Sunday, September 25, 2011

Tunnel of Faith

There are analogies that pursue me. They slide through mundane situations with a determination to make me open my eyes to the deeper meaning of life.

There are stories that weave themselves out of the plain cotton fabric of normalcy. I discover an elaborate garment of rich color and texture where I expected to see a coarse cut cotton covering.

I discover this, because I pick the thing up and examine it. I see the analogy, because I look for it, note it's shadow on the wall.

Life is lived on these varying levels of comprehension. There are days when I simply forget to put on my glasses and I am near-sighted and the shadows and fabrics are lost on me.

Then there are days when my perceptions are sharpened to a degree of intensity that is almost painful. That is painful.

Tonight my eyes were dim with tears. Sorrow dripping slowly. As I traced the circuit in my mind of this sorrow, I could only see it's beginning and middle, the end was shrouded and undefinable. But I saw the shadow lope beside it. An impression of something I once knew. Lived.

A tunnel in Alaska. A long, dark, tunnel that ended above the ocean. This tunnel was my personal analogy of faith. I would stand alone at the front of it, doubtful, and leery of bats. And then I would run, and run, until it ended and I caught myself before I went headlong into the sea. I called it my "tunnel of faith" because I had to believe, even in the darkest, scariest middle, I had to believe it would end. I had to believe that the end would be worth it.

A few years ago when we went up to visit Page, I took Avonlea and Grant with me to the tunnel. They were scared as they looked into it's darkness. I started to run and they joined with shrieks. When we came to the end, into the eye-blinking blue of sky and sea, we saw a truly spectacular sight. A beluga whale breached right in front of us. Mere yards away. We stood breathless. That's faith.

So tonight, while I'm still somewhere in the middle of darkness, fearing bats, I remember that the tunnel will end. That the end will be worth the frustration, the doubt, even the tears. That the tunnel will end in awe and praise to God. That's faith, or what I can see of it tonight.

Sunday, September 18, 2011


The fall season has hit. Work wise, Dave is running busy, running fast.
I get left in the dust as he charges ahead.
I gear myself up for labor. The birthing of another school year, another round of seasons and growing kids.
I stay home with them all day every day and I wage a war to keep my focus on the Lord, and on these kids.
Busyness beckons and I say no. I want to be here. This home that God has given us for this space of time. Here, as much as possible.

So on Saturday when the urge to escape to the zoo, or the mall, or OMSI yells, when the mouth of mundane yawns and the tonsils of boredom wiggle, I pray.
Not audibly, just a soul yearning upward, as only a soul that has just played hide and seek, Uno, Skippo, and puzzles in quick succession, can do.

I get up and sit at the piano. Fingers move over keys I once knew intimately, mind reaches backward to remember songs I once sang. I start to play. There are some songs that I knew well, and they assert themselves. And I remember that there is joy in creating music. There is joy in creating.
Posy wriggled onto my lap and sat content. And then she did it.
She took her hands and placed them on top of mine. Her little voice blended, followed my pitch.

Again, and again, I'm reminded, they will do what I do. They feel life by putting their hands on top of mine.
There are enough busy people in the world.
The world does not need me or mine to boost it's numbers.
We mamas and daddies are doing something so much more than entertaining.
We are creating.

"Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." Galatians 6:9

Friday, September 16, 2011

Girls just want to have fun...

I've never had any desire to be blond.
 Because I really didn't believe they had more fun.
 But Rosy makes holding a fruit basket look like the epitome of joy.
 Posing for a picture a sort of euphoric Disneyland.
 Because she's just happy,
 And silly,
 And naughty,
And delightful.
She is a tough argument to beat, because she definitely has more fun than I do.
And that's saying quite a bit.

Sunday, September 4, 2011


I think I'm in denial.
Denial that it's September.
Denial that school starts in two days.
Denial that a full arsenal of lessons and co-ops are aiming straight at us.

Last week I pulled my comfy outdoor recliner into the sun and laid down. The neighborhood was quiet, except for my own kids, and I took a moment to listen to their sounds. The boys hammered on a boat of their own creation. Rosy, clad in her hot pink swimsuit, talked to the frogs of bugs and beetles and the summer sun. Avonlea, whizzed by on her bike, stopping every other minute to pet a cat.

I was deeply appreciative of the moment.
The mundane moments of living life that are truly not mundane at all.
But I only saw it for what it was because I stopped and looked and listened.

I need to face the fact that it is September.
Acknowledge that school starts in two days.
Thank God for the opportunities my kids have to learn from others.

I need to stop and look, because when I do, gratitude claims me.


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