Thoughts on Being a Woman

Last month my cousin bore her second baby.  A second man-child in which she labored hard to receive with joy, almost from the moment of conception she struggled in labor.  Those who are sick for nine months know.

Then a few days after his arrival her kid neighbors knocked on her door asking to borrow hairspray.  She said she didn't have any and they said of course not, you stay home all day without any need for sprucing up.

And I've been thinking lately about the strength of women, the intelligence of women, the amazing-ness of a woman.  

Look at her.  She is strong.  Anyone who can tackle the prairie, kids in tow, and still find beauty and softness is powerful.

Often we look at our physical and sometimes vocational vulnerability as a weakness.  Yet our womanly vulnerabilities are only a slight addition to the vulnerabilities all people face.

I sit here, on my leather couch, while miles underneath me the earth's fiery core crackles and pops, the plates shift and groan, the rivers and oceans roar and halt.  I am vulnerable.

Above me winds go wild, rains, snows, sleets give no heed.  The sun scorches, leaving drought in its wake.  Planets swirl.  Meteorites plunge.  Galaxies move and change perpetually and I don't even know how it all effects me, but it does.  The rays of the sun are essential but can be deadly.  The tilt of the earth gives seasons, the turn gives days, the path gives years.  The moon pulls waves.  

Next to me, on this planet, are people who drive under influences or text message while driving.  Diseases spread.  Water gets tainted.  Food can poison.  Cells can atrophy.  Seeds can be altered and soil gets ruined.  Evil belief systems threaten to destroy others.  Governments adopt ideologies contrary to the God of the Bible's value system...that each person is wonderfully made.  

Of course there is more but here is the point.  My female-ness is just another vulnerability I continually live with.  It is one more reason to hold onto the hope of a powerful God.  A God who has even made it possible through His sacrifice on the cross for us to connect to Him.  He beckons us to rely on Him, be lead by Him, trust Him, love Him.

Part of the God I worship's character is revealed in a woman.  As image bearers, created to display God, we as women display portions of God to the world.  

His nurture, as when Jesus cried over Jerusalem, longing to gather them as a hen gathers her chicks under His wings.  His weakness, as in Hebrews it says He endured hostility from sinful men, or Philippians where he submitted to taking the form of a man.  His compassion,  as Jesus stopped and called the woman who had been bleeding for years and sneaked a touch at His garment for healing.  He called her out and called her daughter.

And in receiving Him, I too am His daughter.  He enters into my heart and touches to heal the darkness and disaster I couldn't clean up.  

Me.  My sisters.  We are women.  We are vulnerable.  With Jesus, though, we are powerful.

I wish you a Happy Mother's Day, rejoicing in the gift of being a woman.

Sounds of Childhood

I asked the Lord the other morning, during our breakfast prayer, to help us see the gifts He gives us throughout the day.  Gifts we wouldn't notice, or maybe not even consider as gifts.

The morning flurry followed, and soon Raleigh was playing the piano and Dawson was playing the violin and Timmy decided I needed to play Deep Blue Sea with him.

So we sat down and I began.  Timothy's voice interrupted me..."no, we can't play it until Dawsy stops his violin.  I want to be able to hear the fishies splash."

We played, and the fishies not only splashed but sang "fiddledeedee" and the butterfly and parrot flew away.

Tonight that same little boy came into my bedroom saying he couldn't sleep because the dinosaurs were being too loud.  His new comforter and sham have dinosaurs on them, and the sham he was trying to sleep on was apparently  full of non-tired dinosaurs.

These are my gifts, the sounds of childhood.  How easily I shut my ears to them, busy with tasks and thoughts and struggles.

But the sound of fishies splashing and dinosaurs playing are waiting, beckoning me to notice.

Sometimes It's Simple

She's the first one up today and it's still quite dark.
After a hug she sits across the candlelit table from me.

I push aside my Bible and look.  "Are you excited to go to school today?"

She looks down at the table and doesn't say anything.  I assume my counseling
stature.  "How are you liking your new Kindergarten teacher?"  It's been over two weeks
now since her new teacher came.

