Hallelujah

A week ago it was the 10th anniversary of my blog.  Even I had barely noticed.  Tonight I was cleaning up torn tissue paper and wrapping while my husband put the kids to bed, scrolling through Facebook at the same time, and found this video of Cloverton doing a Christmas version of "Halelujah."



Isn't it beautiful?  Aren't they having a merry little Christmas?  I wish my life was like that coffee house, where, subdued and chill, we could all just start singing, admiting the wonderful truth.

Merry Christmas.

'Tis the season

There is a time for everything - and I feel like it's been time for everything lately!  Finding myself posting as a very tired mama, decorator, teacher, etc.

Yet, I am inspired.  I thoroughly enjoyed posting a thankful thought per day on Facebook in December and think it is something I should continue to do.  Even when things are hectic.  Just to remember, and and shine a light.  I look back at my list and I enjoy those moments again.

I have been re-reading a Bible study on Esther over the past few months, and two days ago came to the part where Xerxes gives a decree that the Jews can defend themselves.  Much rejoicing follows this reversal of fortune.  The author of the study made the point that life can be hard, and that therefore, when a time or a moment of gladness comes, we should seize it and hold on to it.

That is how I am approaching this holiday season, and perhaps every moment of happiness that comes from here on out.  I will be grateful and I will go for it.  I remember a time three years ago when we'd had a very difficult season in our lives, and Christmas was a time of healing for us.  May it be so again.

So, here are some fun things I want to do this Christmas season: go see the lights at Winterhaven , take the kids to see Santa (tomorrow, hopefully!), go look at Christmas lights with friends, see "snow" in Tucson (a few of the malls have artificial snow at designated times - awesome!), decorate like crazy, and host!

Yes, I get to host Christmas this year!  I almost feel like my whole life has been building to this.  Over the past four years, when I have looked at a house to buy, one of the things I consider is where I am going to put a Christmas tree.  I am pretty sure that Christmas gives houses meaning and purpose.  So, to be having my extended family over to my house this year is positively epic for me.  Not the least important aspect of which is that my grandmother will be coming in from the midwest, and I have all these dishes she's given me over the year that I'll be able to put to use in her presence.  Hospitality is something I learned from her.

I can't wait I can't wait I can't wait I can't wait...

Right now I'm able to type this up because someone is watching Stefan and Scott is out with Kyrstin.  We've started a new therapy program with Stefan that is sure to be really beneficial and good but it is in the preliminary stages and evaluation would be premature.  I am thankful we have this help in our lives.  I'm thankful for so much.  And I'm gonna enjoy as much as I can.

What are you going to enjoy this Christmas season?

Cherish every moment

I really felt led to sit down and watch a movie tonight.  By myself.  I thought I'd watch a silly Christmas movie.  I was right, but also wrong.

I love Christmas, and Christmas movies, and even silly Christmas movies.  Christmas movie: Disney's Christmas Carol (the motion capture one with Jim Carrey).  Silly Christmas movie: anything about dogs or animals, or made by ABC Family or Lifetime.  I've watched a few in that latter category, though, and found myself surprisingly heart-warmed.

Tonight, I did not know what I was in for.  I saw that this movie had Candace Cameron Bure in it, so I figured it had some kind of meaningful message to it, and I noticed that the film was sponsored by St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital.  I guess I thought the sponsorship was in the "laughter is the best medicine" vein.  I suppose somehow... but nevermind what I thought.

This morning I was reading in Beth Moore's Esther study abot peripety; that moment upon which everything else in the story hinges.  It's the dramatic shift - I remember from AP English the term "peripateia," which is when the tragic hero would come to his/her downfall.  Peripety is now always bad, though; sometimes it's just the turning point.

The movie I watched tonight featured one of those defining moments in the life of a real family, because it was based on true events.  It is a Christmas movie only because it ends at Christmas in a very surprisingly and loving way.  It is about a real family, the Lockes, who discovered that their little boy had leukemia.  They fought with him for an entire year at St. Jude's, and then when the doctors could do no more for him, they brought him home.  Knowing he would not live to see another Christmas, the neighborhood decorated and celebrated Christmas for the Lockes on Halloween.

What caused me to ache so much was watching the family go through the ups and downs - hearing a good report, then receiving another blow, then letting go.  The actress portrayed this whole process with grace as well as grief.  All inspired-by movies simplify things, of course.  The story was told through her eyes, but I wanted to know more about what went on behind them.  In the end, what the mother, Julie Locke, realized, was that life is uncertain, and that it is also a gift.  She prayed Psalm 90:12, "Teach us to number our days aright, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom."  Her motto, "Cherish Every Moment," inspired readers of her blog (which began through Caring Bridge, which is one of the best support coordination tools ever).

So their story had a double peripety: first the total shock of living a nightmare of hospitals, sickness, and children dying before their parents.  Even before they lost Dax, their lives abruptly shifted into the world of medicine, procedures, probabilities, testing, and, if I can say it, the world of weird.  The world where the lifestyle is something no advertisement in a magazine accurately represents because it is so unique, and so undesirable that it can't be used to sell products.  Yet, there was a product: the inspiration that is born from desperation and suffering, when one person says, "This is where I've been, and this is what I know."  The Locke family now strives to raise money for St. Jude's, and their story is a testament to the realization of life's value.

I've never wept so much, so unexpectedly, at a movie.  I let myself go.  It mattered that the little boy looked like Stefan.  Maybe this is a peripety for me; it certainly struck a nerve.  I could go on and on if it weren't getting late and I wasn't already worn out from crying.  How difficult to even end a note about a movie about a family who suffered through such a battle.  What grace they were given by the Lord, and what love and was shown through their friends and family who reached out to their family during their 18 months of hospitalization.  What grace they gave me by sharing their story.

