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Showing posts from April, 2013

In the light of Your glory...

Sunday morning!  I wake eight minutes before my alarm.  I immediately start dry-heaving.

I slide air in and out and notice how my stuffed nose has eased.  The night before I had gone to bed so miserable that I could barely talk or breathe or think, let alone sing.  I took meds and went to bed early and prayed for a miracle.  And it's morning, and it's the day.  The week has evaporated and I'm stunned and voice scratchy.  How can I sing in three hours?

It feels amazing.  It feels horrifying.  And it is.

I drink coffee and sing along to the same songs I've been singing all week, preparing my heart.  Singing about who do I really have to fear?  And how God finds me right where I am.  And how my heart may be racing and pounding and shaking loose of its cage, but God rights it, steadies the beats.  I sing soft, don't wake the rest of the house.  I sing soft, can't believe I am going through with this.  I sing soft, can't believe I get this chance.

On impulse be…

I'll sing out and remind my soul...

Last Tuesday I went to bed in a panic, throat burning, honey and tea not doing a darn thing.

I woke up to an increased sore throat that ran into my ears when I swallowed.  Aaron left for work and before he did, I told him how frustrated I was, how just plain scared, "I'm supposed to sing for everyone tonight!"  He understood my heart-pain, how diligent I had been to sit in the minivan after the kids were in bed so I could practice.  And my heart and dreams were reflected in his eyes.  "You've practiced so hard..."  I swallowed hard over pain, nodded, the tears overflowing.

Maybe I should just go ahead and give up.  Just email my worship leader and tell him I was sick, that it wasn't going to happen.  But as bad as I felt, as hard as it was to drag myself through the day, I couldn't give it up.  I felt it would be worse if I did, rather than just going through it.  And I felt if I folded, he would win.  Again.  And I'd start believing the lies a…

Glory, glory, hallelujah...

I remember it clearly.  Sitting in my room, barely a teenager, my green NIV Bible before me.  And praying and crying and just plain begging.

"If You give me a voice, I will use it!"  

I wanted to sing so bad.

My fingers moved passionately over piano keys.  Easily.  They always have.  With piano lessons beginning by four years old because Mom knew truly I had the heart of a pianist and artist; music became me.  My voice, slower to develop, slow to be brave, felt like it was never arriving.  I would sing, but quietly.  I would sing passionately when alone, locking the doors and standing in just the right spot to get the most echo and I'd belt out the National Anthem.  I knew I could do it.  Knew I had it in me.  But I couldn't get it from my lungs, up my heart, through my throat, past my lips if someone was listening.

And I felt like I might die if I didn't let it out.  And I felt like I might die if I did.

A few times I braved the waters and mostly stayed behind th…

Just as I am, without one plea...

There's this thing with having small children that can talk.

They repeat everything you say.

EVERYTHING.

When Joel yells and flails his hands, I declare that I have no idea where he learned those mannerisms.  He must have been born that way.  Maybe he gleaned it from an episode of Mickey Mouse.  But surely not from me.  I never screech.  I never throw my hands in a wide arc of frustration and giving up.  No.  Never.

The other night Joel and Daddy were coming down the steps and Aaron must have been stopping to do something - pick up a toy, turn off a light, something to delay their descent.  And I hear Joel go, "Stop screwing around!"  We laughed and as they made it to the main floor Aaron encouraged him to say, "Stop messing around."  But the damage was done.

There are days when all I feel I am doing is wrecking him.  That he is this sweet little bundle of innocence, even though I know he's not.  I realize he was born a sinner in need of saving grace.  I kn…

Hand on my heart, this much is true, there's no life apart from You...

I'm just going to have to go ahead and say it.

I'm tired of everyone saying or round-a-bout implying how evil Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, and the like are (and then still continuing to use them).  I've seen and read things recently about how users of these are more depressed and how social networks, such as Facebook, are the root of this evil.  I must disagree.  The root of comparison and the joy-stealer it is, is just downright personal discontentment and envy within our own hearts.  It has always been there.  That desire to want more, to know more, to be more.  And when we see something we're not, something we wish we were, wish we had... hello, little green monster.

Not to sound like a mean-girl, but it's no one's responsibility but your own to keep that wrapped up.

I don't say that to be snarky or heartless or unfeeling or any of those things.  I am the first one who would open my door and offer a cup of coffee and sit and listen for as long as you ne…

Baby, be mine...

Do you ever stop to consider how significant it is that your spouse wanted to marry you?

Not just hang out on the weekends with you.  Not just see you on the big holidays.  Not just take you to the movies and out for burgers.  They wanted you more for than just kisses goodnight on your momma's front porch.  It wasn't a contest, it wasn't a bet.  They weren't desperate.  He could have given that ring to anyone else.  She could have said yes to any number of suitable bachelors.  But he asked her.  And she said yes to him.

We say we marry our best friends - or that you should - but then somehow we get caught up in the "he's a man" and "she's a woman" and we tend to lean back into our friendships.  And that's okay.  Community and history with people are definitely important and necessary and I'm not saying you spend every nanosecond with the person you share a last name, a bed, a home with.  But what if you really considered a) the signif…

Heal all my disease...

I hear the baby stir, fuss slightly and I'm immediately awake.  Ready.  I firmly believe it's genuinely a gift God gives mothers for the sake of their children.  Aaron can sleep on top of the baby monitor and still not hear a late night cry.  But me?  I can tell the difference between an awake and hungry snort and a sleeping snore.  And when he cries out, I'm alert and ready.

I jumped straight up to make the bottle, noting the time on the stove clock and giving tired thanks that he had slept straight through until almost 5 a.m.  The bottle warm and ready, I head back to scoop him up to find he's slipped back into dreamland.  So I sneak out quietly, backtracking my steps to the kitchen and place the bottle up on the counter.

The clock blinks at me.  Teasing?  Beckoning.  It's 5 a.m. and I'm reminded of what I wrote just last night and my desperation to find God exactly where I am and how I believe He is exactly where I am and I feel the tug of His smile and of…

You'll never leave me thirsty...

The day is over, the boys are asleep and I'm finally allowed the space to take a shower.  I'm still in frantic, keep-my-head-above-water mode and I take note as I scrub furiously and feel the whispered, "Hurry, hurry!" in my head.  I'm so exhausted and in a complete state of unrest and I can't slow down and I can't think and today I was just trying to plain make it out alive.  And the conversation in my head starts, the slightly bitter, the frustrated, the I-think-I'm-screwing-up dialog still draining my heart.  The words bite silently in my head.  In my soul.

"He gets it, right?  He gets that I'm here?"  

And I pause in washing my hair and wait for an answer.  Because I know there is one.  I know there has to be.  And I trust that He does get it and He is there, but there are times when the failures feel so high and the times I lost my patience outweigh the times I was kind and all I can think about is the laundry left to fold, the dishe…