She says she's fine.  So I probe further.  "Are you looking forward to class?"  She shakes her head no and looks at me.  "The snacks aren't very good anymore."

Snacks.  That's really what it's all about.  No deep teacher transition issues or disappointment with new expectations being dashed.  Just a poor snack that's not as exciting as it once was.

It really doesn't take much to speak a child's heart language.

I pull down the gigantic bag of M&Ms the man behind us in line at Costco saw fit to buy the kids.

"How about if we bag up some of these for you to share with your class today?"

She smiles and walks excitedly into her classroom.

I stop to talk to the secretary.

Ms. Secretary asks what my cat's name is, then reports that he jumped into her chair yesterday.  After she got over being startled, he made her day by sitting in her lap while she worked on the computer.

Pets.  It doesn't take much to speak a secretary's heart language.

Sometimes it's not hard to put a smile on someone's face.  It gets me smiling to see someone smiling, too!

Here are a few more pictures of some things that have made me smile lately:

Cowboys together

My newest beautiful nephew!

The Eight-Year-Old

I read something written in passing.   The author was making a completely different point, but something on the way struck me.  She said she loved ten year-olds; the way they act, think, look at life.

Ever since then I've been thinking of my children with that vocabulary: the three year-old, the eleven year-old, etc...

I remember to enjoy their stages that way.  I stop to appreciate what's going on inside them.  I consider that a stage means it will be over, often sooner than later, so I better enjoy.  Now.

I thought I'd record a little of their current stages, starting with my just-turned-eight year old.

 

Dawson is in second grade, is learning to play the violin and piano, mostly wears his Seahawks football uniform, loves building things, making things out of recyclables, finding out what makes people tick, and ticking them.

He's a great table setter and compost dumper.  He loves all things new.  If it's new, he's there to figure it out and use it until something newer comes along.  You can often find he and Raleigh together, though he loves all his siblings.

He thinks for himself and has a soft heart toward God.  I am deeply humbled and regularly flummoxed through the gift of being his mom.

Turn your head sideways and you can see a wolf howling at the moon, maybe???

I include a poem from his Pugga (Grandpa):

These days the trees release their leaves,
Then, standing bare and stark,
They prophecy of winter sky
And ice upon their bark.

But while the air is warm and fair
Let's laugh at winter's fear.
Let's jump and dash and twist and smash
In Seahawks football gear.

Playing House

I'm kneeling at her bed, she tucked in and us whispering silly somethings about the gifts of the day when she asks, "What does is mean to play house?"

At five years old, starting Kindergarten she's still got lots to learn.  Things she can't learn very easily with four brothers.

Right now I doubt I can answer her.  The waves of summer are are moving out, and when they retreat back into the sea, all that's left is evidence of my failed preparation, lack of foresight, and avoidance behavior.

Playing house is not one of my fortes.

On Sunday my husband preaches of our true home.  Not a place at all.  A person.

So in my 2:30 a.m. desperation, a million details and circumstances all trying to be worked out forcing sleep from my body, I turn to Jesus.

O my Strength, I watch for you; 

you, O God, are my fortress, 

my loving God.

O my Strength, I sing praise to you;

you, O God, are my fortress,

my loving God.

The words I read are written by a man whose home is surrounded by servants of the King of Israel waiting in ambush to kill him should he exit.

I'll follow David's lead, making God my strength.  

I'll watch for God's answers to my prayers.

I'll sing praise to Him.

I'll make Him my home, my fortress, and let him help me "play house".

text: Psalm 59. 9,17

photo: blueberry picking with Grandma

A Mother's Garden

As a girl I watched my mom haul buckets of water through the pasture all summer after they planted those lilacs.  I fell in love with them then.  Her hard work showed me the importance of beauty, fragrance, life.

Just recently she tells me about her gardening day with her mother.  They worked out in the driveway island planting dahlias and my grandma shares a memory of her mother planting dahlias.

There's May Day, still rich in my mind, my little body trying to hide after placing flowers on my grandparent's steps, knocking, and running to shelter.  My mom taught me that, too.