It reminds me of the very reason I started this blog.  The motto, "because life and lyrics mean so much" came from my love of songs and, in particular, Chris Rice's "Life Means so Much," the refrain of which is a paraphrase of Psalm 90:12.  Heading into the Christmas season, and beyond, what Dax's story reminds me is that life is a gift, to be lived on purpose.  I am convicted about my fretfulness, busy-ness, and missing-the-forest-for-the-trees-ness.  This season of striving for healing, for wisdom from the Lord, has tendered my soul so much to the issues that were represented in The Heart of Christmas, so I know not everyone will respond to it the same way.  If you have Netflix, and are able, I would say it is a beneficial movie to watch, because at the very least it tune your heart to be thankful for blessings you take for granted.

Even if he does not

Right off the heels of a revelation of God's blessing, a spiritually intense - and potentially rewarding - season follows.  I have begun to pray and fast for Stefan and also for clarity on whatever else the Lord may choose to shed light.  So far, what has happened is that the Lord has led me to a verse to pray or meditate upon for my little boy, as well as for my faith.

Today's blessing was from Habakkuk.  Of all unlikely places to end up this morning, I was there, glancing over most of it after a Bible lesson on patience and timing.  These verses from Habakkuk 3 were part of my wedding vows to Scott.

¹⁷ Though the fig tree does not bud
    and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
    and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
    and no cattle in the stalls,
¹⁸ yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
    I will be joyful in God my Savior.

I sort of forgot about those verses until we were on our way home from a playdate.  It really had been a good morning, but toward the end Stefan started throwing fits, and then I got a parking ticket.  It was one of those situations where I was walking up as they were giving me they ticket.  They got some feedback from me.  It was ugly.  I cried from the frustration of the fits and the near-miss at getting the ticket. 

I prayed, and thought about it, and then was kind of okay.  Oh, I'll still try to appeal the ticket.  I think the fine is outrageous.  I'll probably still have to pay, but I gotta speak up.

More importantly (and kind of surprisingly for me to get spiritual about such things) I remembered these verses as I drove.  Okay, so what if I don't have a perfect morning?  What if Stefan still has fits sometimes, and we have to work through it.  Or bigger - I asked myself, "What if God doesn't...?"  What if what I want and what I get are very, very different?  I remembered the three Hebrews who proclaimed to Nebuchadnezzar that their God had power to save them, but even if he did not, they would not bow.  I remember a quote I read a few weeks ago and shared with some friends, "The enemy will always threaten us with what we fear if our faith is conditional." 

My fears often take the form of "What if?" statements.  I realize I need to turn my "What if's?" Into, "Then, God."  I can't deny the situation or bargain with God - I have to trust.  That's what Habakkuk is testifying here - If... then, God.

This has been my story for a long, long time; I may not always share about the lifeless trees and stunted buds, desolate fields and missing livestock.  I need to learn to be more honest about such things; more transparent.  When I fail to be so, it is partly because it is just so uncomfortable for me to share about, and partly because of this commitment, in feast or fallow, to "be joyful in God my Savior," trusting in God's future grace.  Whatever comes... God.

Witness to Thy great faithfulness, mercy, and love

A few things came together for me this morning. It started last night with the funny feeling that there would be a lot to look forward to today.  Then, I got to go for a walk this morning, and was thinking about God's great faithfulness on display in every season.  "He leads me beside quiet waters" reverberated in my mind as I walked around the lake.

Then, I remembered how that it was through those words that teh Lord led us to our neighborhood, which led me to realize that today was the anniversary of the date when we first rolled into Sahuarita, Kyrstin and I, at 2 A.M.

And I realized what I was going to do with those flat-shaped white pumpkins I'd bought at the grocery store that morning for $1, and I laughed.

I'd been reading a fictionalalized account of the Israelites crossing the Jordan river, after which they erected a monument of stones collected from the dry riverbed according to God's command.  It was to be a visual reminder for generations to come of the miracle that had allowed their nation to come into the land God had promised them.  I wanted to make a monument, but why, and how?

Thus the laugh.  I decided somehow to make the flat pumpkins into a memorial.  I'm sure there are a lot of different ways to do it.  I thought of several, but only had a few minutes to execute it, so this is what I did.

In the Biblical account, the heads of each of the tribues carry a boulder, so I decided to attach an identity to each of these tokens as well.  I simply painted our names and a simple design on each.  I can use them to tell my kids a story in the future.  Here is the story I would tell about this year.

Stefan has grown and improved so much in behavior and ability.  We are thankful every day, and we are praying and seeking remedies.  Kyrstin has become more calm and loving, and has developed a love of learning.  I painted flowers on mine that kind of also look like butterflies.  For me, the best thing has been a renewed sense of God's word being living and active in me and my family, and to have some friendships beginning to bloom in this desert.  Scott has been active in the church worship ministry.  

Those are blessings all mine, and the ten thousand beside will have to wait because it is late and I need to go to bed!  I am very glad that we are entering into a season of thankfulness so that there will be time to focus on all of God's good and precious gifts.

For today, this is my anthem, this is my song.

A Worker's Prayer

It has been awhile!  I think I'm doing okay to post once a month. :)

In the past month we've set my son up for some new services, started speech appointments, visited family, and had a bunch of appointments and evaluations.  And of course, we've all worked.  On the house, in the house, outside of the house.

