Remembering our Royalty

The days are dominoes. Slipping softly one after another or clanging loudly on top of each other aggressively. I am fairly passive in this process. My mold for each day, stuffing minutes like play-doh into the shape I want it to form, is gone. I tossed the mold at some point or maybe it exploded when the minutes became combustible. Entering the world of teenagers and middle schoolers has pretty much annihilated my game plan, and made me very very tired. I grab after laughter like ointment, the only thing that heals my chapped optimism, and I talk. I talk late to my boys. I see this world through their eyes and I feel the confusion and temptations that come with growing into manhood in this culture. I lay my time and heart out in mothering like I never have before and, yet, I can't guarantee anything. I pray for a faithful heart that doesn't grow weary.

Our new couch was a little bit bigger than I anticipated it being!

Earlier this week I found a few minutes to curl up on our new couch with a magazine. The door opened and I saw my mom come in. I continued to read until I sensed an undercurrent of excitement in the room. Now, I love my mom, but her undercurrents of excitement usually stem from things like discovering that peanuts are solely responsible for obesity in America. (MOM, what have I told you about clicking on those ads on the computer). So I hesitated to look up, finding the magazine much more safe. I lifted my eyes to see her fidgeting at the edge of the couch.
I braced myself but not enough.

"I just found out that we're related to King David."

Just found out? As in angelic messenger? As in an old genealogy hidden in a secret compartment in Grandmother's jewelry case?

"No, my sister got a new app on her phone that traced us all the way back. She just kept pressing the back arrow and there was King David!"

That's a lot of back arrows. I tentatively asked, "How can they know the lineage that far back?"

"Oh, they kept very good records of royalty." She swished back out the door and I could almost hear her purple robe trailing behind her.

I love this woman. I want to throw in the towel and howl and she's content with knowing that she's royalty. And she is, she is God's daughter, whole-heartedly, and she never forgets it.

She reminds me, that I too, am of the generation of faith. I have a cloud of witnesses who lived this life faithfully before me. I may or may not have the blood of King David running through my veins, but I do have the same Spirit, and so do my children.

So I smile and ruminate that the royal line wouldn't be intimidated by the tactics of the enemy.
I open my Bible, ready to form a new game plan.
I continue to lay my time and my heart out in mothering like I never have before and I have faith that the words and actions I lay on this alter of love will help shape a generation, one life at a time.

Later, I go upstairs to tuck in my little daughter and I can sense an undercurrent of excitement in the room. I try not to groan, but an undercurrent of excitement in Rose usually stems from things like telling me how many scoops she got out of the litter box that day.
So I braced myself, but not enough.

"When I start my period will you get me a bunny to celebrate?"

I tuck in the slightly shorter version of my mother into bed and get my royal self downstairs.

Eclipse

This world is so beautiful.
This world is so ugly.
Once in a while, the beauty juxtaposes itself over the ugly in a way that brings me up short.
An eclipse of sorts.

As a home school mom, summer is essential to my well being. I have to rest in summer to recharge for the next labor intensive year.

This summer was the first time in 3 years that I had all four children at home together. My plan was to go to the cottage and enjoy my children. But there was company coming. Then family wanted Rowan for a visit. Then company came. Then Grant left for three days with Dave. Then three of us flew to Alaska to see Page and her family. Then company came. Then we went to the beach. Then company came.

And to be honest, connecting these dots, was not usually rest, but a preparation for the next thing coming (which in retrospect, should have included rest).

The cottage is almost a personality that I feel waiting for us. Puzzled perhaps, at why it sits still and empty in the summer sun. I sense the vegetation growing over the trails we forged. I am aware that I need to go rest and be at peace. It is as if I am very thirsty and the cottage is the sound of running water.

