I think it’s time I strike. That is, take a hiatus. I should specify: An online social networking hiatus.
About this time last year – okay, to be a little more precise, it was about one year and one week ago – I shut down the MacBook Pro and handed my profiles (and I have way too many of them) over to Husband. He promptly changed all my passwords, and I spent a couple glorious weeks offline to await (and then endure) the miraculous birth of this guy: our first son.
I’d expected to bring the phone and computer to the hospital to take pictures of the whole shebang, but it didn’t work out that way (and aren’t you glad you didn’t see it all!). Instead, it was a deeply personal, intimate family-and-closest-friends-only affair. Just as it was meant to be.
It was good for me. It was good to unplug and step away from the public. My pregnancy had been front page news every day (at least, front of MY page news). Many, many, (too) many people were constantly asking “have you gone into labor!?” and “Is he here yet?!” Being 10 days “late,” I couldn’t handle it. I was already fighting God about the fact that this boy just would not come out. I didn’t need to battle friendly but overbearing facebookies and twitterheads too!
I always use the excuse that as a public figure with so many screaming fans* I need to be present on social networks. If I’m not, I’m not connecting (duh) and might well risk losing them…and everything.
But the reality is, it’s a distraction for the most part. From house cleaning. From cooking. From important things. It’s a distraction from my beloved son and husband and friends. While some distractions are good, I’m not sure this one is. At very least, I could certainly do what I need to do on Facebook and Twitter in an hour in the evening after Eli’s alseep, like the rest of the working/parenting public, right?
Then, about a week ago, my friend and fellow singer-songwriter extraordinaire, Tanya Godsey, released this incredible video for her incredible new single “White Page.” I watched and listened stunned, as chills crept up my arms and down my legs (take a gander – you will not regret it I’ve even posted it right here to make it easy for you!). It was just the reminder I need(ed).
You’ve probably read a bit about this past year, and the heavy load it dropped on our shoulders. This incredible gift of a tiny human, built, constructed, perfectly formed in my womb, coupled with the total inexpressible loss of never being able to do it again. The burden of making every single day, hour, moment count…because it’s one of a kind. We will absolutely have more kids, but they won’t have our DNA. So there’s a gravity to raising Elijah that wasn’t there on May 5 of 2011. There’s a heaviness to watching him grow, knowing we won’t get to do this ever again.
So I’m struck with this grave necessity to be present. Not distracted. To see each day as a blank White Page, and myself as a pen in the hands of a writing God with 24 hours of possibility in front of me.
Am I going to waste my day on facebook and twitter? Am I going to be the mom who stares at her computer listlessly while her son begs to be chased? Am I going to be the wife who loses six good hours of homemaking to a phone that absolutely must be checked every three minutes (lest I miss something super important on facebook or twitter while the MacBook is closed)? Am I going to be the Christian who wastes minutes and sometimes hours in silly threads discussing fighting about “how to be a better Christian” while actually doing nothing – human, Christian, or otherwise?
Or am I going to unplug, pick up my son, stroll him to the park, and engage? Am I going to walk him around the house and watch as he takes his first steps without my help? Am I going to make mommy play dates, and talk face to face with people I actually know, rather than spend all day facebarking at people I’ll probably never meet and won’t like if I do? Am I going to do the laundry before it piles up and we’re out of clothes, instead of spending waaaaay too long shopping online for new clothes I don’t need? Am I going to actually cook these delicious meals I’m discovering online rather than spending so long perusing the recipes that I have no time to cook and have to order pizza instead? Am I going to be diligent about keeping in touch with dear distant friends, refusing to let those relationships slip and slide away?
Because this is the thing about me: I’m not the girl who spends most of her time on Eff-book communicating with my real-life friends. I do catch up with some old high school friends on Facebook. But for the most part, I just stalk strangers and re-post stupid stuff. Theoretically speaking, I communicate with my real-life friends in real-life. But reality shows me twisted to the point where I (barely) communicate with everyone on facebook and with almost no one in real-life. And it’s no good.
