Writing the Truth

"If she tried to write him anything definite about her work, she immediately scratched it out as being only partially true, or not true at all.  Nothing that she could say about her studies seemed unqualifiedly true, once she put it down on paper."
from Song of the Lark by Willa Cather

This is exactly how I feel about writing right now.  For instance, I was going to tell you how discouraging it was that I could not find a gallon of milk in this town for under $4.00.  Since then, I've found it twice at $3.98.  Who knows when I'll find it for $3.95 or even lower???

So I will update you on what I believe to be unqualifiedly true, though I may be wrong, for being new means a large learning curve.  I told some men at church on Sunday that I keep thinking I'll be back in Vancouver soon.

When I look at the orange mums on my kitchen window I picture the thick, lacquered kitchen ledge in Vancouver.  When I look out the living room window, I can almost truly see the VanNostern's place.

And when I pull in the drive here and push a button for a garage door to open, I can fully visualize pulling into our drive, no garage opener, but a lovely Magnolia, two gray cats, and a flowering welcome sign.

I can hear Skylar knock on the door and say "Can Conner and them come out and play?" and see the park next door...feel my eyes straining to see who's out there now.  I can see Earline's smile at church and feel Diana's hug.  It is strange when past reality feels truer than the present.

I miss things, too, for we'd found a rhythm of days and weeks, months and seasons.  Right now I am pining away for fresh boquets of dahlias.  Brian used to go to the U-Cut dahlia farm near the church and bring some home to me every week or so in the fall. This year I found a pot of mums at Walmart for $3.99 and called it good.

We'd pick blackberries at our beautiful, secret spot.  Brian would put them in the fridge and ask if it was enough for a cobbler.  Or was it a pie?  Crisp?  I would make one and it would always be different from what he'd ask for.  But it would be good!

I'm having a little gathering this weekend for the people who built this parsonage we are living in.  I find it absolutely remarkable that they were able to work together to accomplish such a project.  I can't wait to hear the stories of God's provision.

In this town, it is almost essential that employers provide housing or subsidize housing for their employees.  The housing market is expensive and it is difficult to find a place to live at all.  So the people of the church decided to build a parsonage on some of the church's property.

It is now our dwelling, a new place to create new rhythms.

As I attempt to embrace these new days, new times, new places, new people, I wonder what rhythms and memories will embed themselves.  I take a picture at the little Minot zoo, the children in front of the zebras.  Will I take a picture here with them next year?

Or will my memory treasure counting vultures on the cell tower across from the local grocery?

Swimming Pool Concessions or Silent No More

After two hours of sunny swimming, warm water, and private lessons, the little lady's $.75 was demanding a use.

She came back with three Laffy Taffy foot-long treats.  Her little brother protested, and I generously pulled a quarter out of my wallet and sent him off with his older brothers as helpers.  He was given the words to say, "Can I have a green apple taffy please?"

But when he got to the counter he made his calculations and spoke for himself, boldly telling the life guard he'd like TWO Laffy Taffies.  She looked at his quarter and apparently didn't buy his confidence. He came back with one.

I read about Butch Cassidy and how he liked boldness in those he robbed.  A train-master wouldn't open the money car for him so his posse used dynamite.  When one of the villains went to shoot the man who was unconscious but not dead, Butch stopped him.

Butch told him the man deserved to live for his courage

If I were that life guard, I just might have given Timmy two, for his pluck...it may come in handy someday if he ever meets up with a band of train robbers.

And for those of you wondering how we are out here in North Dakota, we're alive and well.  I hope to write more in the days ahead....thank you for your prayers!

Lies and Grace

We sat in the front row this year.  All the kids had a clear view.
It was our church's annual Thanksgiving and Baptism service.

I believe it is the first one we've sat all the way through.
I watched other moms go in and out, relieving little children of their energy in the foyer for awhile.
But I wasn't with them this year.

We've entered a new stage in which we can sit through an hour and a half service.

The music was wonderful and my heart was filled with praise and thanksgiving.  But there was a voice in the back of my mind that challenged my worthiness to praise.

With the change of family stage comes new hurdles.  I stood next to my eleven year-old and thought about how he might think I'm a hypocrite.  Now that he can sit through a service, he's also been privy to my imperfections.  He's experienced my sin too many times to count.

Can I really praise God with these little people next to me who know how badly I can behave?

We sit and listen to testimonies of God's power to reach into hearts and change them from selfish to selfless.
We witness God's power in drawing those who've been lost to Himself in creative, supernatural ways.

And I think maybe it's fitting...that my kids don't have a perfect mom.  That they daily see how much she needs Jesus.  That even when you're raised to follow Jesus from a young age, it doesn't make you any less in need of His forgiveness and grace.

That voice, the one saying I've lost my temper and don't deserve to praise.  The one saying my kids have seen me so ugly in sin that to smile and sing praises is nothing but a farce.

That voice leaves out the part about God's part.  The whole reason of baptism.  That we are baptised into Christ's life.  The One Perfect Life.  That we are raised to praise Him in His resurrection because He beat death.  Won the battle with the liar.

I remember my own baptism and how every day, though I sin, I ask for forgiveness.  From God and those I've wronged.