And then when I feel most empty and vulnerable I am confronted by the ugliness. I know ugliness and I've fought it before, in myself and in battle on behalf of others. But this. This stark fear and misery and torment. I have not confronted this before. Pain so deep it cannot be spoken. I feel my small reserves being sucked away in an instant and the despair tugging at my very soul, like I'm on the edge of a spiritual whirlpool.
All the beauty that I use to fight, nature and wise words and laughter are bottles empty, and I have nothing to pour on this fire.

But then, my mother speaks. Her words are not her own, she quotes His Words. She speaks God's truth to the pain and tears pour. Mom leaves for some water and I make eye contact with suffering and I too speak His Words. They come as mercy. With His Words comes His Heart into mine. A Heart of Love and Compassion. A Heart full of Living Water.

For four hours we sat in the tension of the eclipse. We sat in the mysterious beauty of the eclipse.
Then we went home.

I still am not rested. I still hear the cottage calling in the wind. But I do not fear that I will not be able to face the school year, for God has shown me the most powerful weapons I possess have nothing to do with location or even state of mind. My most powerful weapons are God's Love and God's Word. I must stay close to those two things, and maybe, when I hear the cottage and the mountain and the orchard calling, that is what I really want, God's Love and God's Word.
But His Spring is located everywhere,
even the center of tragedy.
And it never runs dry.

Haiti

Last night I awoke to the sound of rustling.
My heart quickened and the thought that waved through my mind like a banner was, "There are angels in my room!"
Not perhaps a typical reaction, but then, it was my first night home from Haiti.

Dave and I left for Haiti on February 6th and were there for 9 days. We went with a team of 10 from our church to build a kindergarten classroom at a school that our church supports. However, when we got down there it turned out that there was a transportation strike over gas prices so it was impossible to run the risk of getting to the school. Instead, we started to build a house in the neighborhood of the seminary where we were staying. We were able to work in the community and later at the school and both experiences were amazing.

Dave is still there so I don't have any pictures to show until he gets back, as he has the camera. But I wanted to get some of my main impressions down.

Walking through the squalor of the neighborhood that first day was shocking. The houses are built stacked together (the "law" is 3 feet of space on every side). The paths between the houses are littered with garbage and waste. And this is where, walking through this labyrinth of bodies and homes and garbage, the image of our happy, well dressed, prosperous church chanting "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good" slapped up against this reality. I didn't want this slapping. Perhaps if I had gone to the school first, and seen all the happy, beautiful children in their school uniforms singing about Jesus, the contrast wouldn't have been so stark. But stark it was.

Slowly over the days, God allowed me to see a beautiful truth. That the working out of God's sovereignty, of His redemption, is in the very bowels of the earth that He created. That the layer we see here on the top, be it lovely or hellish, is only a very thin layer, and underneath that, He's moving. And often, the stirring in the depths will explode like a mini volcano of hope and light amidst the darkness. It was after seeing these mini explosions that I started to understand, He's here, He's working.

These explosions often came in the form of people. Mason and Lauren are missionaries in Haiti and long time friends. They serve the people of the community tirelessly. That doesn't mean they're not tired, but they are unfailingly motivated by the love of God for these people. They have helped rebuild dozens of houses for people living in scrap metal.

Johny, who laughs. Johny is the big Haitian man who started the school in Merger that our church supports. He drove to Merger daily even though it was often not safe to do so. He explained, "If the God in the Bible is real, He is able to get me safely to Merger." It was later reported to him by thugs that when they would lay in ambush to attack his car, his car would simply disappear. Yes, God is real. Johny saw a slum through the eyes of God and built a little school. The school now has almost 400 children and goes to grade 11. Next year the first child will graduate. These children are happy and bright and have a hope and faith in Jesus that is astounding.

WaWa is the president of the seminary. He had dinner with us and explained his heart for discipleship that surpasses just imparting Biblical knowledge to the students. He teaches the teachers how to invest in lives, like Jesus did, so that the students can see the practicality of loving Jesus. Yes.