Now she has a rock garden down at the orchard and a beautiful entry garden in the driveway of her home.  Her life works life, fragrance, and beauty. 

They got their ears pierced together!

I plant sweet peas.  My neighbor comes over and tells me of his mother and how she always planted sweet peas.  We give him bouquets all summer, reminders of his mother's life.

My mother-in-law, she teaches us much about flowers, gardening, planning.  She grows her own sweet peas, rhodies, lilacs, fuchsias, geraniums, tulips, daffodils and so much more.  Her life gives fragrance and beauty.  She tells of her grandmother's influence in her love for gardening.  

Now she takes her grandchildren to buy packets of seeds and starts and pours over seed catalogs with them.  

I take my own children to the lilac gardens.  They won't let me miss a year. Each has his or her own lilac bush to tend and watch grow.  

They make their own May Day vases for the neighbors, running and hiding.  They dream of plants and gardens and birds and bugs.

Because beautiful mothers bred a love of beauty, life, and fragrance.  

Thank you, Mom and Connie...you are indeed gardeners of the soil and of the soul.

The Greater Goal

Goals.  Yesterday was a reminder to me.

We (the kids, my mom, and I) had just returned home after a morning of errands.  We had groceries to unload and my sister and nephew were here to say goodbye to my mom.

Just a few minutes after we got home my mom's friends came by to pick her up and take her away for the weekend.

Six kids.  Three women.  Two friends.  Groceries.  Quick goodbyes.  Lunch time.

How to go from chaos to eating lunch is nearly like preparing to climb Mt. Hood.

So after a half an hour of spinning my wheels, it felt like, God broke through to me.

Two children were fighting and crying about the injury during the argument.  One child was sobbing wildly on the couch because Grandma left.  The three year-old was probably in the middle of the street, and the fifth was attempting to make sandwiches for everyone while creating a huge mess in a kitchen filled with bags of groceries and library books.

I pulled one child away to a side room and we started talking about what was going on.  As we finished I began to help him see where we needed to be going.  My mind was on getting lunch on the table, so I purposed to say that the goal was lunch.  Now.

Instead my mind changed directions and I heard myself say..."my goal is to...teach you all to love God and love each other."

Oh yeah.  That's right.  As much as I'd love order and calm and peace and joy, the reality is those qualities only come by choice.  They don't naturally happen.  (At least at my home they don't.)

But the goal is there, and it's the choices I make in the chaos that will determine whether we arrive or not.

I wish I could say we quickly got lunch together and peace ensued.  Not so.  Lunch ended with a talk on lying and considering others before ourselves.

It's a battle.  A daily battle.

Fixing our eyes on the greater goal.

The Choice, Part II: A Letter

Each person in our family has to make choices, like Cain and David.

Many choices each day, some much larger than others.

While at the seashore one of us stole a pocketknife from a gift shop.

The deed was found out a day later.

The offender sent an apology letter enclosing the stolen knife.

A week later the choice to fix the wrong was rewarded.

I post the letter the child received in full below: (with permission)

Dear_______,


Thank you for the well-written letter and the return of the knife!  We all make mistakes.  However, it is what you do after you make the mistake that separates you from just making a  mistake or being a thief.  You decided to admit your mistake and take responsibility--well done!  I respect and appreciate that very much.

I am including in this letter a Sea Lion Cave Patch.  I want you to put it on your wall or somewhere you can see it every day to remind you that you took responsibility for your action--that is rare these days.  That is one of the most important first signs of a boy becoming a man or a girl becoming a woman--you did the right thing.  Our country would not have the problems we have right now if there were more people like you taking responsibility for their actions.

It is obvious your parent(s) loves you very much to help you write this letter.

I hope to see you back here soon as we would love to meet you in person.

 God bless!

The letter is a reward for doing right.  The letter is an encouragement to a weary Mama who wonders if  they'll ever get it.  The letter is an answer to prayer.  The letter is a reminder of an ever-faithful, never tiring God.

--Dayna

A Choice, Part I: From the Beginning

Let's just say, for fun,

That Cain gave his produce

To God 

But not his heart.

