at the waterfall, alive

 The waterfall; I’m staring right at it; 

the constant outpouring of the grace of God; the way He pours and pours

the flow of time in its stubborn, forward current

always coming; always refusing be collected and held

If i cup my hands under, I don’t slow the flow, not even a little

I change the path of the water a little, but it all spills out the sides

Just as much coming, filling, passing away

at the same rate it always has

If i put my hands over my ears

move away from the sound, try to ignore the whole thing

that changes nothing, either. It’s all going away,

at the same rate it always has. 

If i cup my hands under, I don’t slow the flow, 

but I feel it

the cool presence of this one moment, coming, filling, passing away

I am here for it. 

Lord, it is good to be here. 

Opening eyes and mouth and heart to the flood of living water, to Jesus’s presence right here and now. Noticing the gifts he gives, letting them go, praising him, letting the grief-gratitude pour out in His presence as it comes.

Will there be days when this flood turns to a trickle? Of course. But I need not fear, because His presence will remain even then; my living water will not run out.

photo credit: Eldon Cook

The story of a pew

Upheld in church, supported in body by a former tree, she sits on a wooden pew. It once turned sunshine into food, life, shade; it now rests from its labors, and yet it still holds life. 

Where did this tree grow, and what did it support in its life?  The weight of birds, squirrels, even treehouses cannot compare to the weight it supports today.

How many weary behinds sat right here, after grinding away at a lifeless job all week, feeling trapped, burdened, weary?

Did a mom sit here once, making her family’s meal plan during the sermon

opening snacks, giving out threats and snuggles as needed

unable to be still for even a moment to meet her present Lord?

How many hands grasped the wood, dizzy and a little hungover

trying desperately to paint a “fine face” over shame and fear and shaky resolutions?

How many times did this back support a body ridden with cancer?

See the the drip of wax from Christmas eve candles

due to elderly shaking hands, 

or siblings threatening to burn each other’s hair.

Are there teeth marks on this pew from a toddler, now grown and flown? 

Is the hymnal marked by a crayon held by a child that now holds his own baby?

How many sat here, utterly distracted and restless

or carrying a silent heavy question, 

or simmering rage

or quiet desperation

or tearful gratitude

The rings of a tree tell the story of the seasons, the life that surrounded the tree as it grew. And this tree still gathers stories, welcoming all who come to rest, welcoming every story to sit at the feet of Jesus and be refreshed by his grace and His Word.

To every person made in the image of God, 

it quietly beckons:

Welcome, come rest,

be healed, be refreshed.

There is a place for you, right here, in the presence of God.

You belong here.
Your story has a place here. 

Come and sit; Jesus is a gracious host.

Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to me; hear me, that your soul may live. (Isaiah 55:1)

(This reflection was inspired by this sermon, where Pastor Schultz shares these ideas, but far better than I did!)

The doors of my soul are open

Jesus walks freely about the rooms

Come in, Lord, see

You are welcome here.

Breeze, blow through;

Air it out, freshen me up.

What furniture needs rearranging, Lord?

How’s the remodeling going?

Tear down, build, remake me,

Even though it hurts

Doors of my soul, open to Him

It is He who made you and remakes you

He is making all things new.

Let Him.

curriculum twist

 Last week he learned how to drive a tearful mama through the dark and snow

How to walk into hospital rooms and give long hugs

How to see strength made weak, and not crumble at the knees,

How to give hugs liberally, to hold his Nana and speak love into her heart

To sit alone in the quiet rooms of her house, to miss all the noise, even siblings, 

and to lean on his people, and to let his mom see his tearful face without shame

And he learned how to keep praying the Lord’s prayer when his mama’s voice broke, when she couldn’t quite say “thy will be done.” 

and how to wait out her grief tornado with calm loving presence in a parking lot

(as she once waited out his temper tantrums)

We noticed the subtle difference between a hurried “Do you have questions?” and a gentle “What questions do you have?” How a posture can push away or invite, can threaten or serve; the gift of an unhurried presence and a compassionate ear. 

and we learned how to ender hospital rooms with a story to tell, about life on the outside

and a psalm or prayer for emergencies

and to let people talk; let them tell and retell all the horrible twists and turns

and how it’s always ok to say nothing and just be present

and to ask ourselves what we need to keep showing up to those hard places

What is the family’s treatment plan? 

And we looked around and saw Hope and Fear

Both stubbornly insisting on being in the room, all the time

(Let them speak, don’t let either bulldoze the other out

They both need to be heard

and neither one really knows the future)

If a tender heart peeks out, and ‘I need to tell you how much you mean to me’ starts, and a chin quivers, don’t smother the uncomfortableness- yours or theirs- let the words be said, and let your tears be seen, too. 

Remember, when you are allowed to enter in to someone’s pain,

you are standing on sacred ground.

Move softly. 

Hug often.

Carry grace.

The shape of hands, giving thanks

The shape of hands, giving thanks

They hold what is given tenderly

With all the weight of attention, right now, here

Savoring, naming what is given

and giving thanks to the Giver.

