary distractions, blips in the big picture.

If I reduce down to the essentials those things I want my children to carry with them when they push their boats into the stream, it comes to this:

• Your faith is not only the foundation of your life, it is the structural support. Stand firm in its truth.
• Your education is a lifelong pursuit. Never stop learning.
• Your principles define your character. Strive to be Christ-like in all you do.

But if I say all this and don't live it myself, then all my words are like chaff in the wind. Do I live like my faith is the structural support in my life? Do I pursue my own education? Do I exemplify Christ in my life? My answers, as always, tend to be, Not as much as I want to. Not as much as I need to.

How much better we'd all be if I focused on the essentials and not the ephemera; if I talked less and lived more; and if I welcomed in grace and ushered out the useless pursuit of perfection.

What a blessing that would be.

A Celebration of Sabbath

I’ve slept late the last two mornings. Shamelessly late. I’ve drunk coffee until almost noon. Flavored coffee with full-fat cream. I’ve read my books at brunch while munching homemade muesli with chopped nuts, dried cranberries, and brown sugar. I’ve savored chocolates brought to me from Germany. Soft chocolate drops filled with lime cream.

It feels richly decadent.

I’m writing this on my deck, sipping Lemon Zinger iced tea and watching the children swim in the lake. The temperature is perfect; the air is clean and clear. I’ve quieted the “shoulds” and “musts,” all the things I need to do, the remaining plans to make for the upcoming school year…

It feels quiet. Wonderful.

After months of a life that’s best described as reined-in chaos, I finally feel relaxed. An ahhhh has settled into my soul.

I know it won’t last. It can’t last. Like the speaker in Frost’s poem, I, too, have promises to keep. And I’m glad for those promises, those responsibilities. They are the best of privileges.

Is that perhaps why we feel guilty, like we're wasting time, when we say yes to the calm, the quiet, the peaceful? Shouldn't we be doing something? With our lists, our plans, and our responsibilities, we who are so used to doing much and filling our lives with busy-ness can actually feel anxious at the thought of basking in sabbath.

Jesus knows me, and He knows what I need, personally, to best fulfill all He has asked me to do. A time of rest and refreshment -- and a bit of chocolate – restores me.

I wonder why we often neglect to refresh ourselves in the gracious blessings the Lord sprinkles throughout our lives? Especially those of us whose lives are lived nourishing others, serving, reaching out, drawing in, encouraging, daily clasping to ourselves the things of God so that we may open our arms wide and offer it abundantly to other souls.

In the last couple of months I've noticed that my offerings have seemed small, not so much in the size of the service but very much in the spirit of my serving. Is reluctant service really service? Or is it merely another chore? I’m not sure.

But I am sure that it's time to rest.

So I say a resounding YES to this blessing of respite with a heart full of gratitude. And I pray you will, too, whenever respite is offered to you, in whatever form, small or large. This is one of God’s marvelous gifts to you.

This morning, my dear friend called to me from the beach, where she was wading in the lake. “The water is so gorgeous today! Isn’t this the life?”

Yes. It most certainly is.

Lovely photo courtesy Foter.

Pentecost

Today in worship, a lovely woman with a gorgeous voice sang Twila Paris's song "How Beautiful." Typically associated with Easter, it's also appropriate for Pentecost, the day the Holy Spirit graced the world.

We are the body of Christ.

In the Gray Light of Dawn

Day three of my rising much earlier than the girls. I wonder how long it will last. I have good intentions, but you know where those lead.

To carve out time for myself and my own pursuits -- writing and reading -- I've finally succumbed to the obvious: I have to get up earlier and get these done before our day begins. Otherwise, there's no time. When there's no time, I don't attend to my own needs for creativity. After several weeks of this, I get fretful.

So I've given myself a new direction. I wake early, before anyone else. I make coffee in the semi-darkness of my kitchen. I watch the birds at the feeders in the gray light. I tap the keys on the computer keyboard. I accomplish something, even if that something is only first-draft quality. At least it's something. Far better than nothing.

