gaping upward

 

Sitting next to the field at sunrise, I keep turning my head. The sky is so big I can't even take it in all at once. In my camp chair by the field, I’m wrapped in a blanket. The stars are still out, seeing the slow and gradual beauty as a new day dawns. Spectacular, every day. 

See, all this beauty God is making, this gift. And he didn’t need my help for any of it. 

I'm right where I belong, here, gaping upward, receiving, and giving thanks.

I’m learning much these days about being welcomed but not needed, as my role in my family shrinks. And in all the rearranging, I am being invited to sit more deeply and comfortably in a posture of receiving, of simply accepting beauty and grace. 

Things will get more tangled as the day goes forward, as others get out of bed and there is work to be done. There are always competing priorities, open questions;  the way never seems to be clear and straight. We muddle through and the sun goes down and we prepare to do it all over again.

But then a new day, a new invitation.
See all the things God is doing without my help!

I'm right where I belong, here, gaping upward, receiving, and giving thanks.

the bird

 If his eye is really on the sparrow, why is this bird dying on my porch?

this bird that woke his nurturing side, that seemed to be calling him out of his depression into service and joy

for like five minutes

and now he’s in his room not responding

and I’m crying on the porch with a little bird’s failing heartbeat in my hands.

Do we ever get over things, or do we just get through?
And how does a soft heart avoid growing bitter?
How can we resist turning into a concrete tower or a phoney or a total cynic or just a weeping puddle on the floor surrounded by losses?

Not a bird falls without his knowledge

but many do fall with his knowledge 

and somehow we have to live here

and try to keep loving fragile things

and try to keep trusting Him who gives and takes away.

I have never been able to resign myself to this

and maybe I’m not supposed to.

I live defiantly

making lunch for the living boys in my home

and I don’t want to pet the smiling dog as he comes wagging up to me

but I stretch out my hand and do it anyway

and I refuse to close my heart. 

And what of the children?
Will they find a way to hold hope?  It is not in the bird; it is not in wise parental words; it is not in mindset shifts; it is not in denial or hardness or hiding in bedrooms. If they are to find hope and strength to keep loving what can be lost they will have to find it in Jesus. May His love strengthen and fill our hearts. 

Jesus, receive this little bird into your ground- dust to dust- along with all of our questions and struggles about life in this broken place. We commend to you every loose end, every sad part. Help us, as we live in this fragile place, to love what we cannot keep, and wait with hope in Your redemption. Help us remember your heart, Your longing for the New Creation, Your whole-bodied commitment to making all things new.  Amen

A sonnet about sons

My darling’s smell is nothing like a rose

A squirrel is far more soft than he is soft

His bedroom air is painful to my nose

I hold my breath as through the hall it wafts

I've seen some jocks inspire and reach great heights

But no such skills are in those with my genes

And in some banquets there is more delight

Than in the treats created by my teen

I love to hear him speak and pick a fight

Imagination, snark, and wit collide

I grant I never saw a manly knight

He’ll sidle in a room with awkward stride 

And yet, by heaven, I think my son more fine

Than any other son that isn’t mine.

Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet 130

on coming back home to White Creek for the 185th anniversary celebration…

The family is shrinking these days; we came back with only our youngest two of six; the two who were born and baptized in this place; they tower over me now. 

I wonder if they have a sense of coming home in their bones, like I do:

“The very spot where grew the bread that formed my bones, I see. How strange, old field, on thee to tread, and feel I’m part of thee.” Abraham Lincoln

but mostly they are thinking “who are all these people that know my name and keep talking about me as if I were just a baby yesterday?”

This is where it all started, for them

Where they were fearfully wonderfully made

nourished by Indiana harvest,

carried helpless to the the font and bathed in the Word

called by name and welcomed into the Family

These two boys would move three times, live in three more states before they graduated high school. 

And yet they would hear these same words, this same gospel

spoken over them and to them in each place. 

God’s faithfulness holds.

and today, they are still standing in it

back here, where it all started.