His brother Abel

Brought the best of his livestock,

And gave God his heart as well.

Let's say that God loved them both.

Loved produce and meat, Cain and Abel.

Loved so much

He couldn't let Cain escape his rebellion.

Glossing over it with a "thanks for the produce" wasn't love.

Instead God called Cain on his condition.

He invited Cain into a relationship with Him.

(If you do what is right, will you not be accepted?)

He warned Cain of the sin waiting to destroy him.

(But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door;

it desires to have you, but you must master it.)Genesis 4.7

We know his choice.

How Cain chose to blame his brother for loving God

Instead of loving God himself.

Cain opened the door to that crouching sin,

Murdering the shepherd of the flocks.

Hundreds of years later

David, a murderer, adulterer, king,

Worse than Cain in his sin,

And confronted by God like Cain

Chose the other way.

Repentance.

Love of God.

He penned these words, close now to the hearts of

unknown oodles of souls.

The sacrifices of God are a

broken spirit; 

a broken and contrite heart,

O God, you will not despise.

Psalm 51.17

Even so,

The Shepherd of the flocks 

Had to die for David's sin.

For all sin.

Staying broken,

Knowing always

My need of that Shepherd,

For only He

can keep me clean.

And praying,
As I raise these children.
Though they make bad choices, sin,
That when they hear his voice,
They will not harden their hearts.

to be continued.....

Unconventional Tea

She, my one daughter amidst four true boys, captivates me.

I learn about girlhood from her...and still, it's a mystery.

How her eyes can sparkle and leap like a trout jumping in a sunlit brook.  How she can turn her head a certain way and her pink cheeks and soft hair make her beauty more breathtaking than a snowy Mount Hood on a clear day.  Yet in a moment it can all be over and a dark cloud has filled the room, leaving the rest of us to wonder how it got there without us noticing.

I took her to tea.  We were on a family holiday.  From an example set by a friend (I have very little natural intuition into what a girl needs), I decided just she and I should go to tea.

The tea house in the city near where we were staying was closed for the month of January.  But there was a small store nearby with a wooden sign shaped as a tea pot that looked promising.  A sign in the window boasted $2.00 for a cup of tea.  It also advertised books.

The boys dropped us off and went to look for sea lions.  We admired the tea pots, cups, and other pretties. I then asked the man of the store if we could get a cup of tea....this seemed reasonable since they advertised tea.  The other half was books, of course.

He told me the woman who made tea was out and would I just feel free to go make it myself?  So my little daughter and I went into the kitchen and attempted to make our own tea.

The dishes were dusty and musty so we washed our tea cups.

While we waited for it to steep we had fun trying on old masks.

I was terrified of dropping or breaking something, but I pretended to be confident.  The man came to see how we were doing and offered us a handful of chocolate covered raisins out of a plastic jug to go with our tea.  He took a handful of animal crackers for himself.

I carefully carried our tea through the kitchen doors and out to a sitting area.  Noelle loved her tea.

We drank and talked and looked at books.  It was quiet and cozy and weird.

When the boys came to pick us up, they each had a gigantic, colorful, swirly lollipop.

At least the lady next door in the glass shop had given me a to-go cup so the princess had something sweet and yummy to hold, too.

I'm trying to provide ladylike experiences.

They never quite turn out like I hope!

Setting up the Pins...And Knocking Them Down

I've been longing quietly, deeply, steadily, for a passion.
A niche.  A specialty.

You probably have one or two or more, so don't know what I'm meaning.  But maybe there's someone out there like me, who, when all is stripped away, is mediocre at lots and good at nothing.  Okay, and bad at tons of things.

I pray.  I've sought out possibilities.  I have dreams, goals, hopes to delve into a specific something.
The new year always brings it out in me.  Is it time now?  Can I move forward?

While jogging the other morning to Sara Groves, my mind and heart were spinning with thoughts.  Could it be that it is time to pursue?  Where would I fit it in?

And the song in my ears...Everyone, everywhere, some way, some how, setting up the pins, for knocking em down.

