Are We Poor?

Little Miss V was having a hard time today. (Very long story very short, our contractor left our job half done so we're living in limbo and chaos with living room, dining room, kitchen, and office all condensed into one cupboardless very crowded space.)  

"I hate things being ugly," she moaned, "can we make it prettier?"

I have been feeling the exact same way for months. It's no small part of why I've been so discouraged - looking at ugliness drags at the soul.

So I asked her to sketch some ideas for beautifying and we got to work. We pulled up the dead plant in our tiny front yard and put two deck chairs out there to make a little sitting area instead. Then we cleared off the side steps and decided to paint them - but it was calling for rain, so we just painted the big top step, which would be sheltered under the porch roof.

Then we swept and tidied the back deck, unstacked the chairs, and washed the winter grime off the table.

While we were painting, V asked why we didn't just hire someone else to do the unfinished work.

"We will," I told her, "we're saving up again." She pondered this for a minute, then, "Are we poor?" she asked me.

The kids have asked me that before. (Usually when I'm impervious to the gimmes and cries of but-my-friends-do.)  I told her what I always tell her.

"No. We have everything we need, and a lot of what we want."

There is a lot of discussion lately about essentials and non essentials. Workers and supplies. Jobs and shutdowns. 

It's not easy.

I'm lonely. We're all lonely. 

And struggling. 

But there are late night phone calls and starlit walks and prayer requests in my inbox.

There's grocery pickup and counseling on the phone. 

There's a patch of forest in our backyard, and wild geese in the river.

There's sidewalk chalk and a trampoline, books galore and Netflix.

There's love and sex and laughter and the quiet grey of dawn.

There's a grab-and-go pork schnitzel & chutney sandwich right up town that is out of this world.

But. Like V and me looking around our unfinished house, it's so much easier to see what's missing than to enjoy what's there.

We don't have hugs or grandparents, date night or church gatherings or a packed arena cheering on our hometown teams. We don't see strangers' smiles or have cousins' hands to hold. We don't get to grieve together or rejoice together or travel and stand around in our friends' kitchens with our shoes off, singing.

But God grant that we will.

And until all this mess is broken, fixed, healed, repaired, put right, we can just try to make things a little better right where we are.

We have everything we need. 

And a lot of what we want.

Hold tight, friends. 

Pray with me.

Xo.

Wounds

I know that almost everyone has had a hard go through Covid-19.  My mental health has been shakier this year than any year since my first bout of depression - way back in 2009 when I miscarried our first baby at 12 weeks. 

I'm a hugger. I love friends. I need space and people both. Too much socialization and I lose myself. Too much solitude and I get bogged down in my own head. 

I took another job this year because the solitude was swamping me like a heavy cloud.

I recently started meeting with a counselor on the phone, to help manage the depression. She gave me great advice, and offered helpful practices and exercises.  I'm so grateful for her listening ear and wise instructions. 

But the biggest gift in all the ache and struggle this year is when others have opened up and shared their struggles with me too. Friends and loved ones who reached out and said "I've been there." The ones with practical advice and tender understanding. "Check out this podcast," they say, "read this book that saved me from despair." The ones who don't judge. The ones who pray for me and laugh with me and hurt alongside me and assure me we'll move forward together. 

I've been spending way too much time online, and the other day I stumbled across a really cool horticulture article. It was all about grafting and growing multiple types of fruit from one tree. 

The author shared that grafting isn't terribly complicated - you just need two harmonious trees that are supple and flexible (ie, trees from the same family, such as 2 types of citrus trees). You pare a spot beneath the bark on the host tree, and pare back the bark on the other tree, and put the wounds together. You wrap them in moss and they begin to grow together - sharing nutrients and strength and becoming one tree.  And in the end, your one tree produces two types of citrus. One artist grafted 40 different fruit-producing branches onto a single tree.

And I wept when I read it because I, too, feel like a branch with open wounds. Cut off from trusting my own heart. And my friends, my sisters, have drawn close and shared their hurts with me and prayed for me. They have laid bare their griefs and battles and showed me one after another that I do not face these alone. Depression lies and it tells me that I am alone and I am lonely but my sisters say look here, me too, I am hurting too.

I may be a broken branch but they have wrapped me in moss and carried me to Jesus - Jesus, the wounded.

And while I suffer, I cannot think of it as a good thing. But the horticulturalist says that the wound - the wound is where the life flows in. The wound is where we bond. The wound is what allows a cut branch to live again. 

