Verse to ponder

I thought we could continue meditating on and memorizing the Galatians passage Leah began last week (with a bit of a skip) . New Year’s always feel so full… full of plans, full of hope, full of the unknown. As I have pondered these passages, I have thought how I would like to be full in the coming year… full of joy, full of grace, full of peace extended to others, full of God’s Spirit.

Galatians 5:22-25

 22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. 24 Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. 25 Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.

 

Last Year’s Christmas

Remembering last year… have a blessed Christmas everyone!

‘Happy Birthday’ was all it simply said.

The Good News declared in pink and blue icing. The two-year-old and four-year-old hands that had helped their mommy bake the cake, now helped their daddy decorate it.

Finished and sticky, Ben returns to me in the kitchen. I can tell from his eyes that his mind is occupied. I watch as he finds the words to share this weight with me.

‘But we won’t be able to have the party here,’ Ben announces, his voice certain. He looks at me, nodding decisively, ‘Jesus is too big and He won’t be able to fit under our ceiling.’

I feel nervous and my heart sinks. My instincts told me this was coming. Please Father, please don’t let him be disappointed.

Paul and I had decided we wanted all Christmas celebrations this year to be for Jesus; for Jesus alone. Our Advent had been overflowing in joyful preparations with the children… planning Jesus’ birthday party, deciding on the perfect gifts for our King, decorating our home with significant symbols of His birth.

And now, two days before Christmas, my heart is anxious. Ben had periodically asked during Christmas preparations, ‘Will Jesus really come to His birthday party Mommy?’ I had always assured Ben that, of course Jesus would be there, and supplied vague answers about how Jesus is always with us, even when we can’t see Him.

And now, I can pretend no longer. Ben is expecting Jesus to be physically present at our Christmas party, and is worried we won’t have room for his beloved, Big Jesus. I say nothing, but my heart panics protectively. How I love my son, and don’t want his Christmas to be a disappointment. Even more, I beg God that his innocent faith won’t be shaken.