I want to notice the daily growth and actually watch my son as he changes.
I want to read him books (Books! Pages filled with beautiful, fun stories! Remember them!?), and sing songs with him.
I want to teach him the alphabet, not Big Bird or Dora or even the super smart readers on “SuperWHY.”
I want to water some old friendships that have some droopy leaves.
I want to plant new seeds with some people I’ve recently met who I’m sure I’ll like.
I want to date my husband, play games with him, talk to him face-to-face, and remember what it was like 7 1/2 years ago when we were still enthralled with each new thing we learned about each other. (Surely we’ve changed enough over the past year alone to guarantee us a few into-the-night get to know you dates, right?)
I want to get to know my neighbors and their kids.
I want to make my house a home.
So, facebook, twitter, and wordpress, I think I’m ready to bid you adieu, at least for a bit. I’ve got company coming this week to celebrate my can’t-possibly-be one year old dream boy. I’ve got a sick baby who needs my attention and is craving the cuddles, and I really ought not refuse him. I’ve got books to read, rooms to clean, and a husband to cook for, clean for, seriously make out with, and probably seduce. More than once.
See you later, gators.
*sarcasm
Tomorrow we celebrate one whole year with my sweet Elijah David. I can hardly believe it. This past year has simultaneously flown by and granted me hundreds and hundreds of honey moments that drip and drizzle so slowly I can still savor them.
The year has taken us on some wild adventures through near-death and baby-tours to a brand new city where we’re still in the process of making our first house the home we’ll grow old in.
The year has taken me from the highest heights to the deepest depths and back up again, and left me lingering at times in a lost limbo of in-between. Sometimes I’m able to climb with Rocky-esque ease to the top of the mountain where I do nothing but celebrate the journey. Other times, the climb is a mountain marathon I can’t even begin, much less finish. Sometimes the descent is a peaceful journey down into the valley where I’m able to rest despite the depths. Other times, it’s like a free fall whose crash landing leaves me bruised and broken all over again. Lately, the journey has been across rolling hills that scale both hills and valleys over and over again, leaving me exhausted at each day’s end.
This morning, as I was cleaning the bathroom (company is coming!), I was stabbed by a pang of self-pity and doubt. I was nearly overtaken by that old toxic lie, “God is punishing you.” For what, I’ll never know. I go over and over the events of that day, thinking to death what I could or should have done differently. I always land in the same place: I did everything right in pregnancy. I was as healthy as I could be. For medical reasons, at the behest of the professionals, we chose to induce, but that should have been safe and uncomplicated. And yet…
Cycling on repeat… “I did everything right, God. Why did you take this away? Why did you rob me of this future?”
And then. I remembered back to the summer of 2002, when I was engaged to someone else. How we did everything right. More than ever before, I was following at God’s heels, stepping exactly where He directed my feet. I was obedient. I was chasing Him. I was devout! And I was…oh, I was crushed. For having done everything right, it ended in utter disaster. I was angry, hopeless, replaying those same words… “I did everything right, God. Why did you take this away? Why did you rob me of this future?”
God is so good to remind me.
Because now, I see now.
I see my husband, whose love is deeper than any depths I’ve sunk to; whose grace is wider than any desert I’ve wandered. Whose long-suffering is…well, loooooong suffering. I see my best friend, my lover, confidant, provider…my champion. The man who scales walls with me and for me, who carries me through and abides my tantrums. Who celebrates me – and us – in ways only I can appreciate. He is the best expression I’ve found of God’s perfect love for me.
I see our son. This perfect, blessed boy who draws from me more exuberant joy than I ever dared imagine. Whose smile, I’m certain, could light the world on a dark night. Whose hugs and kisses smother me in inexpressible cheer. Whose cries stir in me a cast-iron will to surrender life, limb, and soul to see him safe and at rest. The boy for whom I would endure infinite hell to ensure he’ll never see its gates.