And I find I breathe easier throughout the day.

Let me hasten to add I am of the mindset that the overall idea of "me-time" can be a dangerous one. (This fabulous article by Amy Roberts convinced me even further. Have a read.) We must constantly be on guard that we are not falling for what the world insists we need.

However, we are all given gifts and talents to use to build the church, encourage others, and give glory to God. My personal experience is this: if I neglect those gifts, I feel a heaviness in my spirit that I can't ignore. Perhaps you've felt the same in areas of your life. I've finally come to realize that this heaviness has a much deeper meaning than merely my own selfish needs not being met (my previous thought process).

So I sit at my desk, planning, thinking, moving words around in my head, gauging how they feel. I sip fresh-brewed coffee -- Krispy Kreme's Signature House Blend, a gift from Himself -- and listen to the birdsong and the rainfall. I pray that God will use this time, use me, to bring Him glory, whatever that may look like in His perfect plan.

When It's Hard to Trust

For more than a year now, I've been quietly seeking out some sort of paid work in my field (writing and editing) that I can do at home. We'd like to be debt free. The girls and I are in the preliminary stages of planning a long trip to the UK in a year or two, and I'd like to earn some money in order to make that a more likely occurrence. Plus, college looms in the not-so-distant future. I feel a need to contribute something to the family finances.

So I prayed, and I was pleasantly surprised when work opportunities fell into my path: editing a doctoral project paper for a seminarian; a contract writing position with a company in Britain; a request for article proposals for a home ed magazine, which a friend let me know about; several tutoring queries in response to an ad I placed. All of these except one came to nothing. And the one that did work out was not only the least lucrative, but also worked out differently that I'd anticipated: the article will not be in the magazine after all, but in one of two other publications (they haven't yet decided which).

It's difficult for me when a situation looks good -- an answer to prayer, actually -- and then it evaporates. Usually I am comforted by the fact that God knows best. But when that same scenario plays out over and over, like falling dominoes. . . . My peace and some of my trust, to be honest, begin to evaporate as well. If none of these is part of your plan for me, Lord, then why are they dropping like plums around me? Why raise my hopes with each one?

It's mentally exhausting.

In fact, it wears me out. I recently located two more freelance opportunities, but both require some effort on my part to apply. Instead of rising to the occasion with enthusiasm, I find I'm responding with skepticism and, even worse, apathy. Why bother? It will be a waste of time. Again.

I'm not one of those people who hears God's voice clear as a bell. I want what Anne Lamott wants: a clear message from God spelled out in "cornflakes in the snow." But He works more quietly with me, and I know He has His reasons why. Whatever his reasons, I tend to baby-step into the unknown, blindfolded, ahnds groping in front of me.

Example: I never heard an edict from the Lord regarding our decision to homeschool. Instead, I had a germ of an idea, which grew from something I said to myself when Miss Priss was in public school first grade, "There must be a better way." Then I did what I always do: I researched the topic. I read books and websites; I talked to people; I visited the homes of homeschooling families to see them in action. I prayed, but I never got a direct answer yea or nay. Finally, I prayed, "Lord, if this is not what I'm supposed to do, then take away my interest and fill me with peace and satisfaction in our public school."

The opposite happened. I figured that was my answer.

I'm still struggling with my hopes for work. I know in my head that the Lord works all things together for my ultimate good. But my spirit is smarting with bitter disappointment. It can be hard to trust when seemingly good things come to naught.

And yet I do not want my faith to be tied to my circumstances. Nothing that happens in my life can in any way diminish who God is; His "God-ness," so to speak, supersedes everything. And while my sin nature encourages me to whine -- and to be honest, I think a certain degree of disappointment is okay -- God is big enough to handle my less-than-fabulous behavior. And for that I give him more thanks than I can express.

So tonight I pray for grace to be patient and a heart to hear whatever He wants me to hear. And if He wants me to walk blindfolded, I'll still hold my hands out; but instead of blindly groping, I'll reach for Him.