Cake now completed, it is Advent, and so, we wait…

~~~~~~~~
Ben and Tya wake up Paul, Otto, and I early on Christmas morning.

‘Do you know what day it is today?’ we ask them, coaxing their growing excitement.

‘It’s Jesus’ birthday!’ they exclaim, bouncing on us, full of anticipation. I am touched by this title they give today. ‘Today…a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.’ Luke 2:11 ‘And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.’ Isaiah 9:6

I play with the children, Christmas music playing, while Paul prepares our Christmas brunch. Before long, he calls us into the kitchen and I am stunned while Ben and Tya squeal with surprise.

Wonderful Paul has created a banquet for our birthday celebration.

I pause to absorb the abundance … the diagonal table laden with plates of homemade eggnog waffles, the overflowing fruit tray, the blueberries and maple syrup, the dark chocolates, our wedding wineglasses cradling fresh juice. The kitchen’s only decorations the pictures the children colored from their Nativity coloring books. I see Baby Jesus, whom they colored blue, lying in His manger, and I smile.

Our five Advent candles are burning in the center of the table. The three blue candles. The pink candle. And now, at last today, even the middle white candle- the Christ candle. Jesus’ birthday candle, taller than the rest and glowing. The candles radiate today’s joy, shining, dripping with Good News. Christ the Savior is born!

We savor the meal, candles glowing in every eye. Ben and Tya are quieter, sitting almost reverently, their eyes frequently watching the lifted flames. I give Otto to Paul and leave to collect the cake. We light one more candle on it and I lay it before these waiting hearts. These hearts that have been longing, aching to sing Happy Birthday to their King.

Happy Birthday to You
Happy Birthday to You
Happy Birthday Dear Jesus
Happy Birthday to You.

We love You we do
We love You we do
Happy Birthday Dear Jesus
We love You we do.

Our voices sing of our hope… of darkness-weary walkers who have seen a Great Light.

I watch the children… Otto is staring, unblinking at the flickering flames. Tya is leaning in, face just beaming, alternating her gaze between Paul and I. I watch Ben closely. I read his face for any trace of disappointment. I find none- thank You God. Ben’s face is intent, but warm and full of devotion. I am certain. Yes, he knows Jesus is here, among us; for that is what Christmas is. God bending to dwell with men.

You are so much more than enough, Jesus- You are our Gift. Ben knew- as if You could be contained by these fragile walls. You are too great…
Yet You are big enough to fit in the smallest heart.
Too big for the heavens, still, we make room for You within.

Happy Birthday beautiful baby Jesus…
take all the room You want.

 

Christmas ponderings and a poem

~Thank you Tammy for all your Advent posts. They have truly enriched my Advent season. As you wrote, I have especially cherished pondering Mary and Joseph’s lack of Christmas preparations- so much so that they did not even have a place to stay! This has given me permission to relax in the frenzy of preparations this year, and simply enjoy more quiet evenings together around our Advent candles, preparing our hearts.

~Two things have helped most simplify our Christmas the past couple years. One is buying presents for Jesus alone. We fill the kids’ stockings with a few small art supplies they will enjoy, and then we focus our energies on an awesome birthday party for Jesus Christmas morning. Last year Paul made homemade waffles, chocolate sauce, special juice, Jesus’ birthday cake, we decorated the kitchen- the kids loved it! The second is this year I have decided the only Christmas baking that needs to be done is Jesus’ birthday cake, and I feel healthier and more relaxed!

~The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us…” I used to think that the most humble place Jesus could choose to be born was in the crude stable that first Christmas. What could be a starker contrast to God’s glory than the dirt, the animals, the poor surroundings? As I have been pondering God’s dwelling with men this Advent, I have been wondering if perhaps the most humble place for Him to be born in is man’s heart. I am overcome with praise to worship such a humble King! A God who, for love, not only descends to be born in a barn, but is also willing and waiting and longing to be born in my wayward heart. May each of us recognize and respond to His birth in our hearts this Christmas. “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”

Anna. Simeon. (Luke 2:21-40) -Meg

Eighth day

cold stone

warm arms.

Word Life

soul pierced

Flesh God.

The priests and praying

psalm marinating,

You- whispering, present

Time.

The rising and falling

cacophony, calling,

and yearn for You, to

come.

Lord- how could it be

in this sacred scene

only two would recognize You?

How I’m haunted, I tremble

      would have I?    

 

 

Memory

What a week… 12 weeks pregnant, 3 small children, and moved this past week. I am still unpacking this morning, and although I am full of gratitude how God continues to provide for us, the overwhelming keeps creeping in the corners of my heart.

Wanted to play some music this morning, couldn’t find a box of cds. God, knowing  just what we needed, led me to a box of christmas music. In it went. It is raising all the spirits in the house as we unpack and play to ‘Joy to the World’ and ‘Away in a Manger’.  And my heart keeps resting on this simple prayer…. ‘Come Lord Jesus, come.’ 

Come to our earth, come to our hearts, come to my wearied spirit, come transform our lives. Come.

My mind can only handle a simple verse this week, but my scattered thoughts and spirit crave a resting place.

‘Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.’ Revelation 22:20

 

Memory Verse(s)

I wasn’t able to choose between two verses that have been following me all week. The verses are woven together- one is a plea to God and the other is His promise to me. They are on my mouth and my heart at the start of my prayer time each morning. I will post both. Feel free to choose which you would like to memorize, or even both this week!

Jeremiah 33:3
‘Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.’

Mark 9:24