I see our life. This life I never deserved and never would have had if the other future I’d so desperately wanted and “done right” for played out in reality. This life I wouldn’t trade for a thousand other “good” – but not “this” – lives.
And I am reminded:
“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind conceived what God has planned for those who love Him.”
Just as surely as He took one future away in order to give me a better, more perfect one back in 2002…so He will do is doing again.
I hope in glory for the day I see its unimaginable fruit.
I’ll be honest: Today’s news about Invisible Children’s Jason Russell being arrested and then detained for psychological evaluation felt like a sucker punch. I love Invisible Children’s premise – that they fill a void and meet an actual need. Where so many organizations focus solely (and rightly) on individual rehabilitation and on-the-ground programs, IC is and always has been an awareness campaign. They exist not only to work on the ground, but equally to educate, energize, and mobilize young people to do something (lobby for justice) in a part of the world most will never see (Uganda, DR Congo, and CAR) for people most will never meet (literally countless young men and women who were abducted and forced to live as murderous soldiers and/or rebel sex slaves) in an effort to rid the world of one of it’s most horrendous and yet unrecognized genocidal maniacs (Joseph Kony).
I’ve participated in many of IC’s campaigns. They are why I knew about Kony, the LRA, and their evil tactics years ago. They are why I searched for a way to get more deeply involved with victims in Gulu. They lit the fire in my soul that got me involved with Mocha Club and put me on a plane to Gulu, where I met the recovering, owned their stories, and in whose keeping I left half of my heart awaiting my return.
So you can imagine how excited I was last week to see #KONY2012 trending on Twitter, to see his name and the now-infamous video on every major media outlet’s front page. I was ecstatic that the world – yes, THE WORLD! – was finally taking notice and committing to capture and finally defeat this man whose pure evilness can only be compared to Hitler’s.
But then…a different firestorm started. Invisible Children started becoming more famous than the guy they were trying to make famous. Rather than talking about Kony and the horror he’s sprayed on Uganda, DR Congo, and CAR for nearly three decades, people were talking about Invisible Children’s “questionable” finances, political relationships, and the maturity and seriousness of its leaders. Because some were legitimate questions, and because they’re on the up and up, instead of dismissing and ignoring the charges leveled, IC chose to address them succinctly and clearly, in hopes of redirecting the focus back where it belonged: on Joseph Kony.
But it didn’t work. The bullets kept flying. And yesterday, it came to an even more explosive head when Jason Russell, the face of Invisible Children on the video in question and on almost all media interviews, was detained for public intoxication and masturbation and when, instead of pressing charges, San Diego police had him committed.
My immediate response tricked me, though.
I would have expected myself to say, “Oh, come ON!” I’d be angry with Jason for drawing more negative press to an already bogus situation. I would have immediately questioned my own defense of IC up to this point. I would have imagined the firestorm awaiting me on Facebook for defending them so strongly.
But what actually hit me immediately was this: This is bigger than Jason Russell, or Joseph Kony, or gossip. There is a battle of epic proportions going on, and it involves deeper and darker things than mere humans. I don’t say this lightly, and I’ve rarely said it before, but I believe it to be truer than anything else today: I am witnessing a battle between the principalities, between Light and Dark, between the Enemy and the rest of us.
I believe the Enemy is attacking.
He would have us believe Kony is no big deal; that perhaps he’s not even a legitimate bad guy. He would have us believe the problem was solved years ago. He would have us believe Kony is weak and powerless. He would have us believe those who have been working tirelessly for years to capture and bring Kony to justice are of lesser character than Kony himself, and that rather than serving Kony’s victims, they’re serving other evil warmongers. He would have us believe leaders of Invisible Children are a bigger problem than leaders of the Lord’s Resistance Army.
He would have us believe salacious gossip is truer and more relevant than capturing the ICC’s most notorious fugitive.
He would have us distracted.
And, if today’s twitter trends are any indication, we have played into his hands.
