The heavens declare the Glory of God
yet not even the heavens
say everything
all at once
The heavens declare the Glory of God
yet there is more glory than can fit
in one sky
in one season
in one lifetime
The heavens declare the Glory of God
one note of an eternal song
one brilliant canvas displayed
and then gone
The heavens declare the Glory of God
in one modest, majestic way
by being just as He made
which is enough
for today
What in the world do I say to Marcus on his 18th birthday?
All I can think is, how did we get here so quickly?
Can’t we skip this milestone, or have a one year do-over?
My arms and heart vividly remember the days when I called you “bud” and flipped you over my shoulder, but now, you tower over me with your man-self and I can’t for a second pretend you’re still my little “bud.” You’re something new now, more solid and more capable; and more other adjectives you have yet to define.
Why did you power through high school and graduate early again? I know there were reasons but I can’t seem to remember them as I pack away your checklists.
Last year, you proved you could keep up with college work; you settled deeper into your skin in the rooms of auto mechanics. Your future plans started solidifying, and then we blew them all to dust. Your dad took a call to St Louis, and we moved you in your senior year.
When you move a piano, you’re supposed to let it settle for a while before you try to tune it; it takes time to adjust to the humidity, the air of a new location. When you move a Marcus, there is no manual to consult, but if there were, I think it would have similar instructions.
What to say about this? I’m sorry? That’s not quite it.
One part of my heart insists, “I know it was right and good for you and for us, the Lord’s plot twists always are, even when we don’t understand them.” Another part sighs; we have both felt some intense demolition crews come through during this time of remodeling; and we are both still in the process of being built up again.
Remember an early night in our new house, when you got out of the shower and opened a door thinking it was your hallway, but found instead the black yawning chasm of the basement? You were so offended! You may not like that part of the property, but you seem to like being in the country, and you definitely like having a huge pole barn.
All summer until recently you’ve been working to finish your high school requirements. “Read this, watch this, let’s talk about that.” We’ve got in a lovely habit of getting coffee and then sitting by Silver Lake to talk for hours. Remember that time it took us 5 hours to get through a 2 hour podcast because we both kept stopping it to comment and argue? The last 2 days of school, we took the motorcycles to the lake to talk about your last assigned book, and I felt like the luckiest mom in the world to have that time with my senior.
I love watching your brain make connections, challenge ideas, and imagine how it could be different. I suspect you will always question systems; you will rarely be willing to do things one way just because that’s how it’s always been done.
Your skepticism, your curiosity, and your work ethic are going to be gifts you bring to wherever you go next. I can’t wait to watch it all unfold.
Love, mom
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.
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
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.
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 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.
1. We got a few bonus moments this summer
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.