We visited Chantelle who had a house built for her in 2011. She was laying on a thin blanket on the cement floor on the house. She had had diarrhea for 4 days (which was why she wasn't in a bed). When she saw several of the men who had built her house, she sat up and threw her arms open. They bent down to hug her. She had nothing but joy, nothing but gratitude for the roof over her head. We filed out of her home solemn, choked with the stench and the joy and the shock of having witnessed a volcano.

There were many other believers that we met that were faithfully, joyfully serving God among their people. They didn't look like volcanoes, but they were.

In truth, the very fact that our team was there was a volcano in itself. We hugged and kissed the children and we (the girls anyway) let them do our hair. We sang with them and laughed with them and told them "Jesus loves you" as we pressed our white finger onto their chocolate chest.
Jesus loves you. That is the truth that all the volcanoes proclaim.
God is working. Often it's in bowels, where it's not easy to see.
But I'm listening now, for the groaning and stirrings in the depths (or for the rustle of angel's wings).
I'm watching now, for the explosions of light that illuminate truth in this dark world.
Jesus loves you.

The people chanting "God is good all the time, and all the time God is good" were right, and it didn't matter what they looked like on the surface, because He's working in the depths just the same.

Sacrifice

I teach her to braid. Three colored strings tied to a desk leg.
Red. Yellow. Green. Red. Yellow. Green.
She murmurs the pattern, her full concentration on the twisting rhythm of the strings.

The table downstairs is covered in brightly colored eggs. A messy tradition that dates back to my little girl days in Alaska. My dad loved to celebrate. He pushed Halloween and Christmas and Birthdays and made them fun and exciting. Easter was no exception. He boiled eggs and mixed dyes and we stained our fingers making artistic eggs. And afterwards, we'd throw the dye colors off the deck into the snow. And the snow would be stained bright.

Children need to know how to make good choices when they leave the house. Preferably before they leave the house. So we teach them, methodically, how to make good choices. But the tricky thing about making good choices is the knowledge that God trumps all human reasoning. So good choices are really God choices. The best yes, is the yes to His leading.

I read Mark 8:18 earlier this week, "Therefore consider carefully how you listen." Listening is a verb. It's important. There have been many times in my life when I made good, moral choices and God said, "No." There have been times God has asked something of me that.made.no.sense. The times I chose wisely in those situations were the times I yielded to God's voice. The times I listened. So listening is the key factor to making good choices. I am learning.

Grandma's funeral is Saturday. On Sunday Dave's parents and his Aunt and Uncle will lead the Easter service at the nursing home where she died. They've been faithfully bringing God's Word there for years. They asked us to come and bring the kids to minister with their music. I said no. Every year, for 12 years, we've gone to the egg hunt at our park. It's tradition. Avonlea is too old for it now and this will be Grant's last year. I love it. I love the laughter and excitement and a park filled with beautiful children in beautiful clothes. It's what we do every year. Red. Yellow. Green. The pattern of our life.

But I start to get that twinge in my conscience. God wants us to go to the nursing home. I see it clearly, bright colors on white snow.

So I sit the kids down and I tell them. Let's go to the nursing home on Sunday and minister and afterwards I will give you an egg hunt. I'll give you better candy than they do at the park. They agree. They know how to make good choices.

That night I sit long in front of the computer processing checks for the business. And suddenly, impressed upon my heart like bright colors on white snow, You didn't let them sacrifice. I wasn't praying. I was working, I was braiding the pattern of my day. But I recognized God's voice in my heart and so I listened. You padded their sacrifice. When I ask for sacrifice I don't pad it.

And I realized afresh, what Easter is. It's blatant sacrifice.
The cross was never candy-coated for Jesus.

When approached, the kids joyfully sacrificed any kind of egg hunt.
"That's really not what Easter's about anyway, Mom."
"I'd much rather play my violin at the home than have an egg hunt."

It's a small sacrifice.
Just a little step toward Jesus.
But it's the little that prepares us for the big.

I forget sometimes, that it's not just a family God has asked me to braid together.
It's a kingdom.
The pattern is His.
So is the Glory.
Amen.

