{ keepsake prayer }

If you don't read Ann Voskamp's blog, you should. A couple of weeks ago she posted this prayer for a daughter. I have such dreams for Lucy and this prayer so perfectly expresses them. I'm writing these words down because as she grows, this will be my prayer for her.

God, clothe this girl in a gown of Grace,
the only dress that makes beautiful the style of Your spirit.
Nourish her on the comfort food of the Word,
Word, that makes her crave more of Christ, have hunger pains for Him.

Enclose her in communion with You
You, Love who makes her love, who folds her heart
into a roof that absorbs storms,
that makes her tongue speak only the words that make souls stronger.

May her vocation in this world simply be translation
Translating every enemy into esteemed guest,
Translating every countenance into the face of Christ,
Translating every burden into blessing

When it's hard to be patient...make her willing to suffer,
When it's ridiculous to be thankful...make her see all is grace,
When it's radical to forgive...make her live the foundation of faith,
And when it's time to work...make her a holy wonder.

May she be bread and feed many with her life and laughter,
May she be thread and mend brokeness and knit hearts,
May she be dead to all ladders and never go higher, only lower,
to the lonely, the least, and the longing
Her led of the Spirit to lead many to the Cross -
that leads to the tomb, wildly empty.

And raise me, Lord, from the deadness of my own sins
to love this beautiful girl like You do...

In the name of Christ who rose
and appeared first
to one of His daughters...
Amen

praying in color

Several months ago Brad ordered Praying in Color by Sybil MacBeth. He had seen it listed in the appendix of another prayer book and the title intrigued him. It's a simple book, one you can breeze through. The concept is so simple, and yet for me, it has been so life-giving. It is about how to draw your prayers.

From the book: "Maybe you hunger to know God better. Maybe you love color. Maybe you are a visual learner, a distractable or impatient soul, or a word-weary pray-er...For many of us, using only words to pray reduces God by the limits of our finite words."

After reading the book, I immediately went out and bought a new set of markers and a blank journal. The first couple of times, I felt funny, a bit clumsy, like I needed an eraser. However, once I eased into it, I found that it brought a new dimension and expression to my prayers.

It wasn't long before I realized that this concept could be very meaningful to children. So, I got a blank notebook and made it Grant's prayer book. We spent several sessions drawing together. I would guide his thoughts, he would draw, and then I would write the prayer he was expressing in his picture. We kept this up for awhile and then got out of the habit.

Strangely enough, I had been thinking just this week that we needed to resume our practice when tonight, after our bedtime prayers, he asked me, "Mommy, why can't we just show God?". I asked him to explain what he meant and he said, "Remember our books? Why can't we draw and show God?".

Here's an example - this was during a phase when he was very fearful of the dark. When I asked him what his picture meant he said he wanted God to protect him from scary things.

I share my experience because I've never seen another book like this. If you are open to new experiences and if you are looking for ways to spiritually engage your children, I highly recommend Praying in Color.

Taking Stock

In a reflective mood tonight. 2011 is almost half way over. How is that possible?

This has been such a strange, surreal year so far. I think back to the beginning of the year and it was filled with angst and heart-break, both mine and those around me. I grieved and fretted over the prospect of returning to work full-time after 2 1/2 years of being home.

February came and thus began so many changes. After days upon days of waking up whenever Grant wandered into my room, I began waking to a beeping alarm clock at 6:00am. I started wearing heels again and clothes that necessitated ironing. I stopped cooking as much. I started making lunches. ugh. I moved my bedtime up. I started grocery shopping on Saturday mornings with the rest of the world.

I went back to being in a different world from 8 to 5. A world of thinking strategically and directing projects. A world of deadlines and expectations and pressures. A world that does have perks. Like having an hour lunch everyday that you can spend eating with friends at your favorite restaurants or trying on clothes at the Loft or doing whatever else you want to do. A world that involves meetings at Starbucks. A world that makes you get dressed up and bring your best.

There have been so many hard days and so many easy days. It's been a wild ride. Days when I've wept bitterly at the loss of time with Grant and Lucy. Days I've felt like I'm drowning. Days I've felt completely alone, like there is not a soul who understands what I'm going through. Days I've given free reign to another voice - one that espouses a bitter resentment over unmet expectations and lost hopes.