------

I see us, fresh out of seminary

when it was still weird to hear him called “Pastor Cook.”

with no idea how much we didnt know

scanning the playground while talking, counting children,
hoping they wouldn’t break anything or knock anyone over

I see my boys in their small bodies running laps around the parsonage

and my little girls playing volleyball, swinging on monkey bars, hosting sleepovers

it is good to visit where others remember that, too, and marvel with me at how they all have grown

I didnt know how quickly we would all grow, how many paths would part

and how much everything would get rearranged

I can still feel the feel of my face in the carpet

on a weekday alone in the sanctuary, sobbing over her seizures

I didn't know God would heal her (eventually) and take care of us so specifically along the way, through His people 

and that time our dog got into the school and my face burned with embarrassment

as it would every time my mask of “I have it together” slipped
which turned out to be often.

(i wish i had let it slip sooner and more completely

I was trying to act like such a big girl;
with the grace of God around above under and before me

I didn't know how safe I really was.)

and really, I didn’t know

how to serve well without playing God

how to accept my own limits

how to love well and receive well

and I didn’t know what to do with the hard parts,

the rifts and the wounds
and now God has now healed many of them
May He keep going, and heal all the rest. (I think He will.)

the best part is; God knew

all the things I didn’t know

and He took our stumbling efforts and added His touch 

and He worked for good even when it felt bad
and I can see that a little better now

and this week He let me see my husband as just one pastor in a long train

and the church as she has been there, 

solid, imperfect, alive,

roots planted by the River of Life for 185 years
and the grace of God before and above and around and after 

the Word of God as the lifeblood flowing through.

And even as I have a sense of our family shrinking 

as we launch children left and right;

it is true at the same time that our family is enormous,

and growing.

“How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of Hosts!” Ps 84:1

the slinky effect & embracing "here"

 The youngest one got a job this week. He’s the first one to be officially employed before his 15th birthday. I got a front row seat to his pride and excitement. He starts driver's training next week; also earlier than all the others. 

I told him how everything seemed to be going faster for him (for me) than for his older siblings.  Like that year I thought he’d be going to kindergarten for just 3 days so I’d still have my buddy at home, but then we moved and school took him, full time, and my preschool season ended. Just like that. 

He thinks this is a great thing, and he celebrated it with a metaphor:

“Mom, it’s just like a slinky. You pull it forward- that’s Lorraine going out to do stuff- and then you let the other end go and  ---sound effect---- it catches up, fast.”

Not for the first time, I am stunned at the connections his brain makes. 

Yes, that is exactly how it is, son. 

---

But in the meantime, there are flowers and vegetables growing, and for once, I am remembering to water them. 

This summer, embracing “here” was embracing open spaces, possibilities, margin, open questions, waiting, and lots of travel. But the margin is shrinking; a new normal is beginning to fall into place. Embracing “here” is starting to mean THIS church, THESE people, THESE rhythms.

A job for Peter. Photography class for Eldon. Wittenberg friends and a co-op and a church. A favorite coffee place with Marcus. A new mower forJosh that he uses on Tuesdays. Date nights. A favorite motorcycle route. Watering these specific plants. 

Today, I see the view from here, and it is good.

one last glass of chocolate milk- launching Aggie

 1. We got a few bonus moments this summer

before she went and launched herself out west

night singing and rain walking

thrift shopping and car dancing

marvelling at the mountains, the lakes, even a moose

but now it’s time

to pry open my fist, again

to hug goodbye, to cry behind sunglasses

my mama heart is never ready for this

it can consent to change (sort of)

it can commend to the Lord (partially)

& it still trembles, winces, aches

2. This week, she discovered a new superpower. If she touches me during a hymn, if she holds my hand or leans on my shoulder, I immediately lose the ability to sing.