Default

I learned my default early on. Default, the position my heart fell into when not consciously being deliberate in my faith.

Sixteen years ago, Dave and I spent our first Valentines Day up in a cabin in the woods. A group of friends came over and we went cross country skiing. After dinner they left to drive the hour or so back home. Not five minutes after they had gone, Dave realized one of them left their cross country ski rentals at our cabin. Dave is a man of action. He grabbed the skis in one hand and the car keys in the other and bolted.

I dimpled up at the thought of surprising him when he came home. I lit a myriad of candles in the living room, got a full fire going, and slipped into something less, well, less. I settled into a flattering position on a chair next to the fire, arranged my hair, and waited. And waited. And then I heard the sirens.

Unbeknownest to me, Dave was unable to catch his friend, so he just decided to go into town and find the ski shop his friend had rented them from, and return them for him. The town was half an hour away. Then were several ski shops that had to be located and inquired into. It took him a long time. This was pre-cell phone era.

Meanwhile, the fire's dying (literally and figuratively). At the sound of the sirens, tears started sliding down my face. My thoughts ran like this, "I am a 23 year old widow. Dave is dead. I don't have any nice black clothes to wear to the funeral. I am all alone. Forever. I'm too sad to go shopping but I don't have any nice black clothes. Dave is never coming back to see how cute I am sitting here. Poor Dave." etc.

Two hours later Dave came home to his bride. He had a blizzard from Dairy Queen in each hand.
He found me in fetal position, sobbing, swollen faced, and muttering something about black dresses.

Eventually I recovered enough to eat the blizzard.

I learned several things from that brutal Valentines Day. But the most important thing I learned was this, my default is fear.

If you recall, I said earlier that my husband is a man of action. With that statement comes the assurance that I've had many, many chances to reaffirm that, yes, my default is fear. Add children who largely take after their father, and yes, my default is fear.

But I've learned something else over the last 16 years of marriage, God can reset your default.

So I've made my homepage my Bible and the face book I peer into is the Book that shows me the face I want, the face of Jesus. I slowly trade in my fear for the peace and joy and faith that He offers. My default changes. My husband doesn't change, my children don't change, but my default changes.

We celebrated New Years this year up at the cottage. The children were asleep and Dave and I were playing cards when a storm came up. It was sudden and violent. Dave and I looked at each other in alarm. We knew that there were 3 very dead, very big trees directly behind the cottage. We weren't expecting a storm before we had time to cut them down.

"Let's get the boys. Stay away from the windows."

My husband is a man of action. Within minutes, we had the boys moved downstairs on cots, out of the vulnerable position of the room nearest the trees.

Rowan awoke in the process and wanted me to stay with him downstairs. I curled up on the couch while Dave went upstairs where the girls were.

The wind was possessed. Debris flew past the windows. The rain appeared to be horizontal. With every gust my default spoke like this, "God thank you for your protection. I know you will never leave us nor forsake us. Thank you for a roof over our heads. Thank you that you love these children even more than I do. Thank you for your grace that is always sufficient. Thank you for your peace that passes all understanding."

When we listen to God's Words more than our own words, more than our friend's words, more then this world's words, our default changes. The storms rage, but we don't.

The default the Lord offers is praise.
I open the Word and reset.
Daily.