Yes, my life is full, I pray.  There are many different headings in the newspaper of my life.  Can I add just one more?  The one that will fulfill, give me a sense of purpose, importance, status?  To be sought after for a skill?

It might sound simple but it's really profound...setting up the pins for knocking em down.

My searching heart calms as the dust of desire settles a little...through the dreams and hopes I can see my course again.  It's not time.  It may never be.  And then again, there may be a "yes" someday.

For now, though, I think through the titles in my life.  The ones the Lord has placed there, whether or not they were of my first choosing.

In each one, there are many ways to improve.  Like I said, I'm mediocre at everything.

Can I be a better child of God?  You bet.

Can I improve in loving and serving my husband?  No doubt.

How about building a relationship with my children, training them, helping them, loving them, teaching them?  Of course.

What about the position at my church?  Yes, much more skill needed here.

How about as a friend, a writer, a daughter, a sister, a homemaker, a pray-er?  Okay, now I'm already overwhelmed and I haven't even added anything new.

So I let go...maybe my desire for something else is a cover for the lack of skill I have in all the areas I'm already working at.  

Setting up the pins and knocking them down can be quite the challenge indeed.

My grandmother had a working song
Hummed it low all day long
Sing for the joy to be found
Setting up the pins for knocking em down.

This is my life right now.  I'm to be faithful at this job before me.  To expect things to continually be knocked down...and to work, with the strength of the Holy Spirit, at setting em back up!

photos:  holiday photos from 2011

Identity Defined

It's easy to get lost in the "stuff of life."

So often I'm struggling to keep perspective on the most important stuff.
A continual struggle to align my family's life with Truth.

One way I'm attempting to combat this war recently is through identity prayers.
Just three right now to keep on the top of my brain, in the center of my heart:

I am a child of light. (Ephesians 5:8)

I am clothed with Jesus Christ. (Romans 13:14)

I am surrounded by his favor like a shield. (Psalm 5:12)

They also look like this:

( I fill in each child's name, my name, my husband's name.)

____________ is a child of light.  

____________ is clothed with Jesus Christ.

____________ is surrounded by Your favor like a shield.

Then, when refereeing an argument, feeling discouraged, or combating fear, I return to these identity definers. 

It's hard to keep arguing with a sibling when you are walking around believing you're a child of light.

It's hard to think your powerless to accomplish the task when you trust you're clothed with Jesus Christ.

It's hard to be fearful of the "what-ifs" when you remember you're surrounded by God's favor like a shield.

Praise be to our God Who has in His kindness defined  us in Him and given us hope!

Identity Truths taken from the book Powerful Prayers for Your Children by David and Heather Kopp, p. 57.

There the angel of the LORD 

appeared to him in a flame of fire

out of a bush; he looked, and the bush

was blazing, yet it was not consumed.

Then Moses said, "I must turn aside

and look at this great sight."

Exodus 3:2-3

I'm dreading the day before the day's really begun,

so instead of marching right down to

the basement to begin our work

I propose a turn around the track.

No one argues with that, 

though getting all of us out there,

a mere thirty yards away is not without

its mishaps and crises.

Nothing is with five children ten and under.

I dread the moment that lost snake in the van

shows up while I'm zooming down I-5.

I still can't believe the cat 

survived a whole night in the freezer.

But we go on ahead, me weak and frail,

close to falling apart and yet,

the Spirit strengthening as I walk

towards the light.

We count the gourds on the plant growing wild

in the nearly dead garden.

We look at the red leaves and collect a few,

deciding we'll try to figure out what tree

it is.

We watch the funny chickens with their fluff 

growing wild.  Their friends the 

ducks are beautiful, and is that 

an egg?

No, we get a stick and find it is a snail.

We rehearse our Psalm...

"Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD,

Let us shout aloud to the rock our our salvation."

And we recite our Old Testament

books of the Bible.  Yes, 

we've just about got them all mastered.

Most of all, 

my heart has warmed.

My eyes have chosen to look

at the bushes burning,

and not at the sheep bleating.