A Blessing That Conquers Even A Mother

I think of my girl, the first one I carried. The first one who took my heart with her when she left my womb. And I have never gotten it back, and know I never will. 

I replaced it with another and that one got taken too . . .

Who said we only get one?  Not a mother.

I think of Juvenille Diabetes. Words spoken twelve years ago almost to this day in what was to be the merry month of May. Spoken to me in private. Spoken gently and softly so they could sink in. But they never have. I have to wonder why? She was at the doctor the other day, too old for me to go with her?

Now when I think of her I almost always think of him.  They go hand and hand.  They love each other and are beginning to make plans.  Where did the little girl with the ribbon tied around her head go?

Where did the little red-headed boy holding the lunchbox go?

 Pray with me for a mama's heart?  For thinking of him brings thoughts of another.

Papers have come and we will be seeing him off to another place like another world much too soon.  I know Tammy's plans and dreams for him did not include this.  When would fear for your child be a dream you hang your wishes on?

But what is fear?  Is it a lack of trust or faith?  Or, is it just simply consequences of a fallen world?

Is it possible to not fear for your child? 

We do not have to be involved in a physical war for us to be involved in a war.

So he will fight one and his mama will fight another.

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12

Wicked spirits oppose faith and love. They try to trick us or force us to an unbelief - an unbelief that is not possible because we do believe.

But there must be a fight for sin seeps from our pores.

Paul is not speaking of a wrestle of body.  But as Jacob fought, a wrestle of the soul.  And we struggle for a blessing -

I will not let go until you bless me . . .
Genesis 32

and we struggle with God and with men and we overcome.  And we limp.

And with this belief that is our shield and armour we will trust even our womb's dearest gifts to the Kingdom of the Son.

And yes, I wait for the numbers of sugar that is not sweet and yes, I ask too many questions and I hover and yes, I try to take back my role as the womb nester. 

And yes, she will jump each time the phone rings and yes, she will watch the news and read the paper with heart eyes that want to turn away.  But yes, she can't.

Yes, we can wrestle and like Jacob we can win a blessing.  And as it conquered a brother afraid and gave a new name,  it can conquer even a mother.  

One Thousand Gifts . . .

This gratitude post is more than a month old.  I never hit the publish button because it felt very mine, very much mine alone. 

 Sometimes we speak of things and lose it?  Or is that silly?

Even though I know I can't lose his love, sometimes I still travel down roads of past and know I don't deserve it.

It's still dark outside.  Morning is just beginning to stream down.

He's already up.

He comes back and lies down next to me.  Right in the little space on my left with the large expanse of king empty on my right. 

He holds me and I cry.  I sit up I lie down I sit up I lie down and I ramble and I worry. 

He lets me and tells me the same words he has said over and over lately, It's gonna be alright, Rie.

He listens and then prays what I need.

And all my thousand gifts I'm listing beside us on the nightstand. 

But him I can't list.  I can't count this kind of love.  I can't give it a number or a place.

Because it just is, and I'll never understand why me.

My gratitude list continues . . .

friends to watch him at the park

small iv needles

resurrection eggs

ticked off mornings with no backlash

loving texts and emails

once again bringing extra chairs in

forgiveness and forgiving

Craig's reminder - in small things or great

a daughter's servant heart

My list, #'s 641-649.

We Are Perfectly Safe

My oldest is no longer a child.  She has past those years and entered adulthood with only a few passing storms. 

Some that left her daddy and me feeling like we were standing in the storm alone, but they passed and left rainbows in their wake.

We are at a family reunion.  She's with the adults now and is telling of her life.  How school is going, how her love life is, where she is working . . .

This one.  Where she is working.  She tells of the alternative school and the discipline problems that get her students sent there.  I'm listening and there is nothing new.  I even say . . .

 "Last week one of the students punched her in the stomach." 

I feel a little sick as the words come out, words that sound foreign.  Words that don't belong . . . 

But like Lisa we are stripping worry away.  So I straighten my back and tell myself it is okay.

Then she begins to tell of things I didn't know.  Like the child 

One Thousand Gifts . . .

I'm spread out, three Bibles around me when I remember the toast under the broiler.

And weeks now my mind has been one track and I'm seeing my selfish ways.

I'm open to the book of James and I read . . .

And those who have reason to be thankful should continually be singing praises to the Lord.  James 5:13

It's a rugged and sometimes painful kind of Christian living this book of James reveals.  James was realistic and brave, crystal clear in meaning when he wrote.  Words of God.  Letters from God.  Written then to guide me now.  Chastise me now?  Yes.

I'd like to avoid the impact of James at times, his gutsy writing that reaches in and sees me real pulls out my messes and brings them to surface. I'm feeling like I'm holding my breath so I don't sink.  I'd rather stay on top and keep my messes below - hidden where they belong.

But I need to breathe.

I throw away the toast and start over.  So how can I wonder why about this small thing or these large things or anything else when God tells James to tell me that I must sing with praises?

Then I close my eyes and let God tell me Himself.

And

My gratitude list continues . . .

burnt toast

paint on the walls

spray paint on the hands

tears and his I sorry

second chances as I sigh and start gratitude over, and over, and over . . .

dirty faces

winter clothes packed away

dinner out when I'm too tired

free downloads

muscle relaxers

hearing Izzy read to Max

lunch with Donna

easy conversation

an empty dishwasher

finding all the mates to the socks washed

a lemon dream at two in the morning

fur lined boots and eighty degrees and he doesn't care and I smile knowing this will make my list

cell screen that lights up 'Janice'

My list, #'s 622-640.

One Thousand Gifts . . .

A man has made at least a start on discovering the meaning of human life when he plants shade trees under which he knows full well he will never sit.  D. Elton Trueblood

Growth and time. 

I was twelve years old the day I came home to find my daddy planting a tree in the center of our back yard.  Little small tree.  My young mind could not then comprehend the time it takes to produce a huge sprawling tree.  Years would have seemed like a lifetime to me then.

I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure I asked him how long it would be till I could climb it.  How long till it was tall enough and strong enough to support my weight.  If I could have awoken the next morning to an overnight transformation of that tree I would have missed much.

I now live with my family in the house I grew up in.  And look at what my children get in that old tree.

And like that tree I have grown and matured.  But I learn every day that I have far still to go . . . 

They are like trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper.  Psalm 1:3

My gratitude list continues . . .

treehouses and rock walls

ziplines and helmets

running into friends at the store

birthday invitations

t-ball practice

empty mason jars

chocolate chip cake

bug spray

notes from my children

catching him with a can of spray paint

old photographs

painted faces

tulips

melted ice cream

stained glass

open discussion

tears for Jesus

the Jonah class

My list, #'s 603-621.