Are You Looking Ahead to the Next Year?

About this time, many a homeschooling parent's mind turns to plans for the next school year. I know mine does. If you use a boxed curriculum, attend a virtual school, or just plan to keep on keepin' on with what you've already got going, then planning's a breeze. Or, if you're more like me, you start with a basic framework, add some elements, subtract others, touch it up here and there with some embellishments -- all in accordance with your vision for your children's education, your family's beliefs and values, and your children's learning styles/preferences.

For example, (I LOVE examples! I'm that kind of person.) folks with a literary bent may select a Charlotte Mason-style curriculum and then add in notebooking. Another family with a more classical emphasis (a la The Well-Trained Mind) may opt for extra hands-on activities or visual elements to their studies, such as videos or movies. And then the eclectically-minded choose from the entire smorgasboard.

So many choices! So much responsibility. It can be enough to make a mama lose some sleep at night.

I'm one who has a firm foundation, and that's Ambleside Online. I start there, and I mostly stay there. But I must admit, I'm one who likes to look over the smorgasboard. If you do, too, let me point you to Curriculum Choice, an excellent curriculum review website. (Let me hastily point out that I am in no way swayed because I'm a reviewer there -- I'm only a newbie!) It helps me tremendously to read what other homeschooling parents think about curricula and resources and what their experiences have been like.

Tip: If you're considering a specific curriculum or resources that hasn't yet been reviewed on Curriculum Choice, just Google the name of the product along with the word review. Bingo! A wealth of information at your fingertips.

Another idea: you've probably hung onto many of your homeschooling help books. I know lots of us re-read our favorites to inspire and refresh us anew. I flip through mine for highlightings, things I noted in the past and now we've reached the point to use. I see where I can add those items to our year's plan.

I'm an avid blog reader. Seriously, there's not enough time in my life to read all the blogs I want to with the level of commitment I wish I could devote. And I learn so much! I'm forever bookmarking blogs and websites on my Favorites bar.

Think of the blogs you most like to peruse for practical information and how-tos. (Aside: I know I "should" write how-to's for the sake of clarity, but I cannot STAND to put an apostrophe where it does not belong. An apostrophe shows possession; it does not indicate a plural. I beg your forbearance.) Then set aside some time to peruse those blogs. You may want to rise earlier than the children one day (or a few days) to give yourself this luxury. Read archived posts; click on links. I am almost always rewarded with gems when I take time to research my favorite blogs.

I have highlighted links to helpful homeschooling websites on my blog's sidebars. If there's one (or a few) that you haven't checked out, the planning stage is a great time to do it.

But the very first thing I do before I begin to plan is pray. I ask for guidance, wisdom in decisions, and rejuvenation on this journey. After that, I don't feel like the full responsibility of my children's education weighs on my shoulders alone. And that is a lovely, freeing feeling.

My in-laws send us lots of things via email: photos, jokes, links to slideshows, and the like. This afternoon, they sent a link to this UK ad. Perhaps you've seen it; it has more than 14 million viewings on YouTube, after all. But I hadn't seen it, and I wanted to share something beautiful with you. One of the YouTube commenters (which I've learned to read with care as no one edits or moderates those comments) remarked on the "strength and love in the woman's face."

A New Diagnosis

I may as well give up for the week! The doctor diagnosed Miss Priss with pneumonia this morning, and now Tiny Girl is also on breathing treatments for her cough. I am so thankful for a lot today:

- good medical care
- medicines in our reach, like Orapred and Augmentin
- home nebulizer machines that keep children out of the hospital
- the girls feel well enough to continue our readings (with my reading aloud)

Situations like these clutch at my heart for those who are less fortunate than we. What if I couldn't get the medicine? Or it was too expensive? What if a home nebulizer machine was out of my reach? How would I face a restrictive list of options while my child struggles to breathe?