They share, they don’t begrudge

Knowing nobody gets all the blessings, 

nobody gets everything all at once

and there is enough

They are open

They hold what is given 

and let go of what is not given

If God does not will it, it will turn into worms in these hands

They hold a heart out, 

the real and wanting heart, with the wounds and the worries

the questions and the darkness

the tension of things broken and waiting

to a Giver who can be trusted

They let go of grasping

They let go of fighting for something else

They let go of directing the play

and settle into the character, the scene, given, right here. 

They let go

or they try to let go

and when there’s a fist of grasping that can’t let 

Then there’s a letting go of forcing

and a prayerful incompleteness that can be OK (even not OK)

If He who began this work on these hands

has promised to complete it

The shape of hands, giving thanks

is the shape of hands that feel the heartbeat of Jesus

steadied by His love

held fast by His holding, 

right here.

Jesus, caretaker of all that is precious,

behold

and hold

our hands. 

--------

The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places, 

indeed I have a beautiful inheritance. 

In your presence there is fullness of joy;

At your right hand are pleasures forevermore. (Psalm 16)

 

outgrown pillow

 a baby boy with round cheeks; red and fat and leaning on his mom

mom is the whole world

and there is nothing but love and trust between them

it cracks a heart wide open

and mom pours out and out, 

giving life until she’s empty

until it hurts

but it hardly hurts at all really 

and she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else

when she’s baby’s pillow

and then the pillow is outgrown

‘she watches as her babies drift violently away’

giving less, that’s what really hurts

moving over, standing back, watching from the stands

she was the literal whole world

then suddenly

she becomes someone who has to work

to earn a peek into a heart

sometimes she’s shut out entirely

for long cold seasons

and she prays and waits outside the angry closed door

for years if she must

not knowing if it’s a cocoon or a tomb that encloses

not knowing if spring will come

Sometimes she’s granted VIP access

to a tender brave moment, or a tough scary question

or a whispered confession

Sometimes she’s invited into a spirited sparring match

or invited to dream alongside, 

to see shiny imagined futures in the clouds

As they get bigger,

she gets smaller

and the moments become weightier

for her

remember the bouquet of apology dandelions?

remember the blankie, and how he’d cry when you washed it?

remember the chapter books on the swing?

remember when you thought you’d die of squeaky kid voices,

thought you’d run screaming into the woods 

with one more demand? 

It was all too much. 

and then there was just

one 

more 

demand.

Let go.

steady now

 a morning text:

“Dad’s been taken by ambulance, he’s in ICU and we don’t know what’s going on”

and my universe shook; 

unsteady, 

we need to go

steadier husband 

kept the keys and packed with me.

My son was up early, and somehow he knew

when he saw me he knew 

No words

Just a hug

And he stood there solid, and I was the small crumbling shaking mom

and he made no motion to move away

(as long as you need mama)

like he was trying to let his strength pour into me

(as long as you need)

and love made me steadier

In the car later I said “Oh no I forgot my earbuds!” and my husband said “I grabbed them for you, they’re right here” and I cried at the small kindness

and just tried to keep breathing. Steady now. 

and we drove right on by the texts that said “don't come until we know something”

until we finally got there, to the hospital, to my daddy in a gown in a bed

and my mom’s face crumpled into “I’m glad you came”

And I could finally give her a hug

And I stood there solid, holding the small crumbling shaking mom

and made no motion to move away

(as long as you need mama)

like I was trying to let strength pour into her

(as long as you need)

and love made us steadier.

--

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ. (2 Corinthians 1:3-5)

We wait in hope for the Lord;

    he is our help and our shield.

In him our hearts rejoice,

    for we trust in his holy name.

May your steadfast love be with us, Lord,

    even as we put our hope in you

(Psalm 33:20-22)

*the acute crisis has passed for now; we are breathing, praying for healing, and still carrying some big unanswered questions; thanks to those who join us.

little girl keeping vigil

 There is a little girl in my heart keeping vigil

she is kneeling, keeping a candle lit,

praying for her dad around the clock

of course mom is there too, and her little sister 

all the time, there beside her, 

pouring out love and prayer and fears and hopes

there, for the man we love so dearly

Does God see, does he hear? 

Where is He as we pray?

 “i’m praying for your dad” someone else says

words like a gentle hand on the shoulder

other people going in and out, joining the vigil

the plea for help and mercy

Our small voices, joined with other voices

echo in that holy space

Hear my cry, O God;

    listen to my prayer.

From the ends of the earth I call to You,

    I call as my heart grows faint;

    lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

For You have been my refuge,

    a strong tower against the foe.

I long to dwell in Your tent forever

    and take refuge in the shelter of Your wings. (Psalm 61)

And underneath our pleading voices; 

another voice pleads- strong and commanding

rich with compassion 

and deep with wisdom beyond our understanding

God Himself prays with us. 

And we are not alone.

Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them. (Hebrews 7:25)

The Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, (Romans 8)