waiting

My children crawl on me, fight over who sits by me.
I make room, as much room as I can, on my lap in in my arms.
Let the little children come. 

The first hymn begins.
I kiss a little forehead before I sing,
but then I find it difficult to sing.

They are on my mind:
The child-martyrs halfway across the world.

The church sings a hymn about a God mighty to save.

I wonder why God doesn't stop these things.
why His goodness is so hard to see,
why it seems like He is silent.

Like He's above all this. 

What would I do if it were me?
If my neck, or these necks were threatened?

I look inside for an answer.
It's not pretty, what I feel, what I fear:
Would I cower, and beg, and cling to life above everything else?
Would lies, shame, fear, rage, and hate overtake me?
I think... yes.
I am so weak, and I would be overcome. 
Unless... God.

Unless He's not above all this, but right in it,
like He said.
Unless He is truly Immanuel, God with us,
God who has traveled through death 
into new life,
for us.

What if faith is a gift,
and so is the courage to stand strong?
What if this world is crumbling,
and will continue to crumble,
until it is made new when His kingdom comes?
What if I can't hide from that or stop it,
but only wait,
wait,
for God to do what He said He will do?

What if faith comes by hearing, by His Word,
and what if that Word lives?
We who cling to it, we also shall live.

His Word is here, for us, 
Jesus, for us,
body and blood and Bible,
giving us life.

Life, right now, and life everlasting.
I breathe it in, 
and it fills me,
through my ears and into my heart.

My heart beats with a new strength,
the kind that won't run out,
because it doesn't come from me.

We wait, but we are not still in our waiting.
We speak and we give and we pray,
we grieve,
for those children, and our own.

We look straight on,
at the bloody mess, 
and we make pies, tie shoes, and keep living
and we pray and we wait.

We remember the cross,
the death that could not hold our Lord,
and as we dwell under the shadow of death,
we wait.

We cling to His Word,
and His Word clings to us,
and we wait.


And we wait.

--------------

Despised and scorned, they sojourned here;

But now, how glorious they appear!

Those martyrs stand a priestly band,

God’s throne forever near.

So oft, in troubled days gone by,

In anguish they would weep and sigh.

At home above the God of Love

For aye their tears shall dry.

They now enjoy their Sabbath rest,

The paschal banquet of the blest;

The Lamb, their Lord, at festal board

Himself is Host and Guest.

(LSB 656 v.2)

When he opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the witness they had borne. They cried out with a loud voice, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before you will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?” Then they were each given a white robe and told to rest a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete, who were to be killed as they themselves had been...

Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?” I said to him, “Sir, you know.” And he said to me, “These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

“Therefore they are before the throne of God,
and serve him day and night in his temple;
and he who sits on the throne will shelter them with his presence.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;
the sun shall not strike them,
nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

(Rev. 6:9-11, 7:13-17)

Come Lord Jesus.

(Who out there is waiting with me?)

(Originally posted 8/2014 because of persecution in Iraq; resisted today with thoughts of Afghanistan.)

To Lorraine, as you leave for college;

It can be easy to forget how the packing of boxes is a sign of steady, slow submission; how surrender to the will of God often means pulling up roots and following into the unknown. It can be easy to forget how tears can gather behind your eyes, or leave a wet spot on a shoulder, and how eventually, they dry again. 

I had forgotten the sacrifice of those who helped us pack, those who would rather have chained us to them with handcuffs of “love,” instead carried heavy boxes with heavy hearts but determined, open hands. 

It can be easy to forget how it felt, to drive away with heart weeping, to let one’s mind trace over the edges of gifts given in that place, to wonder achingly if any of those gifts will ever come again, and to resolve to give thanks even so, even not knowing.

But, unloading the boxes, what was that like? 

fresh rooms, new paint,

possibilities, finding the library,

imagination rekindled, 

awkward moments, new relationships 

the fist of a heart, learning slowly to unclench again,

the scattered contents of a brain and home, put back into a new order

pieces coming together,

finding I am still me, 

though a new version

carrying the memories but opening to new ones

hope, possibility

a rearranged soul

making a new home.

It is not a rejection of the home that you leave behind, 

to open your heart in this new home.

If I could keep you little,

If i could save you the pain of goodbyes and of change, of missing home, of letting go,

I probably would; 

but it would not serve you well.

Because in these things we learn that we do not possess each other, 

or anyone,

or any moment or place or season, 

or any gift from heaven,

but we must receive them as God gives, 

and let them go when He takes, 

when he exchanges them for others.

He has proven his faithfulness in this to you in the past, 

and I trust He will again.

I recall these same thoughts when dad went off to war,

I could never let you go, i would crumble and hang on your feet and make a scene

If i did not know that underneath us both is the stability of God, 

and that our parting now is just a short moment in the stream of eternity.

Go forward in confidence, 

with open hands, open heart, and deep roots.

With deepest love,

gratitude to God for giving us you,

confidence in His hand on your life,

and joy in seeing the woman you have become,

I release you into the care of God for the next step on your journey.

I love you with every part of me.

Mom

Image: Narnia vibes, from the shores of Concordia, Mequon.

Adventures ahead!

every day, serenity

 Every day I want a little more time,

the school things fill all the moments

and how is it that time already, I thought we would be further along by now! 

and the frantic self starts to fuss and demand,

drinking coffee and willing all of us to move faster, work harder, 

to do all the things.

But these days, I am telling the harried mom in me to chill out, 
every day,
because frantic is not the kind of mom these children need,
not on this day, not this year.

Every day, I want a little more perspective, 
I want more wisdom as I learn
how to triage a list
how to move things to autopilot
how to become content with human limitations
how to maintain a gentle spirit in the midst of the noise and the pulling
how to be a servant without being a ping pong ball
how to be a manager without being a drill sergeant
how to take care of my own self
how to keep my eyes up, to notice the goodness and beauty that rain on me in generous showers every single day; 
how to catch some drops and savor them deeply

Every day, I want a little more serenity,
a little more trust that there will be manna in the wilderness
even the wilderness of a homeschool year, 
or a heavy question,
or a divided and angry country.

Every day,
I am weighed down with my self,
and this broken world,
and yet I am shepherded, gently, 
by the hand of a gracious God.

God grant me, every day, a little more Jesus.