My husband lay on his back, the day and sermon running through his head as he waited for slumber to claim him.
Yes. We have.
The sermon had been on Joshua 22. The eastern tribes returned home, across the boundary of the Jordan that separated them from the Israelites. They built an altar, fearing that the decedents of Israel would one day say,
"What do you have to do with the Lord? The Lord has made the Jordan a boundary between us and you! You have no share in the Lord!"
We've been through a lot and some days we fear the same words. We have our own Jordan and we've crossed the boundary between then and now. A marker exists.
Except for Grace, what have we to do with the Lord?
The eastern tribes said, "That is why we said, 'Let us get ready and build an altar...it is to be a witness between us and you and the generations that follow, that we will worship the Lord. Then in the future your descendants will not be able to say to ours, You have no share in the Lord."
Not many build altars now. We remember in different ways. We pile no stones. And yet.
I catch Robb's eye and hold out my left hand, fingering my wedding ring and the glinting circle I received for our tenth anniversary after our Jordan.
I smile gratefulness at his face. "These are my stones."
My altar has the same name: A Witness Between Us that the Lord is God.
These rings are a witness between us in our marriage that when we believe God, not just believe in Him, but believe that He is who He says He is, He is enough, He is big enough, and He can do what he says He can do, nothing is impossible.
It was a cloudy, foggy Thursday, the kind in which I measure visibility by telephone poles. While driving to appointments, I could only see two at a time. The air was damp, and though the temperature was the warmest it's been since the middle of November, the moisture could be felt deep to the bone.
I had woken up with my own fog. It seemed the world and I both had a head-cold.
We soldiered on, through damp and mess and gunk of melting winter, my head full of gunk too. We drove slow on the sloppy thawing driveway that's been hidden since November 13.
And I think about fog.
Sometimes the path of life is shrouded by fogs in which we must slow and learn to listen.
God made his presence visible in the form of a cloud for a time, and I wonder about that. About days and seasons when our path is not certain, yet His presence envelopes and all there is to see is Him. Faith is being certain of what we do not see, certain that He has a plan. Those are the two telephone pole kinds of days.
In fog, we find our way because we know the road, the landmarks well.
In life we can do the same.
The fog is there, obscuring distractions, however good and beautiful they are, letting us only see what is immediately in front, His presence a canopy. He wants us to see only Him in the cloud.
He says, "I am the way."
In him all our landmarks are found and known, and when we know Him, acknowledge Him, he guides our path. Sometimes only one or two telephone poles at a time.
On our way home, the Dayquil finally kicked in and my head cleared. The sun came out and the fields seemed to steam as the fog burned away.
I took in the sight, I saw where I'd been, and His light revealed a beautiful journey.
You have made known to me the path of life, you will fill me with joy in your presence. Psalm 16:11
Linking with Bigger Picture Blogs today. It's been a while... Hi ladies! *waves*
The wind rustles the dead stalks as they bang against each other. The clatter
is quiet, yet the air fills with the sound. Though the earth is wet from rain,
they are dead. Their season is past. They defy the life of the water.
They give
their life for the harvest.
The leaves too, give a last shout, in denial of what is to come, a red and orange and yellow party as they
fade to brown. They served a purpose and the shade they gave is gone.
Their death has come too, leaving a skeleton. Rain, the cleansing tears, breaks the last thread clinging to what was or what they planned to
be, stripping all away to the ground.
A certain kind of death comes to us all.
Seasons come.
They should.
They
will.
It's good.
But sometimes it feels we are just a skeleton left standing
bare for all to see our nakedness and life is a messy pile at our feet.
Then the snow comes, the horizon is shimmering, blinding whiteness, against
our black thin form. What we are is revealed against His glory, and there is a
broken beauty in the barrenness.
And if we don't let go of what was, or still focus our gaze on what is right
now, we will never see the vision of what is to come.
One stubborn bloom on dead wood in autumn
Spring will come. Rain will bring life once again. The wind will blow
promises. And the autumn and winter of soul will be but a memory.
The beans are picked and tossed in the ice cold sink water. They are warm, in need of refreshment, and a bath. Dirt and garden grime cling to their fuzzy skin, end blossoms and the stuff of the outdoors stuck on the thick green strings. In their growing, they have picked up and carry the the burdens of life, the earth bits.
I dump them in their bath, and swish with my hands, agitating. And I think of how it takes agitation to get them clean. Agitation loosens the clinging ons, the dirt and the stuff that stuck that was no good.
In my growing up, I've got some cling-ons too. Attitudes, habits, ideas from lies I allowed in my heart and mind that stuck there. I never meant them to, but that's the thing about lies. Our enemy is a good liar. His whispers mix truth and deception with expertise.