The Island

I just wanted a cup of tea.
Seems such a simple thing to ask of a day, doesn't it?
Now I suppose I must clarify that a cup of tea, to me, is much more than a beverage.
It's a destination.
It's my "island of peace in a turbulent sea".
My pink teapot, my Czechoslovakian teacup, my Ironstone cream and sugar set, these are my island scenery. My Bible, my journal, are my sun and sand.
But there were "miles to go before I rest" and I knew that those miles included children.
The first wind to blow me off course came from Grant. We were doing our customary Monday Laundry (believe me, it should be capitalized when you only do it once a week), when Grant asked, "Can you be a girl and a boy at the same time?"
 I always try to understand where they are coming from with these types of questions before I jump in and answer, so I said, "What makes you ask that?"
"Well, God is neither male or female and we're made in His image, so why are we one or the other?"
I wildly threw open every file in my mind even vaguely related to this subject and laundry was suspended while I explained the sovereignty of God, the implication of "made in His image", and finally a little info on testosterone and estrogen and how some women have beards but that's not normal. Avonlea threw in some helpful information about soy
He said, "Oh, okay."
End of conversation, but it lasted quite awhile, and now I was off course.
Bible came next. Our passage this week was about the "Man of Lawlessness." Neither of the kids had heard of that term and we began discussing the anti-Christ.
I'm not going to record that conversation here, because it was long and because it ended with Avonlea drawing a picture of him (entitled Son of Satan) and ripping it to pieces in a symbolic rage.
When we were done with Bible it was 9:30a.m. and I was exhausted.
Rowan's school work came next and was relatively painless.
Posy was next and she made me cry. Which made her cry. Which made us both apologize without really knowing what for. She tried to cheer me up by saying, "How about I try reading again in a couple of years." She might have something there.
I went up to make lunch. I was back on course and I could see the waves lapping at the shore of my island, but I couldn't hear them because Avonlea was practicing all her instruments.
After lunch came gales from friends. Phone calls that left me thinking, news that left me perplexed. I prepared my tea in quiet while the kids played outside.
Rosy came in from playing outside to change because, "I tried to potty behind a tree, like Rowan does, but I missed."
I nodded absently, it was too late, I had made my tea. I could smell the black leaves infiltrated with honey, my eyes were on the island.
I had everything in hand and I headed to my room.
At the top of the stairs I met my toothless wonder.
Rowan.
"Look what I found Mommy!"
He held up the book "Alice in Wonderland." It was a large book. Huge. I opened my mouth...
"I know you love to read this to me Mama Daaaarling!" His gums smiled his confidence...
The island became obscured by mists.
Sometimes tea is a destination, and other times it's just a beverage, sipped in between pages of Alice in Wonderland, finished off by a blond girl, cuddled on your lap, wearing clean pants.

Sometimes we land on a different island than we set out for.

Sometimes, the island is a bed, where three travelers maroon on a velvet quilt for a while....an "island of peace in a turbulent sea."
A destination.

Rose

My blog's purpose is two fold.
The first purpose is to bring glory to God.
The second is to record the history of my family.

This story falls under the umbrella of both. I'm writing it because I want to remember. I'm writing it because I'm sad tonight and I want to laugh. I'm writing it because I want to always see her at 4, blond and lisping, utterly kissable and dear.

As Rose and I read through her children's Bible, I glean insight into her personality. She was beside herself when I read about Jacob and Esau, teary-eyed and mournful of the family rupture. Chapters later when Jacob was returning home, laden with wealth and wives and children, Rose was apprehensive.
"Esau won't forgive him Mommy."
Jacob kept sending gifts and Rose fidgeted, got up and sat back down, nervous. Finally they came face to face and Esau embraced his brother and she was incredulous.
And then, "Mommy, God could never forgive me like Esau forgave Jacob."
"Oh but He can baby."
And my Rose accepted Christ.

A month later saw us meandering through the desert with the Israelites. She was scornful.
"Oh not again! Are they still in the desert?"
But a hero emerged.  Joshua. He had a two page colored picture where he was holding out one hand to stop an orange sun and holding out another hand to stop a yellow moon. He had sandals laced up to God-only-knows-where. He was bronzed and armored.
Her hands clasped together and she lisped, "Oh Jothua! I love him!"
We were extremely excited for Bible everyday to see what Jothua would do next.

