Pure & Simple

This isn't a confession. This is life.
I walked into Pure & Simple. Bought my coffee. Walked over to my seat. A man glanced up from his book and caught my eye. No flirting or welcoming smile. Just a glance.
I sat down, aware that I had no wedding ring on. A size 5 ring was a bit too big when I was first married. I haven't been able to wear it again since Colson's pregnancy.
So, there I was. Possibly single, sitting a table away from a possibly single guy. What would it be like if I was single, available, and he started a conversation? We would laugh, smile, enjoy the mystery of each other. He would get to know me...
I remember the freedom- and pain- of singleness, when encounters like this were okay. Normal. The joy of possibility.
Now, I was married, and the rules were different. Any open door now was an entrance, a step towards the breaking of vows- to love, honor and cherish only my husband. No wiggle room in this.
There was no pounding of my heart. No flushed cheeks. No wishing he would accidentally catch my eye. No, I am very happily married- but more than that, I am cemented in my marriage, committed to this marriage, to giving my heart only to my husband til death parts us. In other words, forever.
This could be an open door in so many ways...if I allowed the door to remain open.
I picked up my phone. Delton, I texted, when I think of love- what never ends, what captures my heart- I think of you. So excited about the journey we are on. (what are we doing tomorrow evening on our date?)
And the door was closed. Locked. Shut. My heart beat true for my one and only.
Life happens. Do you know where you stand?

Life is in the details

Colson...we went to Cove Valley camp for a week. You were just three, repeating prayers back to us in one word.
God, thank you for my food.
Food.
Help me sleep tonight.
Sleep.
Heal my friend who is sick.
Sick.
We prayed, you agreed with a one word affirmation. You loved Cove, playing, riding bike, and hamming it up with the staff. You were not shy! I noticed nothing out of the ordinary when we arrived home, until it came time to pray. I pray? you asked. Sure. And you prayed. Complete prayers, all by yourself, to a God who could hear every every quiet word. Eyes closed, then opened with the amen. And just like that you were praying.

Asher...quite a to-do this week with a big storm, trees down, and fire trucks all over the place checking on a downed electrical box next door to us. So many firemen standing around for what? we as adults laughed, though thankful. You pipe up with humor in your voice...I guess we should rent a port-a-potty!

Ezra, this morning...Mom, are old people still adults?

Avi...clearing out the boys dresser drawers, pulling apart folded piles of clothes, leaving laundry strewn through the house, you are showing me a part of your character that I still can't place. What does all this mean for who you are becoming?

All I Have To Offer

The story, as told to me...
A woman, broken, came to the Mercy Ships base. Seeking refuge and healing, she came not to give but to be restored. Her wanderings, her times of quiet, her forays in the silence of the forest paths and the loneliness found there gave way to seeking out fellowship, conversation, simply being with those whose lives went on around her.
In the office she discovered an ongoing project. Small booklets of white paper folded in half, covered with a simple piece of blank cardboard. Each of these books carried the name of a student-  a student now overseas on the outreach portion of their DTS. When the students returned, these booklets would be piled in their classroom. In their jet-lagged hours, the too-early mornings and can't-sleep nights, the students would come to this room, grab a handful of booklets, and begin to write. Into these booklets, memories are written. Scripture. Blessings. Things thought but never said, yet written now. At the end of the week, the booklets were handed out, and we read in our books the collected, personal writings of classmates.
It was my book she was drawn to. The mystery of this still eludes me. Why me? Yet the name "Charity", already written on the front or paper-clipped to the top- I don't know- caught her eye. As a staff drew personalized art work on the front of the other booklets, she took my book. Perhaps out of her emptiness she drew from a deep well that had never dried up. Or perhaps the healing had already begun, and the waters of grace and forgiveness were overflowing their banks, needed to be poured out.
She chose my book, and this woman that I have never met prophesied over my life. This is what she wrote.