Do you ever have one of those crises where you realize you're never going to get anything done if you don't get organized?  And that things are just going to get worse if you don't do something about it?  I come down with organizational anxiety pretty frequently, and this has been especially so since we moved a year ago.  Since the universe tends toward disorder, it's a constant fight to be productive.  I was going to add, "especially when..." and name off a few things in my life.  Maybe a reader can add their own "especially when ________ " to the comments.  In any case, life always runs more smoothly when you're organized.

That's part of why I was so delighted when I discovered that my husband had set up a work station for me.  I'd been home for several hours before I noticed it, and it was such a sweet surprise.  Not only is it functional, it's cute!  I find that for my purposes, a kitchen table works as well or better than a desk.

All morning today I have had the Getty song "Before You I Kneel (A Worker's Prayer)" on my mind.  It was actually a weird day at work, and for that I am all the more glad the song was on my mind.  As I sit at my new work station for the first time, I want this post to be a dedication to the Lord of the work that will be done here - the correspondence, blog-posting, studying, searching, researching, planning, writing, grading, and generally all of the wordy intellectual productivity that a quiet desk space helps promote.

I love the thought of my work being an arena into which His presence may enter and His grace and glory shine.  It elevates my life and work to something more than just a set of tasks, or worse, machinations in an economic factory.  Work is relationships, toil, process, progress, thorns, possibilities, energy.  Work is really a lot of work. So with the work, I know I must also rest when He calls, which is part of working for the Lord, and not for my own promotion or gain.

I'm just going to post links to the lyrics and a video clip below.  If you think of a way to finish the phrase, "It's especially difficult to be productive when ____________," please post it to the comments section below.  Along with any other comments about the work you do, and how the Lord is part of it.

This post took about an hour to put together.  Even though I could have been doing other things, I felt was important to take them time to dedicate this work station, and I pray that God blesses this time and effort, as well as your time and effort in serving Him today.

The GettyMusic link to lyrics and audio clip: http://www.gettymusic.com/hymns.aspx

Unlicensed video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPVtx_HCpOo

Commitment

Sometimes playing along with my daughter's imagination requires a great deal of commitment.  As we were pulling up to order from Taco Bell, Kyrstin asked if I could order a pretend bone for her stuffed dog.  I agreed.

TB: Will that be all?
Me: Yes.
Kyrstin: You forgot to order a pretend bone!
TB: It will be $8.25.
Me: May I also have a pretend bone?
TB: What was that?
Me: Nothing, thank you!

When we get up to the window, I "have" to ask again.  I forget why.

Me: My daughter wants to know if you have any pretend bones for her stuffed animal.
TB: No.
Me: Will you just pretend you are giving me a bone?
TB: Oh!  Here you go.

The kids are each sitting in their own row of the van, with Kyrstin farthest back.  So I "hand" the "bone" to my son.

Me: Here, Stefan, hand this back to Kyrstin.
Kyrstin: He's not handing it to me!  (Boohoo, etc.)

I pull forward a little bit.  There are probably 25 ways I could have resolved this, but here's what I decide to do: I "took" it from Stefan, and "threw" it to her.  She caught it and was happy.  The end.

Blessed

Today was my birthday. I won't spill the beans, but I'm old enough to run for President now. Don't worry, I don't any political ambitions.

I wanted to write a short post about good friends. Ones who remember your birthday, or hate that they forgot it. This morning I got an e-mail from the Sara Groves camp, with a link to a new song, "Blessed Be the Tie." I thought about friends I've known for a dozen years, and a few from college that I've known for 15 or so, and how I feel like I've known them since we were children. I know about how they grew up, what they believe, how they live, what they value, and they know some of that about me. I miss them so, yet am so grateful to have such friends - they are part of who I am. I don't know if that can happen again - if new friendships can form that were and are that special. Perhaps. I didn't expect it to start at age 22. I may look back and bless the tie that binds some new friendships. For now, I meditate on the blessings already given. Here is the song.

Thus saith the Lord

The Lord confronted me about my attitude today.

He wasn't mean or harsh about it, just straightforward. Direct. The sharpest blades leave the smallest scars. His is the sharpest.

I was having a pity party. I woke up today knowing that I should try to be thankful for as much as I could be, and I have tried, yet still ended up feeling kind of down in the dumps.

I would like to set you up with my excuses the context.

I've been sick with a cold for six days, and so has my son. So we've sort of been stuck together. Do you remember when you were home from school for a week in fourth grade, and you'd watched so many movies and gotten so lonely you almost went crazy? Well, my son and I were both feeling that way, but were stuck together. As a fourth grader I could just let mom take care of me, and I didn't know to be thankful for that. Now, the house gets dirtier the longer I'm sick, and that makes me feel worse.

I had a list of phone calls to make, and they kept becoming more complicated than they needed to be. I aim to live in a world of ideal essence, where the exact thing I mean is perceived in the ether, and my desired answer transmitted simultaneously, static-free. It wasn't working that way. Much of this had to do with dealing with organizing health care appointments for my son. We've been given so much in the way of health care opportunities, but there is also so much to figure out. Provider A needs something from me that I need to get from Provider B. I didn't know that, so must call B, then wait awhile to reschedule with A, etc.

I started a new semester of teaching at the community college. It went well, actually. Yesterday it worked out for my husband to stay home all day, and I got LOTS done. Even when I'm sick, I can do a lot of teaching/research/writing. It's really in the care of small dependents that I find the plastic limits of my selfish skin. Again, a relatively new situation, so am trying to figure things out as I go along. It's okay; it can be a rush, but it takes a lot of energy, leaving less for said dependents.