We recognize the bitty truth and accept the whole thing as right.
False beliefs hindering growth and spiritual fruit will cling
stubbornly until we allow the agitation of Truth to rub and push and
challenge the earth bits. The hard hearted are softened when Truth
washes clean and His shed blood rinses away.
Scripture, the God-breathed Word, Truth Himself, confronts the deception, shines glorious light on a dirty soul. It's not pleasant at first, but the unpleasantness is not His doing, love is. Love that will not allow us to settle for less than best. Not only for His benefit, but for mine.
The earth stuff is comfortable and sometimes we cling to each other, but I want more than just comfort.
I want to be agitated and washed.
I want to be a usable harvest.
Join us today as we share our Bigger Picture Moments, hosted this week at Peanut Butter in my Hair
I'm up late. Probably from my first Pepsi in a month. Or maybe it was the mocha. Either way, I lay in bed, my mind a muddle of the day, and worry of things like my children going to bed without brushing their teeth, and what kind of mother am I, and my brain downloading. A friend said once her mind is like a computer at night. Each window needs to be closed, each file saved before shutting down. So here I am, jotting down some thoughts to be saved.
I visited my favorite coffee shop today. My little sister's friend took my order with her ever present big smile and I almost forgot to pay. She told me she wanted to be like me when she has a family and a house and all that. Crafty and homemaker-y and creative. Growing things and making things.
My mind immediately began arguing with her and listing all the reasons why she should not adopt me as her ideal. She has no idea how I guilt myself for every little failure. I try to give myself credit for the rights and not dwell on the wrongs, but sometimes they are just there, staring me in the face. My currently messy house. My kids parked in front of the TV. The buckets of produce yet to be canned. My weedy garden. All my good intentions that just never quite get done.
But instead of arguing, I smiled and said thank you. I want to be more gracious instead of self deprecating. Accepting a compliment takes a strange sort of humility, I think. Then I added that I hoped I could live up to her esteem.
There are so many things I desire to do well. Sewing. Friendships. Gardening. Women's Bible Study. Homeschooling. Writing and blogging. Parenting. Church. Photography. Maintaining an organized home. Dating my husband. Healthy eating. Frugal living. The list goes on and on.
I strive to maintain an abundance of interests, and fall short. I must remind myself that I can't serve two masters, let alone three or four or five.
I can serve One.
Priorities become more straightforward, my mind less scattered, when all is done for One.
When my heart's motivation and devotion is singular, I can plunge my fingers into many things, while still serving only One.
All things can be done as unto Him.
"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men,"
Colossians 3:23-24
Do you have a Bigger Picture Moment to share? Join us each week as we endeavor to open our heart lenses for the Bigger Picture.
I sincerely believe one of the best gifts I can give my children is a strong marriage. Dating is not an option, once married. It is essential. To step away from children and chores and house and work and look each other in the eye and remember what caused the first spark: that is mandatory. Besides, it's also fun!
Equally important, though less frequent, are longer times spent away. A night, or two or three.
One week ago, Mitchell and Megan were already at camp, so Robb and I dropped Madison off at Grandma and Grandpa's and headed north. Just the two of us. We found the AG Thomson House to be a perfect bed and breakfast for our little getaway. I can't imagine better hosts. (We got hugged when we left!) Breakfast was delish. (Seriously, check out the menu and recipes!) All the little extras added up to the. best. time. ever.
We visited Gooseberry Falls briefly. Well, we planned to visit briefly. Our quick stop was extended when Robb locked the keys in the van. Thankfully we noticed right away, and could explore while we waited for AAA to show up. Thank goodness for our AAA Gold membership!
Throughout our three days together, I pondered previous trips we've taken. In younger years, we may not have handled this little hiccup well. One of the key changes we've made is making dates a priority. If we wait too long, don't tend the fire, the pressure mounts and all expectations are laid on one short weekend. But a few days cannot make up for years or even weeks of neglect. The littlest thing can ruin a wonderful time when our expectations are high and our hearts are distant.
Thankfully we laid no burden on this trip. It was for fun, for relaxation. Not for Disney fairy tale romance. Because those expectations were not our focus, and we had no dating deficit we were scrambling to reduce, we could just enjoy each moment for what is was, not wishing for something different, something more, something deep.
On our way up to Split Rock Lighthouse, we encountered some road construction, but we hardly noticed. I was busy reading the history of the murder at Glensheen mansion to Robb in preparation of our tour there the next day. Morbid? Maybe. Fascinating? Definitely! Romantic? Doubtful. Memorable? Yes!