I don’t know what I would do if I were Jason Russell or any of Invisible’s other leaders. I can’t imagine giving my life to building an organization from the dust and watching it explode into an incredible global effort, only to then feel it collapse at its pinnacle. I can’t imagine the massive pressure they’ve all recently been under from every side. I think it must feel something like being thrown into the deepest end of the ocean with ankle weights and bloody guts for shark bait. So while I can’t explain or defend Jason’s actions, neither can I condemn him.
Not when God has been so historically adamant about using the chiefest of sinners to do His work, to bring His Kingdom.
And not when such an important, generation-defining issue is staring us in the face, begging for a response.
After all, if the Enemy is at work, God is in the process of accomplishing something massive.
Whatever you may think about Invisible Children or Jason Russell…
Let it not distract you from the real monster, Joseph Kony. Let it not distract you from his real victims who, somehow, still remain invisible to so many micro-blogging gossip mongers. Let it not distract you from the real story of 26+ years of genocide and abduction and slavery and violence waged against children who are only now beginning to recover and heal.
No matter how tempted you may be…
Give them your attention.
Filed under: Home Life, Culture, Faith and Faith Life, Baby | Tags: Jesus, god, baby, Elijah, Hysterectomy, Church of the Open Door, Steve Wiens, Greg Boyd, Woodland Hills Church, Joseph, Yahweh
Because our pastor was meant to be filming a movie (in which he plays a hairy hobo, no less) in snowy Montreal over the weekend, our new church in Minneapolis featured a guest speaker on Sunday, Steve Wiens. I wasn’t particularly excited about it until I realized a) we’d already heard him speak when we visited Church of the Open Door (and he’s good); and b) we’d already heard this message too (it happened to be the very same he’d given back when we visited, and it’s also good). Some people might scoff and say something about “the pastor who recycles his sermons…” Those people can shut it. Because this sermon deserves to be given – and received – over and over.
Based on Matthew 1:18-25 (with a little bit of Genesis 37 sprinkled in) and titled “Considering the Even More,” it’s all about the Joseph’s: Joseph, husband to Mary, step-father to Jesus, and a guy who probably said “You have GOT to be kidding me!” when he first learned of Mary’s “immaculate conception”; and Joseph, son of Jacob, who was sold by his brothers into slavery, endured years in prison under the false accusations of Potiphar’s wife, but somehow ended up right-hand-man to Pharaoh and The Guy Who Saved The People from Death By Famine.
It’s about how each of them, in otherwise paralyzing circumstances, were able – by grace alone – to pull back and ask, “What can’t I see? What don’t I know? What might God be doing here?”
I’ve mentioned this before, but names are significant, especially in Scripture. I only came to realize the power in my own son’s name, Elijah David – which means “The LORD is my God; I am His beloved” – after he was born. Not insignificantly, the name Joseph means “Yahweh Adds” or “Even More.”
Most of you know that after Elijah was born, I nearly bled to death and the bleeding was only stopped by removing my uterus. And thus, I can’t ever have any more babies. I am, by some odd flip of the coin, the one in 110,000 women who suffers such severe post partum uterine atony as to indicate emergency hysterectomy.
I have asked too many times, “Why me, Lord? Why not one of those crack head baby mama’s from the ghetto who has nine kids and counting? Why remove the possibility altogether, leaving no room to hope?”
I don’t know the answer to that question and I’m not sure I ever will. But, after hearing this sermon twice now (and I don’t believe it’s by accident), I’m inclined to think that’s probably the wrong question.
Instead, I am reminded to consider the Even More.
…To consider Joseph son of Jacob, who could have wallowed or taken revenge but chose instead to believe that Yahweh Adds, and in so doing “saved many lives,” including those of his brothers whose jealousy drove them to do the unthinkable.
…To consider Joseph husband of Mary, who could have abandoned her to the law and seen her, his pregnant-by-someone-other-than-him betrothed, stoned, but chose instead to consider the Even More that God was up to and in so doing NAMED the Savior.