‘I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!’

 

Yours

Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting.’ Acts 2:2

 

Backs to the window, couch-curled. Open books, arms entwined. Baby brother in bed, big brother playing. Tya and I reading together. The furious wind is beating against the wide front window of our country home. Fields of trees, merely flexible fronds to this invisible force. The might of its muscle is beginning to worry me, though I try to not let the children see my concern. I feel a chill as I watch these powers of nature battle for dominion. ‘For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world…’ Ephesians 6:12

 

The storm has prematurely darkened the day, and the standing lamp is on. I am grateful that we are surrounded by such a safe fortress. We continue reading, voices raised above the wind’s roar. Her question halts my words.

 

‘Does Jesus live in your heart Mama?’

 

I stop. I turn to her lovely lifted face, and wonder at how a three year old soul sorts out life. Constantly sifting and allowing what is needed to surface.

 

‘He does Tya, and I am so glad because I love Him so much.’

 

Her gaze returns briefly to the book, then Tya looks to me again. ‘Does Jesus live in my heart?’

 

My own heart quickens from such significance. The wind crescendos in expectation. ‘Do you want Him to live in your heart Tya?’

 

How can human voices even be uttering such eternally-weighted words? ‘Show us your unfailing love, O Lord, and grant us your salvation.’ Psalm 85:7

 

She nods and I slide her further in my lap to pray with her. I am dazed by this moment, heart and head whirling. I can only witness in reverence as this covenant is formed… I see the storm of sin parting as heaven rends. Salvation’s scarred arm reaches down to rescue her. She raises her small hand to His, and He clasps tightly to hold hers. Forever.

 

‘I gave you my solemn oath and entered into a covenant with you, declares the Sovereign Lord, and you became mine.’ Ezekiel 16:8

 

My mortal mind cannot fathom this sacrament. Yet, we sit here still, firmly couch-bound and earth-anchored. This juxtaposition only heightens the holiness. Love Himself encircles, breathing on us a new gale of grace .

 

::::::::::::::

 

The storm is passed and the day is done. Tya is coming to me with her before-bed ritual of secrets, hugs and kisses. She is gazing at her chest, her hand patting it lightly and lovingly. Again and again.

 

‘Do you know what I’m doing Mommy? I’m patting Jesus-in-my-heart.’ She nods as she speaks, emphasizing her explanation. Tya then wraps her arms around her torso, eyes squeezed shut as she tightens. ‘Now I’m hugging Jesus-in-my-heart.’

 

I gather my little girl in my arms and carry her to her waiting bed. Root and establish Your love deeply in her heart, Father. Hold fast to her. Thank You for saving her, thank You for loving her, thank You for making her Yours.

 

::::::::::::::

 

I lay awake long into the night. I strain my ears, listening for the soft sounds of each loved one breathing. Peace fills the darkness. I place my hand on my own heart. I feel the pulsing flesh beneath my palm…

 

How long you have remained with me Jesus-in-my-heart. You have been so true to me. Even when my heart was a wayward home, You were faithful. So faithful. I will sing a new song: ‘You are worthy to take the scroll and open its seals, because you were slain, and with your blood you purchased men for God…’ Revelation 5: 9

Jesus-in-my-heart, I am Yours, I am Yours, I am Yours…

 

Loved

I meet her in front of her closet, wearing a purple long-sleeved shirt over another pink striped long-sleeved shirt. This proves to be too bulky, and her arms have uncomfortable looking lumps down their length. Her jeans are pulled snugly up over her multi-colored tights. She is reaching on her toes, stretching her two-year-old arm to reach her hanging yellow dress. This addition will officially make her outfit too much. For me.

It is agony for me to let her dress herself. Tya looks adorable whatever she wears, but there is an unknown force within me that still grasps to control the process. She deliberates and takes such meticulous time and care into her ensembles. She sees her wardrobe options as art exploration and expression.

‘Tya,’ I try to reason, ‘you don’t need a dress over your shirts and pants.’ She keeps reaching. ‘No Tya, you have enough clothes on already.’

She couldn’t have heard me, too focused, because she asks me earnestly, ‘Can you get my yellow dress for me?’

‘Tya, no.’ Persuasion increasing. ‘We need to get ready, and you have too many clothes on already,’ I repeat.

Decision final. Done.

She looks up at me, her blue eyes searching mine. She speaks- not as pleading, but as whispered truth. Soft and direct honesty, offering a portion of her soul into my very hands:

‘But I want the yellow dress so I can look more pretty Mama.’

I am mute. Undone.

‘Ohhh Tya. You are the most pretty girl ever to Mommy. Of course you can wear the yellow dress. I am sorry, I didn’t know how important the yellow dress was to you.’

I carefully lift her priceless treasure off the hanger and gently, sacredly, place it onto my treasure. I bend slowly to meet her. The dress hem catches as I pull it over the shirts, over the jeans, over the multi-colored tights. I linger over each item, lengthening the moment. Finally finished, I admire her creation. She glitters, she dazzles me. She is a masterpiece.

Heart swelling emotions, I whisper and encourage her, ‘Go show Daddy how beautiful you look in your pretty dress.’ She lights at the thought and scampers out the door, gracefully in her bulky attire. I can hear her squeal as she searches for greater praise, knowing where it can be found.
 

I stand and steady myself from the whirl of the encounter. Awed by the power she has over me. Awed by the power of my love for her. Can it be that she can change my heart so instantly? So entirely? I step to exit her room, lingering in the frame…

My mind floods with the stories, memory-seared since my own childhood. I think of the widow pleading for justice, who is listened to because of her persistence. I think of Abraham, who is allowed to bargain with God to save Sodom if only 50, 45, 40, 30, 20, even 10 righteous can be found. And God changes, because of Love for His child. Can it be?