The wounded branch receives life from the wounded tree.

 And I think of us all, with our hurts and raw, bare places, grafted to the life-giving tree - and we are healed by his wounds, knit together. Made strong and well. He is a tree of healing for the nations, for every struggling, wounded heart. 

Don't hide your wounds from your friends. Let your loved ones carry you. Let them cry "me too," and weep and pray with you. You are not alone, my dear one. 

And if everyone around you forsakes you, you are still held. 

Jesus holds you.

How To Build A House

Tips from a carpenter for the un-handy 

(Adapted from the book of Matthew, chapters 5-7)

When someone asks you for your cardigan, give them your coat too.

When they strike you, turn your cheek.

If anyone forces you to go one mile, go two miles. 

Give to people who ask, and don't refuse when people want to borrow from you.

Give secretly.

Pray secretly.

Fast secretly.

Your Father sees.

Love your enemies.

Pray for those who persecute you. 

Don't judge.

Watch birds.

Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing [and the family more than the house]?

Will he not much more clothe you, you with your little bit of faith?

Therefore

Don't worry.

Your Father knows that you need them all.

Whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them.

And all these things will be added to you.

And your house will be solid,

So you won't fear the wind and rain.

Resurrection

If I say them out loud

In a row, in order,

The weights I've been carrying,

It sounds like a depression comedy album

A Murphy's Law of a year 

A graveyard of hopes

And then some. 

A thousand little losses

A dozen large ones

A few

Once in a lifetime doozies.

And I have been trying to 

Ignore-rationalize-dismiss-contextualize-bury

These burdens

But You say - unearth them. 

Roll them away, roll them Your way

Roll them all the way straight to the cross

Because it's only with Jesus

Soaked in spit and forgiveness

Slain and victorious 

That hope makes sense.

I uncover them one by one

And

Jesus weeps.

The little hurts;

Jesus weeps.

The big aches;

Jesus weeps.

The wearinesses I've been pushing and lugging around for so long (and I need a miracle God!);

Jesus weeps.

And Jesus waits. 

And

Eventually 

On some timeline I'm not privy to

Jesus speaks

And life begins.

I come forth.

My sisters make sure 

The graveclothes unwind.

Spring Hopes Eternal

Yesterday I was sitting at a red light

And a flutter caught my eye

Against the bright blue afternoon sky -

An accidental flag of welcome:

A saluting clothesline full of sheets

Whipped in sunlight and wind.

Today I glanced out my window in the blue-grey morning

And saw, through the bare branches of the little woods behind our house

Headlights reflected in the river

Dancing and waving hello.

Last week

Dryers spun cozily

Bedding tumbled warm and 

Back doors were braced against the cold.

Last week

Headlights thudded and stopped

Against the dullness of white ice.

Spring is on its way

And everything's a greeting.

The river is flowing 

The sun is shining

The wind is laughing 

And spring is coming.

Painless Dentistry: A Psalm

I broke a tooth

So I have come to the dentist.

I mime a scream while two people in masks and raincoats drill inside my mouth.

I keep my body as still as possible, knowing one jolt could send a sharp metal object whizzing into my exposed and vulnerable gums.

My entire body is clenched

Knuckles white and

Toes curled against the threat.

I try to keep my jaw as wide open as possible

And not flinch.

I am the boss of my body.

My tongue does not seem to understand this

My tongue

Does whatever the heck it wants -

It does the grand tour

While the hygienist tries to shepherd it away from the work site.

They ask me questions 

I try to answer with grunts and gestures

"Ahh," they nod knowingly, 

But I am fairly confident they have no idea what I'm saying.

I, too, am unsure of what I'm saying.

The drill rumbles, my head rumbles,

Until I am 8 years old

Lying in the carpeted back of a station wagon

Driving down a dirt road.

I almost fall asleep

(I am almost certainly allergic to novocaine).

The smell 

In the cubic foot of air we share

Is foul.

Is it their breath or mine?

I am deeply curious 

And regret that it would be rude to ask.

(It is mine. I know this.)

"You're doing great," 

The hygienist encourages.

Which is an unusual thing for one adult to say to another: why, I wonder.

The dentist has trapped my lip against my teeth with the side of his hand.

This relationship is complicated. 

I will tremble and feel giddy for the rest of the day

(I am almost certainly allergic to novocaine)

Before bed I will open my mouth wide and look in the mirror

My new filling will gleam white

Next to the silver fillings of my youth.