One benefit of teaching is that I get to take a course or two for free. I considered taking one - I still am considering it - but also thought, how can I start something new if I haven't finished the degree program I started? What if I NEVER finish this degree - and it's all - all the work, the move - for nothing?

I was mulling all of this over, and in my heart, there rose the question, "Why are we out here? Why is everything so hard?" I sensed a response, "Maybe He brought you out here to deal with your bad attitude."

Yikes. Oh, yikes. Desert wanderings... forty years... quail and manna... Oh, no...

My husband took the kids to get a movie, and after I got dinner in the oven I decided to blog a bit because this is just what's going on. There is so much bitterness in my heart and on some days it is really corrosive. Just before I sat to write, I heard Matt Redman singing,"You give and take away/ My heart will choose to say/ Lord, blessed be Your name."

I know that is the right attitude. It is so much my pride that has a problem. I just added tags to this post, and of the six, "bitterness" is the only one that has appeared before. Thematic, tracing a path through this wilderness.

Surprised by joy

 I feel like I should be writing more, but am not sure where to start. I think the days of trying to measure and mold every particle and product of my life are behind me, and I'm emerging into a brave new world of keeping up and pressing on. Which means I have to dare a little bit, and live a life that could very well be characterized by courage, grown from a mustard seed of faith.

My son has been back in school for a few weeks now. On his first day back at school, he had a rough start. They called me about an hour into the day, to let me know about an incident and injury. It was the same kind of thing he would have done at home. As usual, I have a hard time helping people know how to respond to moments like that, because I am not sure how to respond. That is a different story, though.

 My daughter and I went to a play date, which I had mentioned before. We came home, and as I was preparing lunch for the kids, I played some instrumental music while she painted. Often her paintings are kind of wild and unstructured because I just give her the freedom to play with color. She'd been quiet for a few minutes, and I began to dread the sight of paint all over the walls and floors. She never does that, so, now that I think about it, it was an irrational thing to fear. In any case, instead of my fears being realized, my blessing materialized. I walked over to a beautiful painting, the one that is now hanging in my bedroom and matches my brightly-colored IKEA bedspread (which was also a blessing at $10).

I could not believe it. She described it as lanterns, like from the movie *Tangled*. The description touched my heart just as much, because when that movie first came out, Kyrstin still had very long, blonde hair. Whenever I'd watch the lantern scenes, and Rapunzel would feel that they were somehow meant for her, it would always remind me of the song "Maybe There's a Loving God," by Sara Groves.

  I'm trying to work things out
 I'm trying to comprehend 
Am I the chance result 
Of some great accident 
I hear a rhythm call me 
The echo of a grand design
 I spend each night in the backyard 
Staring up at the stars in the sky
 Maybe this was made for me 
For lying on my back in the middle of a field 
Maybe that's a selfish thought 
Or maybe there's a loving God

 I'd always thought that a mural of the lanterns floating upward would be great for my little girl's room. Beautiful, dreamy and symbolic of an upward call. I've never quite been able to express that to her; she will understand someday, I am sure. Especially when He really starts calling her. I've been sentimental about the lanterns all the same, and for her to paint them, and for us to share this joyful moment together, was a blessing I'm so glad I can frame and hang on my bedroom wall.

I can't keep up

Yesterday I meant to write a post and tell you about the blessings of the day before. I got interrupted, mid-way, by my son. When I got him up, we played for awhile, and in our play, he started naming things. I had grabbed a wand with a pointy hand on the end of it, and pointed to "truck, box, Stefan." He grabbed the wand and went around the room, showing me up. "Box, truck, truck, table, chair, shirt, milk..." Of course the words weren't clearly articulated, but they were there, and he knew. Not just receptively - he can speak. It was a little miracle that came out of an interruption. It reminded me of a quote from Caussade embedded in One Thousand Gifts. "You would be very ashamed if you knew what the experiences you call setbacks, upheavals, pointless disturbances, and tedious annoyances really are. Youwould realize that your complaints about them are nothign more nor less than blasphemies - though that never occurs to you. Nothing happens to you except by the will of God, and yet [God's] beloved children curse it because they do not know it for what it is." I will get back to telling you about the other day - the surprise blessing of childhood creativity - unless God keeps interrupting and I never catch up.

In search of transcendence

This post is a companion post to the previous. I wasn't sure why I posted about the trip to Costco. I guess I felt that reality has two sides. I mean real reality - the one that includes everything the fallen world includes, and everything God's grace restores and renews. And I am just seeing fragments of both, I am sure. In the midst of carrying my screaming, wriggling son down the aisles of Costco, and every time he melts down in public, or explodes in the middle of the night, I am usually telling myself that I just need to push through this. That's sometimes the best I can hope for. Some people complain about mundanity, and I understand that - the wanting of something fuller, less cardboard. The awful, screaming times are worse than mundane, though, because you know that every energy you have to make something beautiful out of the mundane is being drained from you, that at best you could just forestall things getting worse, and when it's over, all you can do is rest so that you don't pass out on your return trip. He slept through the night that night, and then woke up at 5am. My husband's usual routine is to leave the house shortly thereafter, so my mommy day started at 5am, with an overly tired special needs preschooler who was supposed to start his first day of preschool. He would not hold still long enough to take a first-day-of-school picture, so I figured I'd get one after the 3-hour preschool day. Drop-off was awkward. He was not happy. When I left, he was out in the hall with the special ed teacher, calming down, separated from his class. He frequently has these separation fits, so I left with my daughter. I was very much hoping that with him in school I could spend time with her, time that the locusts had eaten during these years. At the playground, a friend called happily to my little girl from the swings. She played on the equipment, had snacks, talked to friends, acted a little goofy. It was so appropriate. Just a play date. I'm not sure we've ever had one so blessedly drama-free. Then we went home. She finished breakfast, did her lesson on ABCMouse, and then wanted to paint. I turned on the instrumental hymns station on Pandora, and set her up. She painted and I got lunch ready. The melodies touched the words I knew by heart, and my heart started to sing. I must pause in posting this to provide more later, because, upstairs, my little boy is crashing around in his room, shaking the metal fixtures of the lights in the kitchen. I need to investigate and possibly get him up from the nap he is not taking and allow my daughter a chance to rest. This is frequently part of our lives.

We have color enough, thank you.

The salty, chewy softness I devoured hit the right spots. It was lunch, and a reward for the shopping nightmare. It wasn't just the cup-and-a-half of poop I must have cleaned from my son's bottom in the parking lot at Whole Foods. Poop happens (it was really, really a lot, though). It started when my son didn't want to ride in the cart. When do I let the meltdowns commence? Not as soon as we hit the first store. I guard against the meltdown by allowing my son to walk around. He checks every bin of beans. I put him in the cart. He fusses to get out. He opens and closes cooler doors. He picks up a clamshell of muffins. "Gugays!" he cries, showing them to me, and I know that they are not cupcakes, and more importantly, they are not going to fit his special diet, so I try to take them away. He maneuvers around a display of baked goods, I hear a clatter, and realize I am going to buy a six-pack of muffins. Okay. We move on. I realize about five minutes into our visit that I am not going to accomplish much with him, but must accomplish a few things so that he has gluten- and dairy-free snacks to take to school tomorrow. So we get to the checkout lane with a pthalate-free boat toy, a handheld mirror, a package of naan, and $60 of product I actually want to buy. As I am getting my credit card out of my purse, distracted, I realize he has run off. The store has sliding automatic doors, and I don't see him, so I leave the register in pursuit, and outside, a kindly stranger has him by the arm. I walk up, harassed and thankful, take my son. "He really got away," I say, sheepishly. "Yes. And someone could have run off with him," she says. "I know," I say, grimly. She keeps giving me the "do you really understand how close that was?" Look. I just stare back. She smiles weakly and says something like, "Okay, take care." I don't really hear because I am struggling with Stefan, trying to get back inside to get the groceries I left. Thankfully they put back the boat, naan, and mirror for me. I wouldn't and couldn't have made it. A man comes up to me with a very-clearly rehearsed story about how he needs me to meet his wife somewhere to use my debit card to pay for gas. I tell him I can't help. Why couldn't I just tell the lady, "Thank you," and leave it at that? Because I wanted to say more. I wanted to say, listen, I came to this store today BECAUSE my son is autistic. And sometimes, having an autistic son makes shopping difficult. Do you understand? Also, I think I need to get a child leash. People will judge me for that, too. Sigh. Proceed to Costco. We have to get wipes, and some other things. Once again, he will not ride in the cart, and if he walks, he wanders. The only position he'll allow me to transport in is with me holding him in my arms, his bottom resting on the handle of the cart. People look at me funny for this, and I think, "It's this or a meltdown, people. I'm sure I know which you'd prefer." We make it all the way around the store, and I'm starting to get frazzled. Twice he has gotton down, and plopped on the ground, refusing to budge. I am sweating from the exertion of trying to hold him still as I navigate the cart. Front of store, the employee tells me that wipes are all the way in the back. "Shoot," I say. I don't usually express my frustration aloud over things like this. But honestly, why are they all the way in the back? Why aren't they in the front with all the other medical/toiletries like they are in Sam's Club? Ugh. The squeals and screams heard throughout the warehouse are coming from my boy. People turn to look. I know they just want to see if everything's okay. At one point I stop, near the almonds, to let him rest. He sits on the ground. I pray, "Dear Jesus, *please* let us find a short line at this store." Why are the lines always so long at Costco? Why isn't there an "autism line" for kids who unravel so easily? Why did I even bring him with me today? I did it because tomorrow is his first day of school, and I'm going to miss him. I wanted to get him prepared as best I could, which meant some shopping. Close to the checkout lane, which thankfully, is only one deep, I swear I see the same lady that helped me at Whole Foods. I am not sure whether her seeing me again, in this situation, gives her more understanding, or more opportunity for judgement. Because now, I'm unloading my groceries onto the belt, and Stefan is running off again, this time to the nearby cigarette cage. Bringing him back brings more wrestling. The gentlemen in line behind me kindly steer my cart toward the cashier because my hands are fully of my writhing 3-year-old. The cashier kindly offers to have someone help me with the cart. Stefan screams and struggles all the way out to the car. Before that, the man helping me with the cart asks if a coloring book would help? I just shake my head, conserving energy. It's actually laughable, but my sense of humor is completely smothered by chagrin and crisis management. He still stops to get the coloring book, makes sure I have the crayons. I thank him for the gesture more than the gift. He helps me load the stuff we need for raising our screamer: wipes, grapes, lunch meat, spinach. Stefan calms down once he is in his carseat in the van. I don't understand the cause of the meltdown, exactly. Stefan is largely a mystery to me, though I know he is not mysterious to the Lord. All I can do is put my head down on the steering wheel and rest; I must, or I will not be able to drive home. Shopping was a workout today. I shall have Taco Bell, I think. And I did.

