Love Lets Go

Her bottom rests on the white tiles of the kitchen counter and her legs wrap round my middle.
She grapples with the weight of turning six.
"But I'm still going to live at home, right?"
"Oh yes, you'll stay with mommy for a long time."
"I'll stay with you forever."
As sweet as that sounds, I know it's not true and I correct it lightly, laughingly, "Oh no Rosy, you're too cute. Some day a man will come and ask your daddy if you can marry him."
Her concerned face relaxes, "Oh that's okay, Daddy will say no. He loves me too much to let me go."

For just a moment in that kitchen, time froze.
Her immature logic reasoned that love holds tight, love doesn't let go. But time has taught me other wise. For years my mental picture of love has been of uplifted hands, open, holding back up to God the blessings He has so lovingly given to me.
You give and take away. Blessed be Your Name.
And I know myself well enough to know the constant temptation of rolling the fingers oh-so-slowly palm-ward. The temptation to grasp. The temptation to lower the arm and pull the hand into my chest and utter that ugliest of four letter words; mine.
My heart will choose to say. Lord blessed be Your Name.
But I have also felt the consequences of those actions, of that word. And I've experienced the blessings of letting go, loving and letting go anyway. I choose the blessing.

So do many of you.
I think of my friend, who loves her God so much that she allows her three children, ages 11,13, and 15 to go to Africa and Russia this summer to serve Him.
I think of my friend who loves her God so much that she's willing to follow God's leading to a pastorate for her husband in North Dakota, transplanting her five children and starting a new life.
They choose to live the love that lets go.

The kitchen clock resumes ticking.
"Rosy, when the time comes we will send you off with joy. But right now, you're still my baby, and I'm so thankful for you."
"Yeah."
I pull her close, try to etch into memory the green eyes, the missing teeth, the blond bangs constantly in her way. Her smell of shampoo and earth and candy.
Because she's six, and I'll never live this day with her again.
Because I love her enough to let her go.

A Dappled Octopus With Lips But No Teeth

I walked a path through the woods last week and the sunlight filtered down, colander-like through the leaves. I thought about how whenever I hear the word "dappled" I think of a path just like that. Even if the word is used in a totally different context, I just juxtapose my image over the context to create a new picture.

I think it's fairly common to associate words with certain pictures. When I told a couple of friends that Grant's teacher was "supple" (I meant subtle) I could tell by their faces that they had a definite word picture for that word and it was clashing with the word "teacher".

So it really shouldn't have come as a shock when I discovered that Rose has her own word pictures for life. We were left alone for long hours when Dave took the older kids skiing last Wednesday. We sat out on lawn chairs and looked at the mountain and talked of "shoes and ships and sealing wax; cabbages and kings."

Finally she said, "I used to be on the Debil's team, but I'm on God's team now."
I inhaled, ready to instruct along the lines of, "all have sinned and fall short..."
But she interrupted, "I think Rowan and some of my friends are still on the Debil's team though."
"You know Rosy..."
"Yeah, the Debil used to be a beautiful Angel," (that wasn't what I was going to say). "But now he's an octopus."
"He's an octopus?" I was sincerely wishing I was on a ski slope right about then.
"Yeah a blue octopus. That's how I picture him."
Oh. How she pictures him. I get it.

So I now have a new word picture and it's both supple and subtle and....blue.

Grant also has word pictures apparently. He came in to our room to tell us good morning on Saturday. I got a big kiss and some sweet words and then he started to walk out.
Dave, feeling slighted, said, "Grant don't you love me?"
Grant replied, "Of course I do, you make the money."
Dave, "So you just see dollar signs when you look at me!"
Grant, "Yep, and when I look at Mommy I see lips and love!"

This my friends, is good to know. It's a relief to know he doesn't think of me as a blue octopus or something equally disturbing.

In other random news that has nothing to do with word pictures, I have a pile of teeth on my dresser.
Rowan lost one, two days later on Easter morning Grant lost 2, and the next day Rose lost her other front tooth. The kids look like I've been knocking them around and the tooth fairy is officially stressed out. (The phrase "pile of teeth" and "stressed out tooth fairy" actually do elicit fairly poignant word pictures after all).

Anyway, here are some pictures that don't need words.

With teeth.

One gone.

Both top teeth gone..........

Oh Wow.