Then last week in the car she dropped the bomb.
"Mommy will you get me a Jothua?"
"Wh, wh, what do you mean?"
"To marry. I want to marry a Jothua."
We agreed to pray a Joshua in for her when Avonlea piped up,
"Who are you going to pray for, for me?"
"I'll pray for a David for you Avonlea. Someone who's passionate and has a heart after God."
Rowan was silent, he had his eyes on several little girls in Sunday School and Friday School and really didn't need my assistance.
Grant, however, spoke thoughtfully, "I don't really care who you pray for me to marry, just not that lady that looked back and turned to salt. Anyone but her."
He's never been fond of salt.

We are moving on now to the Judges of Israel. Rose thinks Samson is ridiculous and covers the pictures when I read about him. She has personality oozing out of her little lithe body and I am getting to know her by walking with her through the Bible. I am watching the Word of God change a 4 year old and it is amazing....and really funny!

Church in the Woods



This summer we felt God calling us to do something different.
We agreed that as soon as nice weather hit, we would have church outside. Alone.
This, for me, was unconventional. Risky.
Will my children turn out normal if they miss several months of Sunday School?

So we hit the trail.
A 1.25 mile hike to a waterfall.
We found a cozy nook and opened God's Word.
Proverbs 4: 10-12
"Listen, my son, accept what I say,
and the years of your life will be many.
I guide you in the way of wisdom
and lead you along straight paths.
When you walk, your steps will not
be hampered;
when you run you will not stumble."
My husband shared the reality of truth, that this life is a journey, a path.
Many trails wander off it temptingly, many dangerous plants look lovely, it is easy to get lost.
Every week a different aspect of this truth.

Every week a different power point presentation of God's beauty, in His cathedral.

We spent time in prayer.
Lifting up our children earnestly to their loving Father, laying our friends, family, at His feet.
This is our family. Defined and isolated for a brief moment.
This is the job of a family, and the joy of a family.

Three hours later, we emerged from the ferns.
Refreshed and victorious and laughing.
Acts 2:28
"You have made known to me the paths of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence."

We are unconventional for a season.

We are obedient for a life time.

Today I hear Rowan speak an unkind word in the other room.

Before I can reprimand, Grant's voice instructs, "Rowan, you're wandering off the path. Be careful or you'll get lost."

Will my children turn out normal if they miss several months of Sunday School?

Possibly not, but then, normal was never the goal.

Sustainable Living

We have just completed our third week of company.
There is high energy as siblings and their children weave in and through our day.
There is conversation, laughter, dancing, and prayer.
And I grow weary.
I'm in the kitchen cooking another mammoth meal, I'm pretty sure there are mash potatoes in my hair.
My eyes, roving the counter for a spatula, happen to land on my tea cup.
I feel the thirst in my body and soul. Tea time, in the afternoon, is when I meet with God. My Bible comes out of it's special drawer in the kitchen table and I sip and read nourishment. It's been a while and I'm needy.
Unbidden, and unwanted if truth be known, comes the thought, what are you imbibing for, if not to expend the energy? That rings of spiritual gluttony and I try to focus on the beans.
But I can't.
The Bible, that I read daily, speaks more of battles and races than clinking china.
Ecclesiastes 3 speaks of, "A time for war and a time for peace," and implies that there will be both.
So I get back to work with a will, in faith, knowing that God will use those quiet days of study to articulate His will.
Knowing that the deep draughts of tea and truth have a battle cry at their core and it must be uttered.
Knowing that though my body is weary, my soul is most at peace when in the fray.
And when quiet comes again, as it will, I will embrace it, but only as a means to an end.
This, my friends, is the secret to sustainable living.

The Battle

Rowan coerced me to watch his playmobile guys battle. One army was arranged on the Egyptian pyramid, the other on the Roman Colosseum. I wanted to object on the premise of the actual distance of these structures not being conducive to physical battle, but I held my tongue. Yes, I am a good mother.

I watched each bullet, each spear thrown, each playmobile guy topple dead, and the battle progressed. Just as I had my fill of gore, the war was pronounced over, and everyone was dead. Rowan looked at me with eyes full of fun, brimming with satisfaction (what satisfies like a good battle?), and asked the breathless question, "Mommy, do you want to see the treasure they were fighting over?"