I pray that, because of my imperfections, not of in spite of them, my children will also come confidently before the throne of grace in worship.   That they will be content to live a life of humility and freedom devoted to Christ, without the burden of perfectionism.

God's grace,  never depleted, always growing.   A gift to be thankful for.

Can I Measure Up?

Once again I got in line, some people in front of me and others behind.

It's a horrid line to be in.  The place it leads to brings pride and despondence, both.

Because in some ways I'm not so good.  I don't have a home full of order or pizzazz.  I don't have perfectly behaved children.  They need haircuts and their clothes don't always match.  Sometimes they say and do the wrong things.  Lots of times I fail to train well, to lead them correctly or prepare them for what lies ahead.

Yet in some ways I seem all right.  The neighbor kids in the apartments come inside and look around...."Wow, you have a nice house."  My children don't normally curse or perform mean actions against others.  They're pretty smart.  Sometimes they say amazingly wise and insightful things.  By God's grace, sometimes I get a glimpse at beauty growing in them and me.

Pride and despondence.

Neither from God.

I hop out of line and return to the well.

Where I'll never measure up but it's okay.  I don't need to.  There's no one behind me and no one in front of me.

Only worshiping Worthy Jesus,the God-Man-Who-Measures-Up, Who obliterates all lines.  

I drink His living water.

He fills me with hope, humility, wisdom, love, righteousness.

Back in the place I belong.

Raspberries and Toblerone

My brother stayed with us a few summers ago and started a tradition.  When the sunflowers in the garden bloom, we share with the neighbors.  This year we added a bag of Raspberry Crumble Muffins to the gift.

They are incredible.  To ensure you believe me I will tell you a story.  I made them for my sister's baby shower two years ago and she looked at me with scorn.  Scorn, I tell you, because she LOVES raspberries and could not BELIEVE I would damage them in an oven.

After she ate one, though, she asked for the recipe and made me some the next year.  See?  They're incredible.

Also, I met up with two of my girlfriends from college.  One was traveling through though she resides in Texas.  We made three stops before we found a Toblerone.  But we did.  Because they're very important.
VERY.  IMPORTANT.

We had our first Toblerone moment when I shared one with them on the top of Middle Sister in the Three Sisters Wilderness.  We've eaten them at weddings, birthdays, births, and now every time we're together because it's not very often.  For sixteen years now we've enjoyed these moments.

Hopefully someday we'll get a check from Toblerone.

Cherry Pit Conversations

We work together in the breezy shade of a large locust tree.  Silly thoughts and actions, reminders to stay focused, deviations to dump the unusable flourish.

The words change course as the work picks up the pace.  One asks if my life would be better if I hadn't had children.

"NO WAY!", I respond adamantly.  I list my three greatest gifts in order...Jesus, Brian, my children.  I could continue the list, but those are the top three.

Then Raleigh, as he leaves with a net to catch a damsel fly under the guise of dumping the pit bowl, asks how I could love others if I was supposed to love God with my whole heart.

Good question.

I share a story about when I was pregnant with him and I had a nagging fear I wouldn't love him as much as I loved Conner.

My fear was not realized.  As I held my second born in my arms, I had MORE love.

Love's not a commodity, like cherries, that we use up.  We don't have to dole it out in equal portions.  It's just as we love, we get more love.

I start singing the Magic Penny song.

"Love is like a magic penny,
Hold it tight and ya won't have any,
Lend it, spend it and you'll have so many,
They'll roll all over the floor!"

His question lingers in my mind, though.  Loving God with all my heart.  It requires trust that in doing so, I can love others, too.

It must be so, for the command doesn't stop with loving God wholeheartedly...the second greatest is to love my neighbor as myself.

The second command assumes the truth about love...lend it, spend it, and you'll have so much more.

The boys ask for the song again and then move on to other topics.

Like whether I'd go in a monster cave if I knew I'd be eaten.  And can damselflies fly if they've been submerged in water?

The cherry pitting continues for a little while longer, but something eternal happened too.

Happy as Kings

We struck out upon a dike.
We talked of dikes as we walked on it, for when you read  The Wheel On the School,
you learn about dikes, sourkraut, and storks.
The sun was out and up but going down.

We walked awhile, butterfly nets and insect houses in hand.  Then we saw how low the river was to the south.  The islands of mud and silt sticking up everywhere.
Then we saw a little trail, blackberry bushes hiding it, big boulders making it an adventure to get down.
No rocks at the bottom, just silt and little islands awaiting our presence.
We move from one island to the other...
"look, there's a land bridge."

I look to the east, the mountains lit up by the setting sun...green forests covering them with passion.  And above them a haloed cloud, and above it the inspiring Mount Hood.

I took in my breath, watching the children play with my husband.  Marveling at the beauty all around.
I'd never felt so rich.  No one could take that moment from me.

This morning I read the children's poem with Dawson and Noelle:

The world is so full
Of a number of things,
I'm sure we should all
Be as happy as kings.

I thought of last night and knew exactly what Stevenson meant.