The next day, after our extended tour of Glensheen, we meandered through Canal Park, shared boneless buffalo wings and salad at Grandma's, shopped, ate ice cream that dripped down my fingers into a puddle on the sidewalk, and watched three ships come (sailing in, come sailing in....ahem) and go under the lift bridge to the harbor. At times we walked hand in hand.
For a two and a half tour. First, as we cruised through the harbor, we had dinner with a side of sunset.
Then we made our way out through the natural inlet, along the shore of Duluth after sundown, and under the lift bridge. I took lots of pictures. We kissed on the bow deck.
Lake Superior was the calmest I've seen.
And so went our trip. Lovely. Calm. Restful. Fun.
I am so thankful to be at this place in our marriage. We've seen the typical storms and turbulent waters that come with two becoming one. At the altar we became one in Word. In name. These last 12 years have grown us up and into each other. Selfishness, increasingly, laid aside. Our hearts, unified. The waters, calmed.
We are more one as we draw out the good and call out the bad, one's strength complimenting the other's weakness. All the time reaching for each other.
When we take time to grow into each other and together into Christ, laying expectations down, romance is not forced.
We were picking up around the house before rushing out the door to piano lessons, and having a sudden realization that between camping and recovering from camping, both kids hadn't practiced all week, I asked them to quick run through their lessons. We had a few minutes. Enough time to just play through once.
Mitchell reacted, said it would take too long, and fussed that he'd had the same song for a month. Hmmmmm. I wonder why. Could be the lack of practice, possibly?
But he didn't think of it that way. He tends to have a disconnect with reality and what is required to excel. He expects immediate proficiency with little effort.
He fumed, claimed to have practiced and failed, convinced his incompetence was not because of his lack of practice. But, I knew for a fact he hadn't practice his new song. And regardless of what he thinks, good intentions are not the same as actual practice time. And practicing what he's already mastered isn't going to help him with his new lesson. Not at all.
He reluctantly made it through his new song once, and we piled into the van. As the kids began to argue about who knows what, I reacted like I always do: I turned the radio to our local Christian station. This is often a great way to distract the kids from their bad attitudes. They begin to sing, or listen, and words of truth fill the vehicle. Like David playing for King Saul, they are soothed. (When my little trick doesn't work, I just turn the volume up and sing along myself, drowning out their bickering.)
Anyway, Josh Wilson's song, Before the Morning came on. I've found God often sends just the right song across the airwaves to speak truth to current situations. This was no different. On the surface, the conflict and attitude toward piano may seem insignificant, but I recognize a pattern of hopelessness in my son that concerns me, so I used the words of the song to encourage him. To help him see the bigger picture.
"Mitchell, are you listening to this song?"
I turned the volume up.
all those things are happening to bring a better ending some day, some how, you'll see, you'll see.
"Did you hear that? I think God is speaking to you."
would you dare, would you dare to believe, that you still have a reason to sing, 'cause the pain that you've been feeling, can't compare to the joy that's coming
I looked at him through the review mirror and smiled encouragingly.
"Do you believe? Joy is coming!"
I could tell he was listening, and thinking. He's growing up so fast, and I so badly want to prepare him for the turbulent waters ahead. This life is an arduous journey, not a well paved freeway. I want him to have realistic expectations without stomping on his dreams. Because those dreams will take hard work.
press on, just fight the good fight
"Press on, Mitchell. You can do it, it just takes perseverance. Practice. Don't give up on yourself."
and hold on, 'cause there's good for those who love God, life is not a snapshot, it might take a little time, but you'll see the bigger picture.
He cracked a smile, accepting my words of hope.
And then God whispered my name. (Not out loud, but in my heart.) How often am I frustrated at life and expect maturity to come naturally, even quickly, and feel deep failure as a Christian mom and wife? Oh, I know I've grown in real ways these last few years, but my idealism never rests and I feel I'm not making any progress toward godliness.
It's like I keep practicing the same song. I can't keep getting by on spiritual fumes. The thought of prayer is not enough. A few words whispered are better than nothing, but this journey takes actual prayer. The kind where my knees are sore and my heart is emptied at His feet. It is a fight. I can't keep playing the song I've mastered. I've got to practice a new song, begin a new discipline.
Today, I hold on tight to Jesus. I pray words of faith and hope for myself and my son and my girls and my husband. I practice the presence of God in new ways. It's hard work, but I press on and move forward in this journey. I fumble out the notes and my fingers find a new song.
Because I know joy is coming.
My friend, you know how this all ends and you know where you're going, you just don't know how you'll get there so say a prayer. and hold on, 'cause there's good for those who love God, But life is not a snapshot, it might take a little time, but you'll see the bigger picture
