Selah

I know. I've been away. For awhile.

I will remain there. Away. For a little while longer.

For I am finding a new groove.

Just now. Five months later.

Life and death in the span of one short but beautiful week set off a blurry pace.

Attempting to attain my old groove (on my own) has led me off the safe path, and into a quiet, lonesome desperation.

Humbly, I am again allowing Him to gently lead me in His paths, that I may gently lead my own little lambs along the same.

I can almost see the way... please pray for me, friends.

{Comments closed. Email always, gratefully, open.}

Tunnel Vision

Sometimes we mama's get a little tunnel vision... life presses close, minutes are crammed with so many "have-to's"... but it's okay. He meets us where we are...

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Fog slips away, burned off by the fresh air coming in the windows and doors flung wide.

Medicines are stocked in cupboards, blankets and rags washed and folded, and noses wiped for the last time.

Children test their legs, starting with a slow, tentative walk and quickly changing to a run as they shout joyfully in their newfound strength.

Sickness flees our home.

And husband prepares for deprivation of another kind.

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Lunch on Friday is a hearty casserole. We gather close around the table, sharing our last meal together before begins the 30-hour fast he will lead with the teenagers of our congregation. Prayers as a family begin to turn minds toward the sadness faced by so many.

And I regret. Did I really say I faced difficult choices? How tunnel-like is my vision…

For truly, my choosing is always optional. If I choose to, I will cook for my family today from a refrigerator fully stocked for breakfast… lunch… dinner… snacks.

If I choose to, I will read to my little ones, rather than rest my eyes.

If I choose to, I will be imaginative and joyful for their sake.

If I choose to, I will pursue bettering my mothering, my homemaking, my partnering with husband. My faith.

If I choose to, I will just… keep going.

How pitiful my complaints seem now, in light of the frightening statistics posted on the walls of our church building this Sunday past. 26,000 children under the age of five die every day… [That’s one in twelve.]

I look at their faces, drawn and blank. Hunger has pressed them beyond knowing.

Gideon’s dry scalp that cries out for coconut oil on a daily basis is my most pressing concern. I don’t slap flies away from his nose and eyes.

In Uganda, a mother will walk ten miles each day to find water for her family. I tap the faucet handle and water - clean water - flows freely from the spigot.

I walk the church halls, holding Eliana’s hand tighter, pressing my Gideon closer to my chest; eyes are tempted to close against the pain I read there on those walls, but I keep them open.

Forgive my complaints, Father. And thank you, for meeting me where I am. For gently prodding me to dive deeper, examine closer.

Let us continue to take back our days and nights. But now...

...consider expanding your vision with me?

~

Smile

So I was a mama of few words today. And?

They waited for me as for showers
and drank in my words as the spring rain.
When I smiled at them, they scarcely believed it;
the light of my face was precious to them. ~Job 29:23-24

The day stays rooted firmly in our possession when we give freely of our smiles.

Don't be stingy. Try it.

He smiles, too.

Moment at Dusk

My taking back the day moment came at dusk.

I, trying to pull dinner together while preparing Kevin's birthday lunch for tomorrow at the same time. She, fluttering around my feet in a wedding veil, The Sound of Music pouring from the stereo speakers.

Gideon, fussing from my hip, Daddy throwing the baseball with the big boys in our backyard; pots bubbling, oven timer beeping, sun sinking behind the mountains. And that pesky hair pulling free from a bobby pin and brushing eyelashes.

Dance with me! she calls, for the fourth time.

And I bite back.

Green eyes hurt, shoulders fall.

Sigh. This is my moment, isn't it, Lord?

Okay! I chirp. Let's dance!

And we do. Gideon quiets on my hip, soothed by mama's swaying. The oven timer still beeps, the pots still bubble, and the sun has now disappeared.

Either way, dinner was going to be served. But this night, the table was set by a laughing, waltzing mama (or was it the polka?) and her partner, a little lady with shining eyes, who promises to remember to say please when she asks Mama to dance.

No regrets, even when it comes near the end of a day. Keep taking it back, one moment at a time.