And I am compelled to consider our own situation: What if, by allowing this certain tragedy in our lives, God is somehow saving more lives? Perhaps we are meant to parent some of those nine-kids-and-counting who would otherwise be fatherless?
I can’t say it enough: I don’t know and can’t begin to imagine what plans He has conceived and intends to birth in and for us.
But I know, because of Elijah, that The LORD is my God. And I know, by the Joseph’s, my God is the God of even more; He is the God who adds, who ever gives even when He takes.
And I can therefore anxiously await Even More.
“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to the power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus, throughout generations.” > Ephesians 3:19-21 <
Filed under: Activate, africa, Baby, Faith and Faith Life, Home Life, Music
“Listen to the mustn’ts, child. Listen to the don’ts. Listen to the shouldn’ts, the impossibles, the won’ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me… Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.” -Shel Silverstein
I ran across this quote this morning. I pondered it. I thought about it along with something I’ve been considering for a few weeks now: that perhaps my fear and paralysis, my eternal worry about my professional life, is my own doing. My own responsibility. My own failure to believe and really internalize what is both simple and true… that I am meant to dream inconceivable dreams so that God can out-do them and so prove Himself bigger and better than I’ve ever imagined.
“Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” – C.S. Lewis
I’ve spent a long time being afraid I’m asking too much, expecting too much, wanting too much, hoping too much. I should know better. In one year – 2010 – I watched, in stunned jaw-dropped-ness, while God brought me home from Africa (where He taught me what it is to surrender) only to meet and tour with my two musical heroes, Jennifer Knapp and Derek Webb; then, for the first time ever, gave me exactly what I asked for in the exact context which I asked: I got pregnant “accidentally” and found out on my birthday.
So I ought to know better than anyone why we should ask for more than we can ever imagine having…because God is in the business of doing the inconceivable for those who love Him and ask it, with hope and expectant confidence.
But it’s taken so long to even recognize the concept, much less believe it. It is still a struggle for me to actively believe that God wants to give me amazing things. But if the Apostle Paul was telling the truth, then He has already planned the inconceivable for me.
“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind conceived what God has planned for those who love Him…” - 1 Cor 2:9
The only question, then, is what I find inconceivable. I’m beginning to believe that the less inconceivable it is to me, the bigger God is allowed to be.
In all of this, my dreams are shifting. They’re not as much for me anymore, but for Elijah.
I may never change the world. But my son can. And the most powerful thing I can give him is a taste for the Inconceivable.
May Elijah ever know that the impossible is always possible; That he can literally be anything he wants to be, and do anything he wants to do; That what’s inconceivable to him is small potatoes to his Infinite God whose dreams for him are bigger than even mine.
And may I only ever empower and equip him with tools of courage, hope, faith, fearlessness, boldness, confidence, and above all love – for God and others – that he might dwell in the truth that no matter how small he is or may feel, his God is infinite.
“What we do in life echoes in eternity.” - Maximus
Oh, that he would echo.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: 2012, baby, family, Music, resolutions
Because it’s what I do every year (or at very least, think about doing), I offer you this year’s Top Ten of 2011 year in review. It’s fun, right? So here you go.
10. We moved to Minnesota!
It’s a bit sad for me, because I do love and dearly miss Nashville. But moving made practical sense for our family, and in truth, I don’t *need* to be in Nashville for music anymore. It never really embraced me, and I’m not sure I embraced it, professionally speaking. I guess. Maybe I’m making that up. Either way, the move was BIG for all of us. No more gentle winters…except this one, of course. Because, as is perfectly predictable, THIS is the easiest winter in Minnesota’s memory. Anyway, it was still a big move. We’re now Minneapolisians, and loving it. And I’m sincerely looking forward to learning the musical terrain of the Cities and diving in, head first, to hopefully find my place here.