There have been days when I've listened to and watched Grant and realized how very good Waco Montessori has been for him - how he's matured and soaked up so much knowledge - and I've admitted that he wouldn't have gotten that had he stayed home with me. Days I've cherished my husband because he is truly my teammate, and I know we are in this thing together. There have been days where I've recognized how easy it was for me to return to work, and to a job and an office that I love - and I've realized that it is a gift not to be taken lightly in this economy. Days that I've realized how much I enjoy my children now - our time together has a new dimension to it, a new preciousness.

Day by day. Up and Down. Down and Up. At the beginning of this year, I knew I was entering uncertain waters and I vowed that I would allow myself to just 'be' in the space of whatever each day brought.


I posted awhile ago about the book "One Thousand Gifts". I still believe it was divinely appointed for me to read this year of my life. I've re-read it often. It's pages have revealed a different way of seeing, a way that keeps whispering to me when I'm tempted to give up and pull the covers over my head.


In the midst of uncertain days, in the midst of both the up and the down, there are always gifts, and I can offer my gratitude. And I can enter into his presence (joy) which transcends all emotion. Each day, a choice. Some days I've made the right one, other days I've sold myself so short.

2011, so far you've been just as challenging as I thought you'd be. Here's to whatever the next half brings.

what labor taught me

Lucy is 8 weeks old today and I have been thinking of her birth...

It’s true that words fail sometimes. There simply is no way to describe the very primal sensation that occurs the moment your body gives up what it has been carrying and you deliver a new life. It’s this intense euphoric release. Just as you are nearing a physical precipice of pain, this child pushes out and leaves a rushing wake of emptiness behind. There is an immediate gasp as you reorient and breathe in what emptiness feels like again. Mentally you call yourself back from the haze of labor and are able to rest in the blissful reality that your labor has ceased – you have crossed the finish line and survived.

When Lucy was born, Christy, our midwife, had to work fast because the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck 3 times; but thankfully she was fine and within moments she was handed to me. I remember looking down at this squalling creature resting on my chest and as I looked at my daughter for the first time, I was flooded with gratitude and my heart suddenly expanded with a new love, forever unique to this child.

As I have thought back on my experience, I am thankful that I was able to experience a drug-free delivery. We anesthetize ourselves to so much in our society. We try to minimize pain as much as possible – physically, emotionally, and spiritually. But going through labor, experiencing pain and living in that space for the time that it lasted, made me realize that I can survive. I can live in it and I can survive and it’s okay. Not only so, but sometimes all of that pain is necessary for new life and beauty to emerge.

These past 8 weeks have held so many different things for us as a family. The joy of a newborn; the sheer exhaustion and sometimes loneliness that come from caring for a newborn; the worry, sadness, doubt and resolution that go along with making big decisions; the demands of parenting a now very needy almost-4 year old; the fun of now being a family of 4; and the list goes on and on. During this season I am learning to rely on grace and I’m ever so thankful that its supplier has a limitless reserve. I am also learning that it’s okay to live in the space of each emotion. I can soak in the joy and the happiness, and I don’t have to immediately run from the unpleasant times. I can embrace all that this season has to offer, for better or worse. And if I live in this space with an ear to the whisperings of the Spirit, I am confident God will use this time, all of this time, to adorn my faith with new life and depth and dimension.

literary schizophrenia

My nightstand is running out of room and so is my brain. August was such a tiring month. I felt like I was swimming underwater and couldn't reach the surface. I kept trying to come up for breath, but even my most purposeful efforts failed. Now we are in a new month and I still feel unmoored. I climbed into bed last night and went through about 5 books in 20 minutes - I couldn't focus, I would read whole paragraphs and have no recollection of any of the words, I would toss the book aside and move to the next - all trying to get into that space - that space where you fall into the words, your mind relaxes and you slip from one world to another and... you breathe.

Here are the books on my nightstand:
1) Bel Canto. A loaner from my dear friend Erica, who made me promise I send her beloved copy back when I am done. It's a 'tragicomic' novel - absolutely spell bounding thus far.
2) Cold Tangerines. An unexpected gift from another dear friend. A spiritual autobiography that feels like settling into a comfortable old sweater when you read it.
3) One Foot in Eden. A Celtic view of the stages of life from birth to death.
4) The Strong Willed Child. A parenting book - enough said.
5) Authenticity. A business book about the experience economy, one of my favorite business philosophies.
6) Lone Survivor. A book I borrowed from my grandfather - an eyewitness account of operation redwing and the lost heroes of seal team 10.
7) The Crowning Glory of Calla Lilly Ponder. A delightful novel from the author of "Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood".
8) A Thread of Truth. The second in a series that my book club is reading about female friendships.
9) The Year of Living Biblically. A unique story about one guy's attempt to follow the Bible literally for a year.
10) Christ of the Celts. A basic primer for understanding Celtic beliefs.