We headed up to the cottage last weekend to relax.
My definition of relaxation differs slightly from my husbands.
Dave towed the trailer behind our van so he and the boys could pile in all the metal they've found around the property.
Saturday morning dawned gray and dreary but that didn't daunt them. Or me. Avonlea and I armed ourselves with stacks of Victorian magazines and cups of tea and relaxed to our heart's content. Dave and the boys collected their metal, running in every now and then to gloat over some big find.
"Mommy! Mommy! We found the hood of a car!"
"Oh wow." Flip page, sip tea. "How exciting."
The day waned and late into the afternoon Rowan came running up to the house. The door opened quickly and I got ready to say, "Oh wow."
"The car is falling over the cliff Mommy."
He had the door closed again before I could respond. I spent a moment in sympathy, the boys would be sad if they lost all the metal from the car hood, but whatever. Flip page.
The door opened again almost immediately, Rowan again, "Oh yeah, Dad says to pray."
Really? He wants me to pray for a car hood? This annoys me a little and I have trouble getting back into my magazine.
Ten minutes pass in the peaceful bliss of mother and daughter sipping and flipping.
Then Rowan's back, "Mommy, daddy wants you to come push the car."
I wake up rather suddenly and say, "What car are you talking about Rowan?"
"Our red van. Daddy drove it over the cliff trying to get the metal."
Gracious.
Coat and shoes were the work of seconds and I bolted down the access road. And there it was.
Our van at a 45 degree angle. The two driver's side wheels off the road. Dave was plying the shovel with a will, trying to get ground under the tires.
"Could you push the front while I put it in reverse?" he asks.
"Uh-huh"
I push with all my little might but don't even budge it.
"Sweetheart, you wouldn't by chance have the parking brake on?" I gotta ask.
"Oh, oops."
I push again and it starts moving, but that only aggravates it's precarious position.
Rowan screams, "Daddy get out! It's going to flip over!"
It doesn't, but Dave gets out.
I start having creative solutions zinging through my head, probably because of the magazine/tea combo of the afternoon.
But no, it was not to be.
Dave called a tow truck and the boys were enthralled with the winch system.
The tow truck was free since it is a NEW van and still under warranty. Who knew that warranties cover ditches and bad back-ups and metal?
The boys got the trailer filled and took it to the metal yard today and had a great time.
I also had a great weekend and have learned that there is really nothing to make you appreciate quiet, creative moments with your daughter like having to interrupt them, to push a van up a steep hill. In the rain. With the parking brake on.
My definition of relaxation differs slightly from my husbands.

Good Gifts

My Dad's birthday was on Friday. He would have been 74.
I thought about him on his birthday, because he loved his birthday.
More pointedly, he loved presents.
He loved getting presents, but he also loved giving presents.

I had a box in a the attic for a long time filled with presents from my dad. A porcelain cat filled with bath salts. Assorted soaps. Stuffed animals. Figurines. The reason these presents were packed in the attic and not gracing the household adornment is because they were unpleasant to me. You see, my dad bought presents because he liked them. He didn't want to know what I wanted. If I put in a suggestion he got irritated.

Now, I have a sense of humor and could usually get a good laugh out of what he picked out for me, but that was all it was really worth.

I woke in the night last night, thinking of this, lamenting what was. And I started to realize that I think of God as a giver in the same vein I think of my dad. Meaning, I think of God giving me what He wants to give me, and not caring at all how I feel about it.
Not giving me what I really want because He doesn't really care what I want.
I picture Him, getting irritated at my prayers, as if He doesn't want my suggestions.
And sometimes, I want to take the whole lot of what He's given me and stick it in the attic!

Laying in my bed last night, the silence and the dark and the past all pressing down on me, I knew.
I.was.so.wrong.
"For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord..."
God's gift is the sacrificial love of Jesus, the Lamb of God.
"Plans to prosper you and not to harm you..."
God's gift is the joy of eternal life.
"Plans to give you hope and a future..."
God's gift is the yearning in my heart to know Him intimately.
"Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you..."
God's gift is sight to my blind eyes.
"You will seek me and find me..."
God's gift is adoption.
"When you seek me with all your heart."

It was as if in a moment I realized that what I had always wanted was a porcelain cat filled with bath salts! I had one! It was in the attic!

In my heart I embraced the gifts that God, in His mercy, has given me.
And maybe,
just maybe,
I should stop making inventory of my own gifts,
and ask Him what He'd like from me.

Because now that I think about it,
I never saw some of those gifts that I gave my dad,
around the house....

Voice

Sometimes I think the whole purpose of teaching my kids is so that they can remind me later what I taught them. Because the fruit doesn't fall far and we all forget with amazing regularity around here.
I'm not sure why I get so frustrated when Rowan forgets to feed his emancipated dog when I forget much more important things.