9. We bought a house!
Upon deciding to move to Minneapolis, and finding that rental properties were astronomically more expensive than buying, we took the plunge and bought our first house. It’s a quaint 19teen’s house with exposed beam ceilings, a built-in China hutch, its original wood floors, and as unique a floor plan as one could hope for from an early 20th century home with four bedrooms and a sun porch upstairs. It’s got a full basement AND attic just waiting to be finished and made into a media room and studio (respectively). And we got it for the bargain price of $70k from a woman who’d owned it since the 1960s and raised her whole family there. It was rife with old memories and ready for some new ones. So we pounced!
8. Um….
7. Uh….
Screw it.
8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, and…
1. >>>WE HAD A BABY!!<<<
His name is Elijah David. He was born on May 6, 2011. And he, my friends, takes the cake.
Happy 2012, from my adorably perfect family (made thus by my incomprehensibly gorgeous 8 month old Elijah, and his charming 15 year old big brother Matthew, and only barely crippled by their silly parents, me and Paul) to yours. May it blow your mind.
———–
ps: in fairness, there were a couple more exciting bits about 2011: I wrote a few handfuls of amazing songs with brilliant songwriters Bethany Dick-Olds and Eddie Christy, and Bethany and I took our show on the road – along with Elijah – for two mini house show tours, in July and in September. Turns out my sweet boy is a road dog after all!
Filed under: Uncategorized
It’s been an eventful week for my friends…and a bit of a rough one for me.
It was precipitated by the happy fact that a few weeks ago, Elijah started sleeping through the night, thereby ending our sweet, middle-of-the-night interludes. He’s growing up too fast.
Then, last Monday, Paul ran his hand over my belly, and like a shock wave it hit me that we won’t ever again get to feel a tiny growing baby dancing inside me.
Then, stupid Betty Draper didn’t want to be pregnant with her third baby.
Then, three friends had their second or third babies.
Then, a few more friends posted magnificent announcement photos of their brand new baby bellies, or new pictures of their ever-expanding, almost-ready-to-pop bellies.
And then, just for good measure, one more had her second baby.
Sometimes, it seems, the mountain literally crumbles when you’re already in the valley.
So, like a emotional champ, I skipped over to Google and typed in “emergency hysterectomy.”
(I’ve done this before. It rarely ends well.)
I read scattered findings – because there are no major, concrete studies that tell us anything conclusively about why or how many women’s childbearing days end this way – and came across one teaching hospital’s study at which 22 out of 110,000 women had emergency hysterectomies over a ten year period, all due to similar complications but otherwise for no discernible reason.
After wading through thickets of anger, regret, and crossing the inevitable “What if it was my fault? What if I had just waited for Eli to come on his own, instead of inducing labor and starting this ball rolling…?” river, I reported these findings to a dear friend who shared my experience. And her response was, “When you do the statistics it sucks – 1 out of 30,000 or something – really couldn’t I win a really good raffle? Or the lotto?”
It sounds funny, but it’s a healthy reality check too: This can’t possibly be my – or anyone else’s – fault, ’cause massive postpartum hemorrhaging leading to near-death and the consequential life-saving emergency hysterectomy is, as Marilyn pointed out, about as likely as winning the lottery.
That to say, there’s no point in wondering where blame lies, because it doesn’t. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen…at least, not to more than a couple dozen in one-hundred-and-ten-THOUSAND women. When it does happen, it’s a classic fluke. The terrifying exception to an otherwise predictable rule.
So…where do I go from here? What do I say, and how am I to feel, when part of me is truly rejoicing with my friends for their healthy new babies and perfectly normal wombs, and the other part is screaming “WHY!?!”
I mean, where does the 30-year-old widow turn when her friends are celebrating one anniversary after another while she grieves another year without her husband? Where does the almost-mother turn when others are celebrating birth after birth while she grieves the loss of her stillborn daughter?
To where does anyone turn when the most senseless devastation befalls her, and there simply are no answers for the questions burning the last shreds of her faith?
To Hope.