I make you a gift.

mercy

to give, compassion

to share the

burdens of

others. I give you

hope. I give you peace.

grace, that you may

walk humbly,

and honorably.

strength for the task.

love for the least

of these.

brokenness,

that you may weep

over the children

of the earth.

holiness,

that you may walk pure.

joy, for ever and ever.

You are mine.

She came and left in the time I was overseas. I know no name or identifying mark, only that she came desiring to throw her life away, and left having poured herself into another life. When I think of the treasures I own, I think of this booklet and her gift of words to me. 

 







/misˈkarij/ (noun)

I read today that a glass can be shattered if the right frequency is attained. It will shatter at double that frequency, or triple, and so on. There is a frequency, a certain pitch, that will shatter a glass. Shattered. Broken. Unable to be put back to the way it was before.
I miscarried this past week. I am miscarrying. I was pregnant last week. I am not pregnant now...almost. There was a shattering, a perfect frequency of events that broke my pregnancy, my perfect dream, beyond rebuilding.
I spoke with my midwife tonight. She walked with me into hope, then gently led me back out into what we both knew to be truth. There was no putting the pieces back together.
I walked into the hospital last week with a few complications, but I walked in as the mom of 4 children, pregnant with her fifth. I had an ultrasound. A five week, six day fetus. Shouldn't I be further along? A heartbeat of 115. Shouldn't it be higher? A viable pregnancy, I was told. No sign of miscarriage. They gave me a due date, the sign of hope not given to those who are miscarrying. The date: February 20, 2014.
I don't remember when I shifted from peacefully pregnant to the reality that I was miscarrying. Losing my child. I can't remember. It wasn't simply a moment. It was simply something I walked into moment by moment, symptom by symptom, until the hope I held onto was no longer a comforting protection but a mirage needing to be discarded.
I was in the hospital again this afternoon for blood work that would further confirm my loss. I looked at the gift shop display window, and suddenly remembered standing here looking in this window last week...when I still believed that the baby I carried would live...and I wondered how many of these moments I would have. Like reading back through my journal, reading the joy, the certainty of purpose in this child. And wondering where all this joy, this purpose, this expectation was supposed to go.
Sometimes, when I can't yet sing, I simply have to allow others to sing the song that I know to be true...

"Even If" by Kutless
Sometimes all we have to hold on to
Is what we know is true of who You are
So when the heartache hits like a hurricane
That could never change who You are
And we trust in who You are

Even if the healing doesn’t come
And life falls apart
And dreams are still undone
You are God You are good
Forever faithful One
Even if the healing
Even if the healing doesn’t come

Lord we know Your ways are not our ways
So we set our faith in who You are
Even though You reign high above us
You tenderly love us
We know Your heart
And we rest in who You are

Even if the healing doesn’t come
And life falls apart
And dreams are still undone
You are God You are good
Forever faithful One
Even if the healing
Even if the healing doesn’t come

You’re still the Great and Mighty One
We trust You always
You’re working all things for our good
We’ll sing your praise

Even if the healing doesn’t come
And life falls apart
And dreams are still undone
You are God You are good
Forever faithful One
Even if the healing
Even if the healing doesn’t come

You are God and we will bless You
As the Good and Faithful One
You are God and we will bless You
Even if the healing doesn’t come
Even if the healing doesn’t come

One Step

I play with her, intentionally, and soon she gets it. Mom stands me up, lets go, and is delighted when I move towards her. Falling forward turns into stumbling turns into a grin and steps. One, then two...then three...really? Over and over again this game is played. This dance of independence that I am encouraging her, drawing her into. This is good. This is right. I will show you the way...and then let go.

....like my daddy

All five years of Asher walked out of the bedroom, straight to me. I decided something, he said, 7 a.m. wide-eyed and awake. I am going to take a shower every morning when I wake up, just like daddy does. Okay, I said, as he ran to the bathroom. And would you like your juice in a sippy or a cup with a straw this morning? A cup! he yells from around the corner, and I see in him the beginning of what is to come...