Post Category → faith

waiting for the sun

Yes, a second post.

I wish I could share the panoramic view of the sun rising that is happening from my family room right now. Such amazing drama every single morning. For so long, the darkness and the light are simple separating along the horizon, and then suddenly, this sliver of coral appears behind the blackness of the trees.

And my breath catches.

And it’s more than just beautiful. Suddenly my heart is yearning, and a chorus stirs:

We will keep our eyes on You,
We will keep our eyes on You…

Because doesn’t the sunrise make you think of this life of faith that we live? Aren’t we all living every day with our eyes fixed on that sliver of coral, knowing that Someday, the Sun will be at high noon, with us living in its glorious light? Isn’t the challenge to keep our eyes glued to that light, resisting the temptation to live lives of darkness, and instead, declaring by our lives of faith that there is a Kingdom of light, and someday it’s going to consume every shred of darkness — and our lives are the evidence of things unseen?

And isn’t it amazing that God has created all of these symbols, all of these prophetic declarations, that we would be constantly reminded of Him?

So yes. This morning I’m reminded, as I watch that sliver grow into a brightening sky, that I’m living for a Day yet to come — my life is the Already, waiting for the Not Yet. I see Jesus, but only enough to know that I can’t wait to see it all.

So we can set our hearts on You,
We will set our hearts on You…

[listen here]

the morning sky…

When my alarm went off this morning, there was no scarlet-hued sky to greet me. I think this is the first morning since living here that the clouds were so heavy and gray that they blocked the sunrise. So I made my own light: I lit a candle.

Yesterday morning was make-and-freeze food day, and the savory scent of onion and garlic still lingers. Pumpkin spice candle joins, and suddenly it smells like Christmas.

Last night we walked home from a family dinner at my parents’ house. The air was warm and heavy, the wind thick with a soon-to-come thunderstorm. Lightning flickered on the horizon, and our little family of four excitedly pointed out each flash, trying to guess where the next would appear.

I love our little family.

Today, I hope, will be a hunker down and be together kind of day. It’s been so, so busy. Fun and busy, but busy.

Sunday was a reminder to me of the gospel, and grace that I don’t derserve [so stop trying to.] I think I used to do a better job at running to the Holy Spirit for help, at looking to Jesus when condemnation was heaping. But somehow, the constant pressure of being wife and mom has left me overwhelmed by my weakness and pride and guilt and every other yucky thing that comes out of our souls when we get squished. And I’ve forgotten — forgotten Jesus, a Savior, and the Holy Spirit, my help. People see the beauty of grace when I’m living in a constant state of needing, asking, and receiving. Trying to be more perfect is just not going to impress anyone with how wonderful Jesus is, and it exhausts me. Like grinding gears with no oil. Awful.

I’d rather have living waters bubbling.

I need Him.

bits and pieces

Two days ago, we collected our spades and rakes, hoes and edger, gloves and wheelbarrow, fertilizer and baseball bats, and we headed to the small corner chosen to be the vegetable patch. It’s a beginner’s sized patch — maybe 4×6? — and I’ll confess to a niggling fear that clever deer will outwit me and eat everything I manage to grow, but perhaps there will be a bit of success. Wouldn’t that be nice?

I sat right in the dirt, exhausted after an hour and half, and dug up sod, beat the dirt free of entangling roots, hurled the clump at the wheelbarrow, and dug up more sod. I thought of a dozen summers spent in just such a fashion, only I was but a girl then, in my mother’s garden. And now, now there were two boys playing beside me, and they are my boys. And this is my yard.

I looked up to see expanse of sky, meadows stretching into woods. I heard only wind and the song of birds. All over again, I was blessed. Do you know how many times I timidly hoped for a bit of space where I could grow things and watch my kids climb trees, pack paperbag lunches and send sons out to explore? No, you probably don’t know, but God knew.

*****

Tonight, carmelized onion quiche. Don’t ask me why, but it popped into my head last week, and I haven’t been able to shake it. I haven’t even ever had it, but I want it. So I pull out 3 speckled brown eggs from the fridge, all different sizes, and I crack them into a bowl. Deeply golden. I know they’re just eggs, but it makes me happy.

Today we visited the chickens that lay those eggs, and also the lovely family who owns those chickens. Jameson ran happily out into the field, right into the midst of a herd of goats, never once slowing down or fearing. He climbed happily into the chicken coop, and then pushed his way through a barn of energetic kids — goat kids, that is. Tractors, horses, a pregnant kitty, a dog — he couldn’t get enough. We even spotted him sneaking into the bull’s pen. In a few years, I tell her, I’ll send him down to help out. Perhaps we can get some of that delicious raw goat milk in return?

He declared it to be “an awesome, awesome play time, Mama!”

*****

I’m finding that all quiet moments lead to thoughts of Linda. Linda, the dear woman who lays 10 miles away in a hospital room. A hospital room where she’s dying of starvation and dehydration. I think of Psalm 18 — of a God of power and love who is stirred to action, who comes with clouds of darkness and thunder and who smites His enemies. A God who delivers, because He delights in us. And I ask. I ask Him to come and speak life.

One little word.

That’s all we need.

That’s all she needs.

wait, with strength and courage

For those who come to God must believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.

I wait for the LORD, my soul does wait,
And in His word do I hope.
My soul waits for the Lord
More than the watchmen for the morning;
Indeed, more than the watchmen for the morning.

*****

We’re waiting. Not quietly, not silently. We’re persistent. We’re standing at His throne, eyes fixed on Him, saying, “Now, Lord? Now? Now, Lord? We need You, Lord. Lord? We need You.”

He doesn’t get annoyed by that. Rather, that’s the sort of waiting that He’s looking for, that He responds to.

And so:

I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD
In the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD;
Be strong and let your heart take courage;
Yes, wait for the LORD.

*****

Pray for Linda.

this week.

My kitchen is painted and we’re slowly settling in.

I’ll put up pictures and words about that later.

Because the small joys of new wall colors and clean counter tops have been largely eclipsed by the tragedy of death this week. A 14 year old boy — a young boy — suddenly gone. A mama’s heart, torn, robbed. Siblings confused, aching. A daddy, soul collapsed beneath grief.

Some might say these are the moments when you ask, “Where is God?”

But I think these are the moments when the curtain of temporal shadows is drawn away, and suddenly, we realize what’s true: we, finite beings; He, eternal Rock. We, battered souls; He, tender Father. Our very real tears dried by His very real comfort.

Pray for that comfort, will you?