To the One who is so intimately acquainted with grief and sorrow that He knows the best – and only – thing to do is invoke the all-knowing groans of the Spirit who so perfectly and adequately pleads the Father’s mercy on our behalf.
To the peace that lies solely in the bittersweet company of the Knowing few, who can grieve together.
To the Comforter who promises that all will be made right, in the end.
Filed under: Uncategorized
sometimes there is
no bright side
no silver lining
sometimes the grass is really greener
because there it is
and here it is not
sometimes no words of comfort
comfort
no healing balm
soothes
and all you can do
- what you must do -
is feel and feel
and weep and feel
until you’re all cried out
your heart dried up
and everything
everything
is a gift
but even still
the dark is not the gift
nor even the light that seeps
into it
but the knowing it
cannot stay dark
forever
though a cloud may
ever hang
Filed under: Uncategorized
Maybe it’s inherent to motherhood. Maybe it’s inherent to beginning my thirtieth year, or my fourth decade of life.
But never have I experienced so much grace, and never have I needed it more.
When I’m driving down the interstate in another state (or city…or my own, for that matter…) and not at my road-worthy best, I just wave at others and say “Give me grace! Please, give me grace!”
When Elijah is having a meltdown, and I’m on the brink of my own, I just beg the Lord for grace accompanied by some mercy that I might be filled with patience I don’t have.
And when friends call or text or email with stories of new wounds and heavy burdens…oh, it’s all I can do not to fall on my knees and groan, willing the Spirit to join me.
I suspect it has something to do with the simple fact that I experienced real, true, tangible salvation this year when God brought me back from the brink of death to be Eli’s mother and Paul’s wife. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so aware of Christ’s presence in and around and for me as I have been these last five months, since He saved me.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been so fully consumed by the knowledge of prayer’s power for those around me, since seeing how God interrupted so many others’ lives to plead for me and Eli. I have prayed and prayed that He would interrupt mine, that I might be part of the mystery and miracle in a similar way for someone else.
I do know I’ve never been this awe-struck by the weight and depth of the struggles we daily face, or by God’s hugeness in comparison.
And I have never been so keenly moved by the small beauties that transform…well-written songs, powerful prayers spoken by tiny lips, baby coos, and falling leaves.
And so every day, for something or someone new, I’m drawn to my heart’s knees if not my actual knees, pleading for grace, and grace, and grace in the world around me. For my friends whose marriages are deteriorating; for those who are facing injustice upon injustice; for almost-orphans and their dying mothers; for my family in Africa and Nebraska that I miss so dearly; for close ones facing the shock of aging in sudden illness. Grace and grace and grace, that I might hold tight to the life around me, grace for everything dying, grace for the eyes to see it coming alive.
Grace and grace and grace, that it might be made right, that life might bloom and I might watch it. Again and again.
I very nearly bawled my little green eyes out this morning all over the clothes I was folding.
Why?
As ever: because of a song.
I was listening to Plumb’s “In My Arms” (which is FREE at Noisetrade right now, along with 5 other pieces of musical honey) for the first time since having a baby. I used to think that song was a little cheesy. But now I’m a mom. I get it. And there’s no cheese about it. Except maybe the sweet, cream cheese icing kind of cheese.
Anyway. It’s going so fast. Too fast. Elijah is rocketing skyward. He’s talking and giggling and – I swear – holding entire conversations with me and others in a language that can only be described as Screech. And before I know it, he won’t want to talk to or be around me anymore, and after that he might want to, but he won’t need to. He’ll be a grown man, showering his own beloved wife with kisses and diapering his own babies’ perfect little butts.
How do mom’s do this?
A few days ago I was wondering if music is done with me. Now I’m not entirely sure I’m not done with it.
No, I’m not done with it.
But it is, at best, a back burner love these days, a tool I’ll use only as often as needed to say to this boy what no other form of communication can convey.
I just don’t want to miss a second of Elijah’s fleeting days. I want to soak in every one.