Resting in Labor

Saturday night at the park a neighbor asked if I was going to relax for the holiday weekend.
I thought about it and said no.  I'd rest on Sunday but come Monday, it was labor for me.

I think my mom always said "we labor on Labor Day."

It still stands true.  There is a hope of rest in the work, though.

"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."

It's the remembering of God in my daily work.  A turning and communing with Him.  A giving thanks to Him....

My body weary, my kitchen dirty, my cabinets too high for me to reach easily, I start to mumble, self-pity overtaking without me even knowing.  The Spirit calls and I listen, stop...turn my thoughts back to Him.  Thank Him for my kitchen.  For a good day of work.  For the work He's given me to do.  For the smile of a child passing by.  For a bed I will get to crawl into soon.....

This demands an explanation...I stole a friends' idea and each year on our vacation the kids each get to pick their own cereal out for the trip.  In other words, this is NOT normal!!! 

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive and inheritance from the Lord as a reward.  It is the Lord Christ you are serving."


Even more, I'm seeking that the "whatever I do" will be exactly what the Lord is wanting me, calling me to do.  Both of those verses in Colossians 3 start with that phrase.  Doesn't it matter what?  In some ways no.  It encompasses all people...whatever they do.

In some ways yes.  I need to seek His guidance as I make decisions about our schedule, our days, our moments.  Then as I'm doing that work and weary or depressed or discouraged or frustrated or detoured, it is His will I'm in.  I can do that work for Him, in His name, thanking Him even so.

And in that there is rest.

A few more funny pictures as I savor these childhood moments:

My instructions before they left for the lake were "you need to put the game away.  Completely.  In its' box."
hmmmmmm

This two year-old snuck away from me at the pool.  I'd just finished putting on his life jacket so he could go in the "big pool" and then turned to explain where the towels were to Conner.  I turned back and Timmy was gone.  We started searching the water and the big slide frantically.  Dawson spotted him first.  He had climbed up into a vacant Life Guards' chair and was gazing out at everyone contentedly.

Wildflowers

Come, let us sing for joy to the LORD;

let us shout aloud to the Rock of our salvation.

Let us come before him with thanksgiving

and extol him with music and song.

For the LORD is the great God,

the great King above all gods.

In his hand are the depths of the earth,

and the mountain peaks belong to him.

The sea is his, for he made it,

and his hands formed the dry land.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink;

or about your body, what you will wear.

Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?

But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, 

and all these things will be given to you as well.

Come, let us bow down in worship,

let us kneel before the LORD our Maker;

for he is our God

and we are the people of his pasture,

the flock under his care.

I'm praying for the family and friends of baby Kaia,

a true gift of beauty who lived here on earth

for twenty days.

You can read a letter from her dad here, just scroll

down a little into the post.

text: excerpts from Psalm 95 and Matthew 6,  photos: mountain wildflowers on a hike

Building, Part I

I've been thinking about that verse found in Proverbs 14.1:
"A wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears her down."

I've been trying to build that house well, so I can be wise, you know?

Get all the right materials...a good house, healthy food, good books, limit T.V., good music, strong education, proper resources and influences, and, and, and....

I'm tired.  Worn out.  Always feeling like I'm not building well enough.  That there are so many errors, some because I'm ignorant and others because I'm careless or selfish.

Rethinking the verse, though, has made me wonder if it's not so much about the materials as about being wise.

"The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline." Proverbs 1.7.

I think maybe the woman who's building her house is living a life in pursuit of the Lord.  She's seeking wisdom from above, not from a parenting manual or a picture in her head of how things should look.

This morning I accidentally read John 8.9: "At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there."  (I was supposed to be reading John 8.19...)

Yet the verse struck me.  All her accusers were gone.  It was Jesus standing there alone with her and her alone with Jesus.  No one else.  Nothing else.

Then I turned to Ephesians 1, "he decided to make us holy in his eyes, without a single fault--we who stand before him covered with his love."

I am that woman.  I stand before Him covered with His love.

I seek His wisdom and trust by doing so my house will be built, even when I feel like I'm tearing it down with my own hands. 

Seek Him.  Seek wisdom.  And the building will come.

photos: cherry harvest 2011

Speak, O Lord

Speak, O Lord, as we come to You

To receive the food of Your Holy Word,

Take Your truth; plant it deep in us;

Shape and fashion us in Your likeness,

That the light of Christ might be seen today

In our acts of love and deeds of faith.

Speak, O Lord, and fulfill in us

All Your purposes for Your glory.

Teach us, Lord, full obedience,

Holy reverence, true humility;

Test our thoughts and our attitudes

In the radiance of Your purity.

Cause our faith to rise; cause our eyes to see

Your majestic love and authority.

Words of power that can never fail--

Let their truth prevail over unbelief.

Speak, O Lord, and renew our minds;

Help us grasp the heights of Your plans for us--

Truths unchanged from the dawn of time

That will echo down through eternity.

And by grace we'll stand on Your promises,

And by faith we'll walk as You walk with us.

Speak, O Lord, till Your church is built

And the earth is filled with Your glory.

 

Words and music by Keith Getty and Stuart Townsend, pictures of picking strawberries and eating homemade strawberry ice cream