"You're doing great," I will snicker

And go to bed and sleep

And grind my teeth. 

Sam is 10 :)

Sam is ten.

Ten!

It feels like forever ago and just yesterday, but I think we were all born together on that snowy March evening - our precious Sam and this brand new Mama and Papa too. 

We were clueless.

Wildly hopeful.

Totally in love.

And awash in gratitude. 

Patrick's cousin wrote to us on the day he was born and said "I tried to pray for you today and all I could articulate was "Yay, God! Hurray!""

He was calm and self-possessed from the start. He didn't cry, just looked around to see the world. The doctor, testing his grip, was surprised to find this newborn strong enough to pull himself up to standing. 

Now he's a million miles tall and handsome as can be and loves to draw and write and hates the spotlight and loves to climb and swim and leap from great heights. I shouldn't be surprised that he's ten but I'm absolutely astonished that we have enjoyed ten - TEN - years of Sam.

Happy birthday my love.

You are wonderful. 

Yay, God! Hurray!

Put Out Your Hand

When the earth is shakin'

And the Sandman's breakin'

Any agreements you made

When the high wind's blowin'

And the sky fills with snow and

The light's long since laid

Put out your hand

When your heart's been howlin'

Every prayer falls down and

The answers don't come 

When you're through with rage and

Your books are blank pages 

And everything's numb

Put out your hand

Put out your hand

Reach out your hand

Stretch out your hand

Leave it out til the shadow

Of heaven sweeps over

This isn't the end

But God it feels like the end

Put out your hand

Reach out your hand 

Stretch out your hand

There's a rest that comes

Even when the storm keeps shuddering on

There's a hem 

There's a shadow

There's a rock and a drop of water in the sand

Just lay down

And reach out your hand.

Just-Right Beautiful

I keep seeing pictures

Filtered and airbrushed and beautyfaced

Wrinkles smoothed, lines erased, pigment evened out

And bland as store bought bread.

Looking less like yourself isn't beautiful

Erasing, painting, changing who you are

Isn't beautiful

You're beautiful 

When you're

Curled up in your pjs reading that book 

Being brave enough to pick up your first surf board

Laughing loud and long 

Kissing your mama

Crying with your best friend

Eating noodles and debating with your coworkers

Walking that enormous dog

Feeding those chickens

Making messes and magic in the kitchen

Driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on mine 

Just living 

Elbows deep.

Not giving a thought to that camera or mirror or unflattering angle. 

You're beautiful

Just-right beautiful 

Just right now

Right there where you are.

Me and My Reflection

When I was a kid 

And I saw the pretty girls getting attention and invitations and boyfriends 

I rode the bus home in silence

Staring out the window at

My own ghostly reflection

Thinking 

It's just you and me, kid.

And thinking 

If I could be pretty enough 

Then I would be loved enough 

And I would be happy.

And thinking

Maybe I could be smart enough 

Or 

Maybe I could be useful enough

Or

Maybe I could be undemanding enough

Then I would be loved enough 

And I would be happy.

And after years of seeing other people fall in love, I thought:

I'm not.

But you 

Love me like crazy and

Laugh at my jokes and

Rave over my cooking and 

Look at me like you're lucky

- Like you're still so unbelievably lucky -

Fifteen years in.

And almost everyone is 

PrettierSmarterUsefullerandLessdemanding

But they're sitting at home with their duds

While I 

Have

You.

My reflection and I were wrong

And lucky

Straight-from-heaven lucky.

If these were silent

 

A bird in flight

A name at just the right angle

Sunshine spraying across the floor through a slit in the curtains

You're here you're here you're here

Rocks and birds and light and words

Cry out

Longing, comfort

Kachi and Pascal are best friends. I'm drinking my morning coffee and I can hear Kachi helping Pascal get dressed. "Put your arms up," he coaches him, "you're doing it!" 

Last night at bedtime Pascal suddenly sits up in bed and sighs, "I'm so tired of waiting for love to come."

And I was kind of just frozen because it's rather arresting to hear the longing of your heart crystallized by a  4 year old.  

But Kachi climbs into Pascal's bed and wraps his arms around him and gives him a kiss and says "love is already here, Pascal, you don't have to wait."  And Pascal curls into him.

And I feel like all the ache and comfort in the world is summed up in those two sentences.

All the best in 2021, my friends. When your heart is longing for love, may you find it already there.

Xo.