This is the day

Working from home always brings the dilemma of how best to multitask and balance work/life concerns. Should I wake up and immediately begin laundry, rotating loads as I evaluate student work or type lesson plans? Will doing some house cleaning help me focus as I work, or do I need to block it out and get to it later? Should I break for lunch? Since I don't have to commute, do I give myself that time, or do I try to get more done? Having an autistic child adds extra jigsaw jags to the puzzle. Will he need to be at five appointments each week? Should we bother to drive the extra hour for the weekly appointment with a specialist in a discipline, or is the net benefit the same if we go with a therapist who is closer, and give ourselves back an hour per week? How will making all of his therapy appointments affect the total amount of attention I can possibly give to my typically developing child, who needs me as much as any child? Having just moved, and having the potential, and desire, to move again, I can become either paralyzed, or anal about making decisions. All of these things were going through my head this morning. I thought, God, I need to have some fun today. Some kind of fun, so I can remember to take life lightly, and to trust. Because deep down, I know that even though all of these things are in flux, God is never less in control than when the choices seemed simple. So I sort of sheepishly determined that I should have faith that God would work it out. That is why I was so blessed to read the short devotional from *Jesus Calling* - the kids version - to my kids in the van on the way to their school this morning. It spoke right to what I had been thinking. You can waste so much time planning your day: trying to figure out what to do- and when to do it. Then, when you think you've got it all just right, something happens. Teh doorbell rings, a friend calls, you start to feel sick. Your whole plan is thrown off, so you have to start all over again. And you forget all about Me. There is a much better way. Tune in to Me. I have everything under control: My control. Instead of trying to plan everything, let Me show you what to do now and next. Then you will be free to enjoy Me and the day I have prepared for you. I was thrilled and rejoicing on the way to the kids' school this morning. As I had laid in bed this morning, I prayed that God would teach me to have faith, and build our family faith. This little word was one small step, and believing it will be a giant leap in the right direction.

I've been to the mountaintop

Literally and figuratively. For the past week the family has been on a "staycation," which was what we thought we'd most enjoy doing as a summer break. So my husband had the week off, and we saw the sights around Tucson, which are all still new to us, and then came home to rest every night. I bought paper plates and convenience foods so I wouldn't have to cook or clean as much, making it more like a get-away for me. It worked!

Today we went up Mount Lemmon, where the highest elevation sign we saw was 8000 feet. It was cooler up there; breezy, with wind in the pines. There are also boulders and blue sky, which are all generally part of Arizona high country, and constitute my favorite type of landscape. I think this has something to do with memories of summer camp. 

Coming down the mountain, my husband remarked that it would be hard for him to readjust to waking up at 5 am. I responded that it would be hard for me to get used to being by myself with the kids.

Before vacation I was pretty miserable. I was looking forward to vacation but felt bad that I felt bad going into it. I still have some anxiety. I am more rested, refreshed, and re-oriented, and I am thinking I'll treat myself to another dessert  to end the week. 

I keep thinking about a Steven Curtis Chapman song called "The Mountain."  I have meditated on the line that says, "You bring me up here on the mountain / for me to rest and learn and grow."  This vacation has been such an experience. It was over too soon, like all good things, but we are all the better for it. 

A few things that helped this week: 1) Just having my husband here with the kids and me. It was still work, but two are better than one. 2) Getting out of my neighborhood to do something fun (even though sometimes expensive) every day. 3) Reading _Desperate_ by Sarah Mae and Sally (something). This book has been a revelation and water for my soul. 4) Above-mentioned convenience foods and paper plates. 

Like a lake

I had originally meant to post about this song the other day as my first response to the devastation in Central Oklahoma. So much information was coming in that was almost impossible to assimilate, or, I feel, respond to completely. I very much trusted the Lord was near to the victims, and very quickly have seen just how eager are all of the neighbors to help their friends in need. So, some gladness has come in to replace the deep crater of grief originally carved. This song was written in reflection upon murder victims in Africa who chose to forgive their enemies. The sentiment and the imagery are very closely linked to the natural disaster suffered by so many. I have noticed, at least on Facebook, an eagerness to gladden things up, and I think this is so good and appropriate. I suppose right now the work being done is just first aid of sorts. The pain will linger and the recovery will take time. When the shock is over, and the media attention diminishes, this is when this song speaks about the way I wish healing would proceed. bring the wind and bring the thunder bring the rain till I am tried when it's over bring me stillness let my face reflect the sky and all the grace and all the wonder of a peace that I can't fake wide open like a lake

Here is what I think

Oh Oklahoma. The news of the storm there came pulsing through the Facebook feed as I was working on collecting information for a high school class reunion here. And my heart was split, and spilt out, dredged by a mighty wind of grief and guilt, hope and mirth submerged beneath the rubble piles. Who can think about this without getting tearful? Who that has lived in central Oklahoma, or has friends there, or has lived through any sort of natural disaster, could rest in the immediate aftermath? Am I the only one who is almost sick at not being able to really do anything? I tell you something awful, and it's something you've probably already thought of. As I looked at those piles of rubble, saw the impossibility of quick hope, a bit of 9/11 came back to haunt me. I had just moved to Oklahoma a few months prior to that attack. And again, the waking nightmare of knowing there were survivors trapped, time running out. Children in schools. Families in interior rooms. Then, as I was watching the live OKC news online, I saw a viewer feed where a debate raged over who caused the storm. "God did this," was followed by the mockery that Obama had done it. This while bodies were still being recovered. Mercifully, it appeared that someone had stopped the feed after awhile. I have tried to ignore this part, but I just can't. And honestly, the more I think about it, the more I feel like that is the heart of the issue. The Pharisees of the New Testament era are the type of frigid-hearted cultural critic who would post such hateful curses, always trying to prove how much more spiritual they were when anyone else, eager to catch someone else in a fall. Attempting to trick Jesus, Matthew 22 records, 5 One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: 36 “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” 37 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[c] 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[d] 40 All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” Here is what I think. I think that the same things that have made Oklahoma a place people want to live, despite the constant weather weirdness, are what will help it rise from these ashes: love for God and man. I am content in my faith that the Lord is very close to the brokenhearted, that none of the devastation is invisible to God, and that He is neither smug nor indifferent. To those who want to finger-point blame at the suffering city, I have one word: Job. This isn't really the direction I meant to go today; I hope I can post about a song tomorrow. Stay strong, Oklahoma. I love you.

Open my hands

I don't think I have time to be posting right now, but I still feel like I should. Here is the scenario: the dishes are washing a few feet away, kids are in their rooms "napping," house is dirty. But I read something this morning that I just can't get out of my head. It was about how God works through Plan B, which is sometimes agonizing and very messy. The case in point was God's deliverance of Paul and the crew of a beleaguered ship onto Malta, which was a place of healing, rest, and welcome. The deliverance came through a shipwreck. "Difficulty does not necessarily mean disaster. Heavy winds and raging seas don't always mean you're on the wrong course. It mean mean you're right on target. Believer, celebrate the fact that you may sometimes 'run aground' on the island of God's will for your life! Perhaps He couldn't get you to your destination any other way..." I've read this exact same study before, and had the same profound sense of wonder, coupled with certainty that that is an accurate interpretation. Meanwhile, I've been reading 1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp, which is a revelation, even though I thoroughly expected it would be. She talks about how we can see God's glory through the rips and tears in the tapestry we thought we were neatly weaving. Her writing is so poignant and painful, yet awe-inducing. I have posted a picture here of my son's handiwork from preschool. He wasn't supposed to be in preschool this early, but because of some developmental delays, he is. My son's difficulties have been a source of genuine bewilderment and vexation for years. I feel badly using the word "vexation," but it's true. It's just a piece of the puzzle that has never quite fit. I've always had this idealistic turn that loved music, art, beauty, and all things inspiring and transcendent. So imagine this type of mama trying to deal with the pain of everyday life and the way the practical things just don't seem to work out, let alone finding time for creativity and beauty-making. It's been very vexing. We thought we were headed one place, and ended up in another. Figuratively, and literally. I've been reminded so many times lately that THIS is where I'm meant to be. The reminders are helpful, because I've struggled to find purpose. I think I've posted on Sara Groves' song "Open My Hands" before, but now I feel like I finally get it. Perhaps Voskamp's perspective is the key. One can believe in all of these abilities of God, and His Providence, and yet, not find it, and yet, still rejoice in what one does find. I'm starting to believe. Oh Lord, please help me keep my hands open.

A reason to sing

I just savored a piece of chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting that my husband and daughter made for me for Mother's Day. It was a nice moment; real and peaceful. Sometimes I have those moments. However, I think I got the impression from Dove chocolate commercials that I should be having a lot more of them. It's been a weirdly difficult season. There have been highlights, but overall, it's just been a surprising drag, and my soul has been a bit parched. I am not here to testify that it is springtime in my soul again, and life is far from a series of Dove moments. But I do have an anchor for my soul, and in the storms, I've dug deep again and found it still holds. I feel the Holy Spirit urging me during this season to just hold on. A few weeks ago I felt the need to come before the Lord and bare my heart. And yet, when He asked me what was on my heart, I couldn't answer. I was just that numb. Around this time I listened to the All Songs and Daughters album Season One and a couple of songs stood out. One is called "A Reason to Sing." As this blog attests, music and lyrics satisfy my soul, and this one really described my relationship to my circumstances. when the pieces seem too shattered to gather off the floor and all that seems to matter is that I can't feel you anymore is that I don't feel you anymore i need a reason to sing i need reason to sing i need to know that you're still holding the whole world in your hands i need a reason to sing These lyrics massaged the callouses off of my heart. I realized I couldn't speak because life just wasn't making sense, and it was hurting. And I realized, too, almost at the same moment, something about that anchor that went so deep. In an instant it was clear, though perhaps not verbally, that I always have a reason to sing, although I may be so weary and worn that I don't have the energy to come up with the words myself. There is a companion reprise track later on the album that I think captures and supports this response, and all it says is, "I will sing, sing sing, to my God and King, you are good and holy Lord, you are always the reason." So I may not have a lot to say for myself right now, and I still feel parched in some ways, but I now know that that river of life is coursing somewhere below the surface, ready to spring forth in praise and refreshment when the right time comes. Maybe that is peace like a river; grace to walk through a desert when the journey is longer than expected.

Blogalicious

Hello again, blog! I've been hiding out for a few weeks because I didn't have time to do much and I wanted to be private. So, here was the scenario. We moved to a new state a few months ago, renting, and then decided to buy the house next door to our rental. We closed on it, our possessions and my brain straddling two lots. I was stretched a bit thin. People came to help us move. A lot of people had told us that a short move would be the hardest we'd ever attempt. I couldn't see how that would be true. I still really don't, but no move is ever easy. I think the hardest thing was the assumption that it would be easy, though. When you move, you always have to adjust and figure out the best arrangement, not to mention actually finding the stuff that is in boxes, and not to mention that our stuff had been boxed up six months ago so I was still discovering where some of it was. Do I sound like I'm whining? That's not the direction I'm trying to go here. Stay with me! Okay, so I love, Love, LOVE my new house. That goes a long way toward establishing calm. It has so much natural light. To borrow a phase from Elizabeth Bennet, it is by no means lacking in windows (but we are by no means as pretentious as Lady Catherine (who is?)). However, the big push to get everything in to the new house happened three days before my husband left for training for three weeks. So, me in bright new house I love, disorganized somewhat, on my own with two preschoolers. And on to the subject of help. First I have to mention the great help I got. Several friends volunteered to come help us, and came through big time. Not to mention my fabulous family, who came in shifts to help us out. Stairs - did I mention stairs? Let's say that people got a workout (and I got sore). During the time that my husband was gone, we had two helpful visits from family, and one helpful visit to family. We are separated by hours of driving, so it requires some planning and a big effort. I think I'm gonna need to break up this post into more than one chunk. I have a little bit more story to tell and want to write some "take aways" from this brief but intense season. I leave you with these photos from my daughter's recent installation, "My New Hobby."

Moving Violations

I am trying to decide whether or not it's worth it to try to get any more boxes moved over from the house next door. It means herding the kids back and forth, and the ornery one is in a particular awful mood this morning. On the other hand, I am out of paper towels and my washer is out of commission so cloth ones are in short supply. I think I have a tool to help the one in a bad mood, but it is next door, and again, getting over and back is going to be a fight. I guess I'll have to try. It is so hard to plan right between houses. Situations like this have drained my energy and brain power. I am about to say something I may take back later. I think that either moving or watching kids when you're not quite unpacked is enough to try to do, but both at once is impossible. Yesterday I was driving the kids to Costco to get some little thing; really it was just an excuse to stay in the car for an extra hour. I noticed a police motorcycle ahead, checked my speed and the posted limit, and wasn't that surprised when I got pulled over. The guy was super nice, I must say. Later in the day I was taking a little reading break, and then stood up and hit my head on a light fixture hanging in the middle of the room. I'm just not used to it yet. So I got a goose egg. I think both of these things happened because I am so scattered from moving.

Outside the box

We are relocating, for the second time in less than six months. It was wise to rent first and then buy, but it does mean that we have an extra move. Fortunately, this one isn't far away. Tonight as I was packing up a box of my kids' blocks I realized part of the reason why moving is so hard for me - I want to figure out what I think is the best way to do everything first, and then do it. Trouble is, by the time I figure out the absolute best way of doing it, I could have done it sufficiently three times over. Now I know what my perfectionist, idealistic friends are thinking. That anything less than the best is not worth doing. But for me, it is to the point of paralysis sometimes. As I was packing up this box of blocks, which are irregularly shaped, I was rearranging them as I went, to find the best possible fit. I have tried arranging these blocks before; there is no perfect way to do it. No matter what, the lid just won't quite fit. And since I was just going to carry them by hand from my current house to our new house, it didn't have to be perfect. I really wish it could be. I want every little thing to be just divine - in both the spiritual and aesthetic sense (which makes me wonder if maybe those expressions are different perspectives on the same impulse). But sometimes, I think, I miss the forest for the trees. The main goal is really to get the blocks portable from here to there. Anyway, I had this tiny epiphany and shared it with my husband to try to show him I was growing in some way. He just nodded, and said, "Yeah." So obvious to him, I guess. He's more of a Git 'er Done guy, which is what I knew I needed.

Type A suppression

I think it is sometimes more pleasurable to plan for the future than deal with the present. I need to pack and move, but am thinking about my son's birthday party which is coming up in a month. It seems more fun to do that. Then I'll get to that other stuff. I'll feel energized, I think. The good thing is my daughter is learning lessons about this, too. She's learning that if she does what she needs to do in the present, things are better in the future. I don't think she really understands the future beyond a few hours or a night's sleep. I have wondered lately if I am a repressed Type A. In college I thought I was pretty intense and choleric. Somehow I mellowed out later. Being in a place where there seems like a lot of work to be done brings out the perfectionist in me. I have started a cupcake business that's been going for a few months. I think I enjoy making cupcakes because perfection is possible. It gives me something I can do where, at the end of a baking session, I have a batch of pretty things that make me, and someone else, happy.

Of Waffles and Women

Good morning! I didn't know what to make for breakfast this morning. My daughter woke up an hour early, so I had to figure something out. I hate that feeling. I've been kind of grumpy this morning, but not just because of that. I have to have the house all clean for a showing this afternoon, which is practically impossible with kids in it. Also several things got dropped on my foot, which always brings out the worst in me. I ended up making waffles, which were a hit except that my son threw a big fit over washing his hands, and then was throwing his food around. Maybe grumpiness is contagious. I decided to get some childcare for today so I can get some extra work done and keep the house tidy. I think the kids will have more fun away from grumpy mama anyway. Here is a thought I had: wouldn't it be great if churches offered a "planning period" for moms, in which childcare was provided, but nothing was expected of moms except to sit down and be thoughtful about the activities of the week ahead?

Never once did we ever walk alone

Well, hello there, Interwebs! How long has it been?

I apologize for the long silence.  I've been busy and wrapped up in all kinds of things.  We have moved, found a church, looked for houses to buy, visited friends and family, and generally lived our normal lives.

In all of that I think I almost forgot that God was leading us.  But yesterday I remembered that even in the weirdness,  it is good, because I knew God was leading us.  I think that finally my anthem for this season will be Matt Redman's "Never Once."  Not only because lyrically it is so appropriate, but because I heard it first at our new church.  It is precious to me how God works that way, daisy-chaining the Bible verses, events, and songs that are significant, leading me by that chord of kindness.

Well, my sweet daughter is awake; I'm not sure why she slept in but am glad it was long enough for me to write.