I'm a Potato ... And So Are You

Cupping in hand this firm red potato, I thoughtfully run a thumb across eye tops. It’s alive, yet dying. White spikes reach boldly upward, unafraid.

We press potato pieces into narrow graves. Her tiny fingers carefully placing each one, eyes-up. I clutch the garden hoe; a line of potato pieces stretching out before me. The metal blade scrapes and dirt tumbles over each piece.  I wonder what it looks like in there. What does it look like when life and death meet? Who wins?

Maybe it looks a lot like here. Dying and alive, we’re put in this place where pain and sorrow and struggles somehow help transform death to life…

We walk across the yard to return tools to shed. I turn back to glance the garden.

It’s full of manure.

The cat crouches to add more.

And all the transformation (that apparently needs heaps of manure and stink and bugs and dirt) – all that magic of change happens where we can’t see it.

And after that one clump of eye tops dies to live,

the grave will be opened and the fruit counted

and we will celebrate

the fruit

the process

and the One who makes the magic happen

-and in the grave of all places

It’s all so … God. He’s brilliant like that.

Cleaning Up the City with my Kiddos

She walks slow, parading her garbage-poking stick like some kind of baton. He struts a little, wielding his. We search the boulevard and ditches for bags and wrappers to stab and slide into our garbage bag.

Hundreds of others (each one in a bright yellow Tee) spread across the city with gloves and bags, on the hunt for trash. Eleven churches work together to keep this city tidy each spring.

Cool, eh?

I wanted to get in on it, but no way would I drag my kids into community service. 

They’ve got to want it... 

Read the rest, as featured at my friend Kim Sullivan's blog.

When Serving is Scary...

I've been interested in helping the poor and homeless for a few years. 
And it always feels weird to say - like it's a hobby or something. 


But God has been growing my heart in this area. 


So I waited for opportunity to get involved - more than just send money, exchange letters and pray. I wanted to get right into someone's life. Make contact. Get personal. And, I wanted my children to be involved to; to want to help and serve. 


Then it happened. A local community outreach program offered us a serving spot that the kids and I were excited to jump at. We'd be the only people in the 'office' where patrons could come and receive food, blankets, toiletries, etc. The kids were excited. I was too. 


And I was terrified. 


This could hurt. 

Am I really chasing after one-sided relationships here? 

         Will I be taken advantage of emotionally?  

 ...I'm not sure I can give that much of me...

And I'm faced with letting go. And suddenly it's not about outreach, but all relationships. All the people I expect to somehow fill a need they were never built for. 


Parenting my kids is about their training, not my convenience. 
I expect my husband, parents, family, friends, pastor and neighbors to somehow meet each need and want. Why?


Time to open hands and release the grip on what I think I need. 


But I clench, Resent invisibility. What about me? 


And I see the training; the triangle. 

Invest in another - meet their needs. 

My needs will be filled by Christ; not another. 

And hopefully the triangle completes

with their turning to Christ. 

It's complete
and it's opposite
of anything I'd have thought up


... sounds right to me.

Treasure and Applause For This Day

Armed with a wooden stake, she marches over dirt and etches Xs everywhere. He follows close behind, wielding his mini garden claw. “HaHA!! ‘X’ marks the spot!!” he bellows, and scratches furiously. They hope to discover bones. 


Their random expedition is hopeful, yet without expectation. 


 They never once asked mom if a treasure hunt would fit within their life purpose; if it contained enough meaning or served a goal. 
They just did it. 


 … is that allowed? Can I just be too? 


 I watch, perched on bent Willow bough, and stillness opens my ears. 
 The wind rushes through leaf-less trees, imitating ocean waves. 
Last year’s leaves flap on flat grass; a ceaseless applause for this day. 


Can it be so simple? Is that allowed? 


 If everything is measured and weighed, I want to know what the scale says. I want to know how much to add or subtract. 
I want to know what to choose 
or be 
or do. 


So I become the Measurer instead of what is measured. 


Let me be measured 
 and shaped 
   and simply enjoyed 
by my Father. 


and let me do it perched on a Willow bough 
among treasures 
who hunt treasure 


Let there simply be applause for this day.

Shout to the LORD, all the earth; 

      break out in praise and sing for joy!  

Psalm 98:4

This is the day the LORD has made. 
      We will rejoice and be glad in it.  

Psalm 118:24

.

Being On The Same Team

The lip quivers as I fight back tears.

Prostrate among pillows, I blink back anger.

I’ve done it again. When will I stop acting this way?!

My anger has burned against these children, words scalding them.

Disappointment in my eyes has shamed them; marking them.

I forgot we’re on the same team.

I’m not against them, I’m for them.

I’m for them.

This staying home to teach little ones … it’s not for me.

I roll over, clutching a blanket and cry out to my Father.

I’ve failed you again!

And the Father takes me on his knee, stilling me in warm embrace. He smiles over me as I weep.

Surely You’re disappointed, Father! I sure am…

I know this doesn’t please you; my selfishness and berating of these precious ones…

and that’s all I want in this world

is to please you.

…but I can’t.

The mark weighs heavy.

… I can’t

The body shakes with sobs. And He smiles, holding me close.

No, you can’t do this, child.

But I can.

And I’m on your team. I will help you.

Ever the child, I want to do it myself. I don’t want help, but can’t do it alone. Face covered, embraced, I wait for clenching to unfold.

Will I ever live with open hands? Will I forever clench and fight, hands over face?

Oh, Father, help me accept your help!

…my need.

Your ability.

Before I climb off His knee, I turn to look into His face. Eyes pinch shut. Tears flow. I don’t want to see… the head pulls downward and I wrestle with gravity; with weight to bring it up. What will I see in His eyes? One speck of disappointment will crush me…

I raise my head, tears streaming now, to gaze upon His face. I shake off the ‘I’m not worthy’, and look at my Father. He waits patiently for my shifting gaze to become steady, then speaks words so gentle.

I love you.

I always have.

Always have? Ugly moments unearth themselves from memory to shame me…

but He loved me then. And now.

I am loved. Right here on His lap, in His arms. 

Stillness settles.

Now go.

And I ready my shaky legs to go back … and try again to love

because He loves me

and He can do this.

I’ll fall again, but this is not the time to think of falling.

It is time to think of rising,

and being loved

and being on the same team.

Linking up with Ann Voskamp...