"Absolutely!"

He brought out a chest that had been hidden away in the pyramid. He opened it and exceeded all my expectations. I sat there mute.

"It's the children mommy. The playmobile children are the treasure."

I managed to say something and left the room. I sought quiet because there was a truth there that needed to sink in. Those words needed to permeate past the layer of mommy watching her boy playing, through into soul.

I've known for a long time that we are in a battle. As Christians we battle. As parents we battle. I've watched my sister battle for her children. I've seen the grime of the trenches on her face. Heard the horror of combat in her voice. Seen the hope of victory in her eyes. Conversations with her have led me to kneel, to ask, what? What, Lord, can I do now to battle? My kids are all young. The war, is less obvious. It's over there, beyond those hills, I only see the smoke, hear the cannons occasionally. What, Lord, can I do now to battle?

He answered that question. Just because the battle is unseen doesn't mean it's any less real. So I fast and I pray.....in earnest. And the battle rages and there are times I get a terrifying peek at what I'm battling against.

And I have learned that the best way to battle is on the offensive.

"...I will build my church and the gates of Hades will not overcome it." (Matt. 16:18) Gates are not weapons. They are fortifications, making us, the church, the aggressors. Aggressively we battle against the darkness that reaches out to claim our children. And the battle we engage in now, counts. It counts for the now and it counts for the future.

I can testify to this.

And we wake up prepared to do battle. We put on the armor of God, "...so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground..." (Eph 5:13)

We keep our eyes peeled for danger. "Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them." (Matt. 7: 15,16)

Sometimes the wolves are very cleverly disguised indeed.
Sometimes battling for my children is battling against myself.
My selfishness wraps a sheep's cloak around itself and indulges, to the detriment of my children. The fruit gives it away and I do battle and the Lord wins.

And He always will. "But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." (I Cor. 15:57)

Now that's a battle I can enjoy with Rowan-like pleasure. Because what satisfies more than a good battle? A good battle that's already won.

Psalm 23 and Porcupines

I thought I didn't understand what she was saying. It's a common occurrence when conversing with a three year old.
"Jake? Is his name Jake?" I asked tentatively as Rose pointed at a picture of a man.
"NO! HIS NAME'S SAKE!" Exasperation peered at me out of big grey eyes.
Okay, who do we know named Sake? Is she just making up a random name for this random man's picture? Ahhh, it clicked.
"Oh Rosy do you mean 'He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake?!'"
"Yeah," she points at the picture again, "His name is Sake."
I laughed and hugged her and thought, okay that was random. But it wasn't.
It happened again a few days later. She was sitting at the kitchen table telling me about something she had done with Rowan.
"He's such a good brother to you isn't he?" I prompted praise.
"Yeah, he leads me beside still water."

In science this week we are studying insectivores. A hedge hog belongs in this class. One difference between a hedge hog and a porcupine is that a hedge hog's quills are needle-like and a porcupine's quills are barbed.

I'm am reading two very good books right now, A Mother's Heart by Jean Fleming and Practicing His Presence by Brother Lawrence and Frank Laubach. I would highly recommend both. They jab me with quills of beauty and hope and shame and desire. But, the quills are hedge hog quills, they sear for a moment but for the most part heal quickly.

The Bible is a porcupine. It's words, quill-like, pierce and then stay there under the skin, reeking havoc. They demand response. Every movement I make jostles these God words and I can't get away from them. I don't want to (generally).

So the Word of God makes the wound. But it doesn't leave us wounded. It heals and restores and enlightens and delivers. So I read. So it works it's way deep. And I writhe at the nerves it touches. I grieve that it must still pierce so much. But I am unutterably thankful to God for giving us His Word.

In the words of God and Rose, "Me cup runs over."

James 1:25
"But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it - he will be blessed in what he does."
Hebrews 4:12
"For the word of god is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart."