Even in Between - One Thousand Gifts

I honestly don't know when you'll get this, he wrote three years ago, while we were waiting for Piper, when he was leaving for another conference, when we couldn't spend time together that we wanted to spend.

This afternoon. Or tomorrow. Or maybe next week...

He gave it to me yesterday, sealing the envelope that had been waiting three years for his kiss, presenting it to me in the midst of our hardest, busiest, most telling season yet.

He gave it now, two babies into our life with children, with stress at home and at work, with a move coming up next weekend and the new house unfinished, with sickness cycling through and two houses to clean, with other responsibilities and financial concerns - there is no time for us.

There wasn't then, either.

He handed it to me; I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

This is our love, he said. Look at the date.

Three years ago, we knew it. Things haven't changed.

This is our love, for each other, for our little ones, for our families, for our God.

You see, time, to us, doesn't matter. We have so little time anyway...

So I am thankful for the time we have.

I cling to the precious moments together, embrace the gifts, sometimes cling too much to them, instead of to the Giver. But they are what I have of Him, or rather, what I see that I have from Him. Given in His love, they seem to be eternal, and my spirit responds outside of time, for one can always be grateful.

*101 - My sweet flower girl, who thinks all the flowers we bring home are for her. She loves to smell them, even if they have no fragrance at all.

*102 - Playtime and toddler stories made up

*103 - Hug requests

*104 - "I'm sorry" to soften my angry heart.

*105 - Trouble to make me laugh in spite of my horror

*106 - Deviled eggs made with daddy - the best we've had in a long time

*107 - Words strung together in grown-up sentences

*108 - She dresses herself to go out and play

*109 - Toddler lilt telling her story in the third person: "Piper hungry"

*110 - Giggles, the high, squeaky, shrieky "can't believe how happy I am" kind

*111 - Making story time to spend and share three times in a busy week

*112 - Tiny fingers grasping mine

*113 - Baby conversations, such sweet, soft hellos

*114 - Smiles, just for Mama

*115 - Innocent eyes that watch mine on gray days, questioning, loving, inviting me in

*116 - Laughter in work for a family photo session

*117 - A little bit extra to help with our load

*118 - Sunlight and spring, warming the month, lifting my spirits

*119 - A little work finished on life-giving projects

*120 - Broken moments together

*121 - Caring in sickness

*122 - Long, steadying embraces

*123 - Together

*124 - Toddler "mooseick", sweet and loud

*125 - Lyrics that play in the heart, that hum past my lips

*126 - God who is more than my today

For all that I miss, there is much I am given.

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This post also linked at Holy Experience, sharing with the Gratitude Community in listing my own One Thousand Gifts.





(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Not Yet Ready, But Love...

Having a little driving time is good for me. I think better as the world passes by, with the movement of car on pavement, with music and lyrics of God-songs telling and retelling about Him, about life, about me.

On my way from my midwife appointment yesterday (at which I discovered that all the contractions I've had haven't been for nothing - I was 4cm dilated!), I was listening again to Vicky Beeching's song, Captivated.

"May my life be one unbroken gaze fixed upon the beauty of Your face..."

Her lyric got caught in the web that is my pregnant brain and took a rabbit trail into the video I shared in the link above.

Instead of seeing myself gazing at Jesus, I saw Him living His life, engaging with others, pursuing and treasuring relationship. I saw how much He valued the ones He loved.

I'm not one to rush out and do things for the sake of doing them. Most of the time, I simply don't have the resources to pour me out the way I often feel that I must. But sometimes, I hold myself back from giving of myself, unready in my heart or in my sense of the proper timing, unwilling to be a hypocrite for the sake of appearances, willing to sacrifice my image for authenticity.

As I looked at Jesus' interactions with those in His life, I couldn't help but acknowledge how little I look like Him sometimes. He poured Himself out ALL the time, it seemed. I am lucky if I can admit to doing it at all for my family.

Mentally, I was ready to check out from this train of thought. There was too much room for guilt, for inadequacy, for failure, for condemnation.

But in His way (God is so gentle with me, it's astounding...), He brought my vision to Cana, in view of Jesus' face when His mother brought the wine situation to Him. I heard His voice, a little strained, unready and uncalled to display Himself in the ministry that would soon consume His whole life.

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Now both Jesus and His disciples were invited to the wedding. And when they ran out of wine, the mother of Jesus said to Him, “They have no wine.”

Jesus said to her, “Woman, what does your concern have to do with Me? My hour has not yet come.”

His mother said to the servants, “Whatever He says to you, do it.”

Now there were set there six waterpots of stone, according to the manner of purification of the Jews, containing twenty or thirty gallons apiece. Jesus said to them, “Fill the waterpots with water.” And they filled them up to the brim. And He said to them, “Draw some out now, and take it to the master of the feast.” And they took it.

When the master of the feast had tasted the water that was made wine, and did not know where it came from (but the servants who had drawn the water knew), the master of the feast called the bridegroom. And he said to him, “Every man at the beginning sets out the good wine, and when the guests have well drunk, then the inferior. You have kept the good wine until now!”

- John 2:1-10

"My hour has not yet come." It is not yet time... I'm not ready...

Yet for love of her, for her trust in His provision, He gave of Himself in spite of it.

I am too often afraid of Jesus until I look into His love.

I may not have much to give right now; I may be unsure of timing, uncertain of my own heart, of the depth of my love for God and for my family.

But I have been given an earthen-vessel Treasure that He means to pour out - how do I know it won't be the best wine at the wedding?

...

Today is my second "Leftovers" post, and MckLink-up for readers to share your own reposts. I posted the above post at 2:00 a.m., December 17, 2009, two hours before my water broke for Bredon's birth. Obviously, this post got a little overlooked in the "I'm in labor" and "We had a baby!" hoopla. It is one that keeps coming back for me, though so I thought I would post it a bit more currently.

NOTE - I am offering "Leftovers" as an opportunity to justify reposting a post you love. You're welcome to join this carnival of original unoriginality (since you've already said it!) here at my blog - just follow the steps below:

*REPOST a favorite blog post at your blog
*Please kindly INCLUDE A LINK to my blog in your repost ;-)
*LINK the direct link for your repost (not the original post) into the McLinky I will provide here.
*LEAVE A COMMENT so I know you're there.

Hopefully, in two weeks, when I host "Leftovers" again (yeesh, people, if you have a nicer, more poetic, romantic name for it, leave a comment - NOBODY likes leftovers, right?), I will try and have an irresistible button for you (with CODE!) to add to your repost.







(Image © Informal Moments Photography)

Metaphor

New Orleans.

Everywhere, you could see lingering evidence of the storm. Whole apartment buildings stood gutted. Water marks crawled up walls, seeking disguise beneath mossy grime. Houses that had been homes stood empty, windows shattered, gone. There was a boarded-up Walmart that was missing its sign. A Burlington Coat Factory with a Baby Depot hosted only shopping carts in the parking lot. Car lots with spanking new vehicles boasted only temporary or damaged signs. We drove over Lake Pontchartrain on a bridge that had been patched together.

After the storm, there was talk of abandoning the city. Leaving it a ghost town, a silent, eerie memorial to Katrina's wrath. So many were killed. So many lost everything. So many chose not to return.

But some did return. There were new houses, new siding, new landscaping in neighborhoods that still housed condemned and destroyed homes. The city's French Quarter was packed with humanity and gridlocked traffic around the famous Café du Monde. New Orleans was hosting some rather important football game in which fans for both teams wore red and white. And parallel to the patched bridge was a new bridge being constructed of pieces from the old.

At first, I didn't notice the damage still visible in New Orleans. Like any other city I have visited, I was first struck by the character of the city. I could taste its wildness, its passion, its pain, its memory. As we left the city, however, I saw. There was an ache that brought tears.

Aftermath. That was the word. The word that focused the emotions of my journey, my personal storm, the word that focused what I was seeing all around me. And then, hope.

After every storm, there is life. Not everything dies. But the damage - that stays. Unless someone returns to restore it. Unless someone rebuilds what was broken. If someone can see hope for future in the ruins of what was, even what was can be raised again to bring life.

There is no measure to time out the aftermath. It is what it is, and each day is a new day, when piece by piece, old bits of rubble may be gathered, removed, salvaged, turned into something new. It will never be what was, but then, who knows yet what it was meant to be?

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I ran across this post in my archives the other day, first posted in January of last year, and I thought it bore a repost, which I often think when I reread my old writing after a while. This, of course, got me to thinking that this must be some sort of shameless, narcissistic self-promotion, and I wondered if anyone else felt that way about a favorite post of theirs.

So I decided to turn my self-promotion into an other-promotion opportunity and give you a chance to link up one of your favorite posts from your archives. Yes, this is your chance to promote yourself too. I am being an enabler. I hope this is okay.

When I get my computer back, I'm sure I'll come up with a button for this, but for now, just repost your favorite on your blog today with a link to my blog and drop the permalink into the MckLinky below before Sunday at 11:00 p.m., EST.

Oh yes, and be sure to leave me a comment after leaving your link - just so I know you're here!

If it goes over well, I'll make it an every-other-Friday feature.

And for a promotional bonus: next Friday I will feature a shout-out to a favorite from the posts left here, in addition to my own repost.

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(Image © SXC)