3. Look, how the world goes on shining even when I'm not there*

like right now;

mom is probably watering her flowers in michigan

and the waves are crashing on the pier

and my watermelon are still growing bit by bit near the sweltering cornfield

and a mountain lake is silently reflecting the sky

right now shining, somewhere

my son is mowing a lawn and cherishing his wife in Kentucky

my daughter is serving coffee and opening her heart to new adventures in Indiana

my newly-launched daughter is adjusting to altitude, cool air, new everything in Wyoming

and no,

God tells me, when I protest,

i can't have a front row seat to everything all at once

if God wants to expand and expand his work

far outside my line of vision, well…

first of all, he already has, He already was

I have never been the center

He’s been at this for years

and there is even more there

and there

and way over there, shining

(I think he’ll take me there someday

when my hands are emptier)

Meanwhile, I’m not there

but I am here

resolutely here

with my limited front row seat

with my arms that do not reach across the country

even as my heart keeps trying to

4. I want to lay a gravestone

“in loving memory of the front row seat”

and then plant a flower

“in loving embrace of this seat, today”

but for now I’ll just pour one last round of chocolate milk

so she can raise one last glass with her brothers

and that will be it.

5. Bloom, daughter,

Keep your heart open and your hand in His.

He’s got you. He always has.

-----

*inspired by Mary Oliver

on bracing for impact

They were out on the boat and the wind shifted; the waves were suddenly threatening

Yikes! Pack in the tube, drop off the littles, and drive the half hour back into the harbor for safety.

But I hadn’t had my boat ride yet. So in a wild impulse, I asked to get on. 

Just climbing on the boat was wild in those huge waves; that should have been my clue.

But, fun, and risk, and a day in the sunshine on Lake Michigan with my people!

My heart wants to plunge in, embrace every second of it. 

It was rougher than I thought it would be. I kept looking at his face-

Are we good?
You got this?
Is this real danger or am I just scared? 

I stood so I could see the waves coming, bend my knees and balance with them. I’m always more comfortable that way; with this tiny illusion of control.

The waves were big enough that the jets came out of the water several times; the entire boat came out of the water more than once. The impact after a wave like that sometimes felt like the boat would crack in half. 

I look at his face- are we good? He’s not smirking, or laughing at my fear this time. 

He’s concentrating too hard for that. 

My death grip got shaky and I realized I was wearing myself out. 

You signed up for this!

But I didn't know how scary it would be!

Look at you there- fighting the waves- who is that helping?

Is there really another option?

Just to experiment, I unclenched. And the boat didn’t fall apart. 

I unclenched, and didn’t fly off. 

I unclenched, and nobody died. 

Nobody even noticed. 

The waves just kept waving as they were before;

The boat kept making wild steady progress just as before.
I think I felt Jesus and Josh smirking at me, a little. 

I unclenched, and found myself free to look around a little.
To notice how the yahoos in the front were laughing; one was even holding his hands in the air like he was on a roller coaster. (Show off!)

To marvel at my husband’s skill in maneuvering the boat (and his curly hair)

to imagine the predictive calculations his brain and body were making every minute

to thank God he has a brain like that (plus steady nerves)

and even, a few times, to lean IN to the waves instead of fighting

to jump with tentative approval when the boat jumped

to laugh.

I unclenched, 

released my fake control,

and found myself free.

An artist at the festival

He’s a man wearing a Tailor-made life

it fits him perfectly; he pulls it off
He struts around in it with joy, telling his story to whoever will listen

His Tailor-made life has pockets for all his treasures
but they overflow;
so he sells his extra treasure at festivals
offering classes so others can learn
to gather and capture and celebrate
and pour out
like he does

He looks my teenage son in the eye with seriousness, saying
“You miss every opportunity you don’t take,
so take your chances;
it might be a miss but you gotta show up, you gotta try”

He has found his song,
he sings it joyfully,
his gray beard framing his smile,
his fervent invitation

Later that night,
My son captures a sunset.

questions posed to my soul

If God sent rest, would you receive it?
Could you recognize it?
or would you call it names like

boredom,
loneliness,

and try to send it away as fast as you could?

If God sent margin, would you fill it?
Could you delight in it?
or would you reach left and right to fill the empty spaces

to re-create the overscheduled pace

where your breathless complaints are familiar?

If God sent a gift

that you don’t already know how to receive,

Would you ask for His help unwrapping it?