Can God’s heart be changed just as completely by His love for me? His heart changed…by me?!

I am dizzy, disoriented contemplating this Divine Love. In haze I step forward into the empty, echoing hall. My leg lengthens, seeking equilibrium. The realization of this Divine Love seeps through as marrow, bringing life to these dry bones. Searching for an anchor in such lopsided Love, He draws me; Love-Words reflecting off the close walls, entering into, convincing my heart:

‘…you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ…’ Ephesians 3:18

What kind of Love is this Father?  

No, I cannot grasp; still, I embrace it.

 

Memory

We have made it to the end of this passage! We are memorizing verse 12 this week, and if you are like me, also firming up the other verses this week.

Thank You Father for Your promises to us, that we are only filled by spending our lives on others. Let our light shine to bring You glory! Amen.

‘Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice

and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free

and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter-

when you see the naked, to clothe him,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn,

and your healing will quickly appear;

then your righteousness will go before you,

and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Then you will call, and the Lord will answer;

you will cry for help, and he will say:

Here am I.

If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry

and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness,

and your night will become like the noonday.

The Lord will guide you always;

he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden,

like a spring whose waters never fail.

Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins

and will raise up the age-old foundations;

you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,

Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.’

 

Today, 8 am

This was not supposed to be today’s post.

 

I was working on a story last night. Almost finished, I was going to post it this morning. I just can’t see that happening now.

 

Before 5:00 this morning, I was up twice with my 11 month old, and once with my 3 year old. Then my 11 month old was up for the day at 5:00 am. So here I am.

 

I know that so so many of you have been here. Apart from love, I think that maybe exhaustion-empathy unites us most as mothers.  I even asked my husband last night if I am making an idol out of sleep. Some days… I yearn for it, think about it, long after it, desire it most.

 

So I have been feeling a critical lack of joy this morning. I have asked God so many questions, not really seeking an answer though,  just complaining. ‘How long can I keep doing this God? Could You please pave a way for my children to sleep through the night? What am I going to do?’ Done venting, I finally asked, wanting to hear from God.

 

‘Father, can You encourage me right where I am now?’

 

A gentle promise rolled in as a rippled wave to the shore. ‘Joy Cometh.’

 

This is enough for me for now Father. I have faith that joy will come, and that hope brings me joy in the now. Help me to count all sufferings blessings, because there I discover Your presence, purpose, and power.  I love how You care for me and provide for me in all my circumstances. Thank You that You can often be seen best by my tired eyes.

 

Memory…tuesday?!

Sorry everyone. I could explain that I was on holidays last week, and I am still disoriented on days, but I will just apologize and get us going on this week’s memory work!

 

I sometimes find memorizing a larger chunk of verses over numerous weeks easier, because the various verses feel less fragmented. I thought I would start us this week on the first 2 verses of  Isaiah 58: 6-12, and then if anyone wants to continue we can, or we can find something else next week. I love the whole passage, but I will be working on verses 6 and 7 this week. I will list the entire passage below:

 

‘Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:

to loose the chains of injustice

and untie the cords of the yoke,

to set the oppressed free

and break every yoke?

Is it not to share your food with the hungry

and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter-

when you see the naked, to clothe him,

and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

Then your light will break forth like the dawn,

and your healing will quickly appear;

then your righteousness will go before you,

and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.

Then you will call, and the Lord will answer;

you will cry for help, and he will say:

Here am I.

If you do away with the yoke of oppression,

with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry

and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness,

and your night will become like the noonday.

The Lord will guide you always;

he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land

and will strengthen your frame.

You will be like a well-watered garden,

like a spring whose waters never fail.

Your people will rebuild the ancient ruins

and will raise up the age-old foundations;

you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls,

Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.’

 

There is so much in these verses, I find it dizzying and it scatters my thoughts. At first glance I feel ashamed how little I am doing of the justice-work and compassion-work that these verses describe. Then God reminded me of the three little hungry bodies I am feeding around the clock. And the three beautiful, naked bodies I am clothing each morning. It transforms me to see these tasks as they truly are… sacred.

 

I have been watering our garden through this drought, and as I want my garden to be well-watered and produce life, I also yearn for a well-watered soul that God can grow His glory in. I eagerly anticipate meditating on, and learning what it means to be a ‘Repairer of Broken Walls’ and ‘Restorer of Streets with Dwellings.’

 

I cannot ready myself for these three unfathomable words… ‘you will cry for help, and he will say:

 

Here am I.’

 

May the ‘Here am I’ God bless you this week as we bask in these verses together. Meg