I have fears for my child's health, of course, but I also know she's getting the best medical care. And that certainty is priceless. What if I knew more could be done, but I couldn't afford it? What would it be like to suffer that particular certainty? I could attempt to empathize, but that's just Method acting and guesswork.

So while I snuggle with my precious children, I can't stop thinking about other precious children who suffer. I know the Lord is at work within me.

"Do you see the least of them?" He asks me. "Do you see them?"

A Blessed Christmas to You All

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,
and with fear and trembling stand;
ponder nothing earthly minded,
for with blessing in his hand
Christ our God to earth descendeth,
our full homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,
as of old on earth he stood,
Lord of lords in human vesture,
in the Body and the Blood
he will give to all the faithful
his own self for heavenly food.

Rank on rank the host of heaven
spreads its vanguard on the way,
as the Light of Light descendeth
from the realms of endless day,
that the powers of hell may vanish
as the darkness clears away.

At his feet the six-winged seraph;
cherubim with sleepless eye,
veil their faces to the Presence,
as with ceaseless voice they cry,
"Alleluia, alleluia!
Alleluia, Lord Most High!"

-- The Divine Liturgy of Saint James, Fourth (or Fifth) Century A.D.

Here are two renditions perfect for the mystery of the miracle. The first is an instrumental.



The second is an a cappella solo.



May the peace of Christ, which transcends all understanding, rest on you and yours this season and forevermore.

Keeping the Sabbath

Last week, I started a new Bible study called Brave, by Angela Thomas. It's my neighborhood study, which I've attended for years. Whatever Carol, the teacher (and one of my dearest friends) chooses as the curriculum is fine by me. Who wouldn't want to be brave, right?

So I was surprised when I delved into the first week's work and found that the topic was weariness. Actually, I wasn't surprised as much as I was struck. I've been weary for a while now, not just in body but in spirit, too. It really couldn't be a coincidence. Could it?

Well, in a word, no. There are no coincidences with God.

But just so you know, I am not one of those women who can say with confidence, "God told me to... (fill in the blank)." God doesn't really tell me anything. I sort of baby-step along, and if a red flag pops up or I feel miserable about something, then I pretty much know that's a NO from God. It's all very What About Bob? in my life. (Aside: What About Bob? is a funny movie if you haven't seen it. Very quotable, which in my house, makes it a good thing. Bob baby-steps a lot.)

Back to Brave. And weariness.

One of many excellent points Angela makes in this study is the importance of a Sabbath rest: "The Sabbath rest is God's gift to us" (p. 23). She goes on to say, "To observe the Sabbath we should worship the Lord and rest from our work. . . . On the Sabbath I rest from my work and all the words and studying. To make dinner for my family is a joy for me. It restores me. I believe I have permission from God to enjoy what feels like rest for me" (ibid.).

In years past, I've had more of a Sabbath attitude than I do now. Saturdays were usually errand and work days, and I left Sundays for reading or crocheting while Himself watched sports on TV or (yes!) even napping. All after church, of course.

But things have changed. My Saturdays are often busy with my children's activities, which leaves Sundays for school planning, errands, work around the house, etc. This is clearly not working for me. Why have I ignored God's gift to me?

Caught up in the busy-ness of our lives, I have viewed the day of rest as another day in which to get things done. And instead of feeling a sense of accomplishment, I've felt exhausted.

I need to get back into a Sabbath mindset. But what does that look like in my life? After a bit of thought, I believe it means a day of no planning, no schoolwork, no computer. I'd also like for it to be a day of low cooking and housekeeping responsibilities.

What about you? Do you need to establish a Sabbath practice in your life? Or, if you already do, what are your thoughts? Care to share?

The Personal Within the Mystery

Today we observed World Communion Sunday at my church. The music was inspiring, the hymns meaningful, and we celebrated communion in my most favorite way: intinction. In case this is unfamiliar to you, I give you these words from:

Wikipedia: "Intinction is the Eucharistic practice of partly dipping the consecrated bread, or host, into the consecrated wine before consumption by the communicant."

Merriam-Webster Dictionary: "the administration of the sacrament of Communion by dipping bread in wine and giving both together to the communicant"

I realize that some faith traditions have a problem with intinction theologically, but I try not to get bogged down in questions such as these. Instead, I immerse myself in the moment. Here's what happened this morning.

I stand with my pew row and walk to the front of the church with my family while the choir sings You Satisfy the Hungry Heart. I'm directed to a station where two ministers stand holding the elements. I select a piece of bread from the basket.

This is the body of Christ...

I dip it into the cup.

The blood of Christ shed for you, Ellen.

I partake and return to my pew.

There was no lightning bolt, no mystic vision, no epiphany. I was merely one of hundreds in worship this morning who came forward to dip bread into cup. And yet...

And yet.

For me, intinction as a means of celebrating the sacrament of the Lord's Supper is much more personal than the pass-the-tray-along-the-pew method. It's more active, requiring commitment on my part. I stand. I come forward. I take the elements. Then, those beautiful words.

The blood of Christ. Shed for me.

And since the ministers know me by name, I am called by name. No longer just one of the crowd, I am known. And it means so much to me that I am known -- not by the ministers, you understand -- but known by Jesus.

This is for you, Ellen, all for you.

It's all for you, too.

The F-Word for Christians

My women's small group (there are five of us) met yesterday at church. We've been together for several years and know each other very well. As one of us related a story involving a particularly frustrating and disappointing event, another one piped up, "Here it comes. The Christian f-word."

I cocked an eyebrow at her. (Lifting one eyebrow is a useful skill; that one action conveys so much meaning.)

She grinned back at me. "You know," she said. "Fine."

Sure enough, the story-relater ended with: "Everything will work out. It'll all be fine."

And we all laughed. Because she said it. The f-word.

Fine.

Don't we all say it?

How are you? You seemed sad yesterday.
Oh, I'm fine.

How's your brother? (The one who's divorcing.)
Pretty good. He'll be fine.

And one of my favorite examples comes from a woman I know who called a friend's husband to check on the friend after one of her many ultimately useless chemotherapy treatments:

"So how's she doing?"

Husband replied, "She's good. She's fine."

The woman I know thought to herself, "She's dying, but she's totally fine."

No matter what's falling apart, we're all just fine.

I suppose one reason we automatically reach for the f-word when people ask about our lives is the whole "keep a stiff upper lip" philosophy. After all, everyone has problems, right? And whining is so unattractive.

Also, fine functions supremely well as a self-imposed gag. It's one thing to keep our bad stuff inside our own minds; but to give voice to them is to make them more real, to acknowledge that something is not okay. And once we've spoken, can we ever take it back?

And the f-word has another seductive quality: it keeps other people at arm's length and ourselves under control. Perhaps it was easier for the husband in the story above to tell people his wife was fine than it was to admit that his world was turning to ashes and there was nothing he could do about it.

Of course, sometimes fine means just that: everything is wonderful. For me, however, that word has taken on new significance. It's now a red flag, albeit a small one, alerting me to the possibility of a knee-jerk response, that there might be more to the story. I pray for wisdom to discern when that might be the case.

And I pray for grace enough to take the time, when someone answers me breezily "Oh, I'm fine," to respond gently, "Honestly? Because if not, I want to do what I can to help."

Shadows

What language shall I borrow
to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever,
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love to Thee.
    -- attr. Bernard of Clairvaux,
1091-1153

Knocked Off Balance

The phone rang before breakfast. Nothing unusual. It was one of my best friends, who often calls in the morning before our homeschooling days fully swing into action. When I answered, she immediately asked:

"Have you checked your email yet?"

No, I hadn't.

She named another close, mutual friend. "Her dad died last night."

And everything changed.

Birth, death, emergencies. These are the things for which we don't schedule or pencil into our calendars. Even "planned" C-sections happen when they happen; it's really difficult to custom-order life passages. So when something unexpected bursts in on the scene, we're at once surprised, knocked off balance, discombobulated. And if that something is a loss, we're also shocked. Grieved.

Four of us got together via phone communication and discussed the best ways to help. Our dear friend and her family had a long drive ahead of them, decisions to make, responsibilities (of which they have many) to hand off or complete before their departure, and a lot on their minds. So we got snacks for the car trip and a gas card to help with travel expenses. We made several meals: muffins and fruit salad for breakfasts; soups; chicken salad, ham salad, and homemade bread for lunches; and several casseroles for immediate suppers or to freeze for later.

And we prayed.

I did my best to orchestrate something of a school day for my girls while in a cooking frenzy, with only minor success. But I was also aware of the life experience this episode provided for my children. Things happen in this world that surprise us with turmoil and throw our plans into disarray. They not only upset our schedule, they change our perspective about what's most important at that moment. And we respond, not with annoyance, but with grace.

Our schedules and our plans necessarily take on the role of lesser things as we gather around the one who's suffering.

We pray, and we help. We help, and we pray.

Ashes

I grew up in a denomination that doesn't formally recognize Ash Wednesday, and even though I am now part of a denomination that does, I'd never been to this particular worship service. Miss Priss had expressed a desire to attend. She was intrigued with the idea of ashes marked on her forehead, and she longed to celebrate communion by intinction, an ancient custom in which worshipers come forward to the altar, take a piece of bread, dip it in a cup of wine/grape juice, and then partake.

But she vacillated. It was raining hard. The thought of a game of Clue with the family in front of a nice fire was appealing. So I changed my plans also. Instead of showering, I took a nap, something I love to do on rainy afternoons, and put off supper plans until later.

Imagine my irritation when she announced, an hour and a half before the service was to begin, that she'd decided she'd really like to go. No argument from me about how this was now a difficulty made a difference to her. Muttering with frustration, I jumped into the shower, and an hour later we departed, leaving Himself and Tiny Girl at home, everyone supperless.

It's possible I could have been in a mood even further from worshipful than I actually was, but I have trouble imagining it.

Sitting in the darkened sanctuary, surrounded by friends and strangers, I found myself untangling on the inside. I breathed more freely. I relaxed. I smiled at Miss Priss when she caught my eye and returned my smile. We held hands.

The service began, and together the congregation heard again the old story of Abram and Sarai on a journey from Ur to Haran and from there to Canaan. We considered God's faithfulness along their journey. And we connected that particular journey to our personal journey through Lent toward Easter. We joined our voices in hymns of praise.

When it was our turn to go forward and receive the sacrament and marks of ashes, I stood behind my little girl, my hands on her shoulders and my heart full. We smiled at each other as we walked back to our pew; she knows intinction is my favorite way to celebrate communion. And I was so thankful for the grace that flooded through me during worship and changed me.

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,

because the LORD has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
               Isaiah 61:1-3a

Happy Birthday, Tiny Girl!

Today is Tiny Girl's tenth -- tenth -- birthday! We took the day off from school to celebrate. Her heart's desire was to go to the mall, so we did. She got a couple of pairs of shorts; some new shoes; some clothes for her Build-a-Bear bunny, Daphne; and lunch at Chick-fil-a. Then, tonight after church, we scarfed down a delicious lemon cake in honor of the day, she opened some cards -- and is now rich by her standards -- and Grammie and Grandad, as well as her sweet Aunt Lala, called to sing Happy Birthday.

Ah, bliss.

Words desert me when I try to convey in any way what a blessing she is to our family. Certainly, all children are blessings from heaven. But Tiny Girl was not only unplanned for, she was also unlooked for, and I was not delighted when I discovered I was expecting her, for a host of reasons.

But.

She is yet another marvelous, glorious example of how God's plans far outweigh, outshine, and simply out-wow any plans we could ever make for our lives.

In short, I can't imagine life without her.