I hear Rowan start off our morning prayers and Grant stops him, interrupts his petition half-way up.
"Rowan, I think you need to start over. You don't just charge before God demanding what you want. He wants to know that you're grateful for what you have! Thank Him first and then ask whatever you want."
Rowan reasons, "But I don't know what to thank Him for."
Grant stares at him in amazement and then says, "Oh my goodness Rowan! The blue sky, the trees outside our fence, the flowers on the table, they're all from Him! Mommy and Daddy! Avonlea and..."
"Alright I get it. I'll try again."
I sit there barely breathing, fully grasping the lesson I just re-learned.
Gratitude first. It's all from Him.
You don't just charge before God demanding.

Later a little Rose, wild and sweet, comes to ask me for something.
I give it a thought and then reply, "Rose, you'll have to ask Daddy."
I look up, surprised at her trill of delight.
She says, "That means yes!"
She dances off and leaves me speechless.
Her daddy loves her with all his heart, and she knows it. She knows he gives her good things whenever he can. She trusts his love for her.
And I re-learn a lesson. My Father loves me with all His heart. He gives me good things in His timing. I can trust His love for me.

I'm awakened in the night by a little voice. A timid little voice that asks for help changing the sheets.
I stumble into the dark bedroom and pull the soaked sheets off. I mutter in discouragement, "I thought we were past this!" And in the darkness of the room, a voice that I didn't realize was listening responds, "Someday we'll be past this. Someday."
Again, I'm reminded of what I forgot. This forgetting and remembering, this teaching and learning, this straining and striving, will someday be past. Someday.
There is a voice whispering to me in the darkness of these days, a voice that I didn't realize was listening. And it sounds like a child's.

Valentine

Long ago, when I was a girl and the emotions of love hit rock bottom, these words came and counseled me.
"Love is a decision."
Who the heck wants to be loved as a decision? I thought. How unromantic!
I wanted to know that the tide of attraction and destiny was enough to sweep someone off their feet.
But it wasn't.
At least not in my experience.
"Love is a decision."
The words kept coming and nibbling at the corners of my consciousness, changing the shape of what I thought I wanted.
So when he came, desiring to court me, I could entertain the discussion even though we were walking on the shore line, feet barely wet.
So I prayed.
And God told me to proceed.
To make the decision to love as He guided.
And I realized some months into the relationship that the quote was unfinished, incomplete.
It should read, "Love is a decision that precedes emotion."
Because I ended up swept off my feet and washed out to sea.

After sixteen years of marriage and babies, I am now, desperately thankful to be decisively loved.
Loved with a decision that precedes and succeeds emotion.
A commitment as consistent and powerful as the tide.
There's really nothing in the whole world as romantic as that.

My Island or Lessons Learned From a Bonfire

At the beginning of last year our family spent a week up at our cottage in the woods. One morning we decided to explore the property length-wise following the creek. The six of us trudged through snow and slush and mushy mud. There was no trail so it was hard going. We came to a fallen log that spanned the creek and single-filed it over to the other side. Or did we? Because when we walked forward a little bit, there was the creek again. As we got our bearings, we discovered something that took my breath away.
We were on an island.
Now, if you were to ask me what I wanted most in the world when I was a little girl, I would say a white kitten. But a close second, would have been an island.
To be surrounded by water, the sound of it in both ears, from each side, is incredible.

So this week, up at the cottage again, we cleared the island. Cleared it of decades of dead wood and leaves and brush. We had bonfires for several days which taught me several interesting lessons. One being, that fires can actually curl and bleach your hair if you get too close. It's true. It's also true that the hair then disintegrates after it's had its moment being curly and blond. Also, if you burn too many fingers too badly then it is difficult to play card games with the kids at night. At one point Grant informed me that I had a lot of black soot on my chin. He said, "Um Mom, you have a beard. But it looks really good on you." I would have never known I look good in a beard if it wasn't for the bonfire.

What was I talking about? Ahh yes, islands. Anyway, so we cleared the island. And I began to decorate it. Did you know you can decorate islands? Mine is going to have a big hammock, I have the lucky trees picked out for it. It's also going to have a pavilion with mesh curtains, a table and chairs, and cots for sleeping at night when there's more people then will fit on the hammock. There is already a fire pit (where I learned the lessons randomly stated in the previous paragraph).

I made a lot of these plans while painting the dining room an intriguing blue-gray. Which leads me to another interesting point. You can decorate an island while decorating another room.
Creativity begets creativity my friends.

When I told my beloved husband my plans for the island he was naturally a little stunned.
But maybe that's because his wife had curly blond hair and a black beard.
I'm not sure.

Anyway, I really like my island.
Just in case you were curious, I got a white kitten several years ago.
I have no plans for growing a permanent beard.

My island...log bridge on left

I love my orange chair in the woods.

Rowan trying to figure out how to cross.

Posy posing with logs.

Brothers on a mossy rock with hair curling fire behind them.

Goofy kids on their Daddy.