While I want to be able to read them all simultaneously - this schizophrenic collection of books has become a picture of my larger problem. This last month and more I have been cramming everything in - running faster and faster, still unable to reach the surface for that needed breath. So, tonight, I am removing all but 2 books. I will put the others back on the bookshelf in my room. I will read and thoroughly digest the 2, then move on until I am done. I will slow down. Step one: uncluttering my nightstand.

More than Enough

In the quiet of the night
may I know your presence, O God.
At the ending of the day
may my soul be alive to your nearness.
Amidst the tiredness that overcomes my body
and the tensions that linger in my mind,
amidst the uncertainties and fears
that haunt me in the darkness of the night,
let me know your presence, O God,
let my soul be alive to your nearness.

It has been one of those days. For some reasons, Sunday mornings always seem especially difficult - me trying to get Grant fed and all spiffied up for church and myself as well. I could tell that my patience was running low as soon as I even woke up. Grant spilled his juice all over the floor after monkeying around and I reacted too strongly. Get to church and have a difficult conversation that stirs uncertainty in my mind about what to do. Have a luncheon after church wherein Grant throws a table decoration and hits the woman sitting across the table from me in the face. Then he runs off with his fork and digs into the bowl of pink marshmallow fluff in the buffet line. One of those days. Go home and thankfully he sleeps for 3 hours! Except when he wakes up in his crib he decides to pull off his shorts, take off his dirty diaper, and you can fill in the rest...Go to church again and have even more difficult conversations, finally come home - tired, feeling threatened, confused about why things can't be easier, put Grant to bed, light a candle, and guess what the evening prayer is? The words above. So perfectly expressed. Even in days like today, God is near, God is present. And I pray my soul is alive to that truth. That in the midst of toddler tantrums, in the often unpleasant intimacies of physically caring for another human being, in conflict with others, God is near, God is present. God is.

What is Outside Your Window?

a view from our front porch

Admittedly, Brad and I have spent our 7 years of marriage in some unconventional housing. For the first 4 years, we had the distinct blessing of living in my grandparent's house out in the country (aka 'the ranch'). In the beginning, while moving in amidst their belongings, I didn't think I could make it there - the grief was too intense and the memories so close they took my breath away. But in the end, it was a sweet 4 years, one marked by tranquility and lots of making memories with friends. When I think of the ranch, what I picture in my mind's eye, is the view out of the kitchen window. A view of the backyard, wild grapes growing over the barbed wire fence, and beyond to the pasture, green and open, cows grazing lazily. That view always makes me pause and take a restful breath.

For 3 years now, we have been living in the parsonage that is next door to our church. The church was overwhelmingly gracious and generous - renovating it based on our tastes and helping us move in. I'll never forget our move-in day, watching everyone around me working so hard, thinking 'this is service - this is love getting its hands dirty'. There have been a lot of advantages of living in the parsonage, but one of the most unexpected blessings has come from the view from our front porch. You see, we live directly across from the Bosqueville Cemetery. It's the very definition of a rural cemetery - graves that date back to the late 1800's, overgrown with bluebonnets in the spring, a curved archway at its entrance. I have spent a lot of time on our front porch watching Grant play, etc. And one of the things that the view has done is center me time and time again. It reminds me how fleeting the days are, it's emptiness reminds me to labor after things that will last, it inspires me to live better.

I recently finished 2 books by Anne Lamott, a very popular Christian writer. I read both Traveling Mercies and Grace Eventually. I recommend both as they are witty and honest accounts of what a life of faith looks like. But it was a quote at the beginning of a chapter in Grace Eventually that stuck with me the most. It was a question from TS Eliott and it read, "Where is the life we have lost in living?" Now, as I sit on my porch and soak in the view, I ponder that question. For, sometimes life is hectic and I can go into auto-pilot, and sometimes life is so mundane that I feel I am simply existing. My view reminds me, this question reminds me, to live all my days - to use all of my senses. I wonder what our next house will look like, and what the view from that house will teach me...