I am sitting at my desk, well into the rhythm of a busy workday. Untidy piles of "to dos" mound under each elbow, a sheath of sent faxes spills across the floor and unfinished coffee goes cold (with expensive, organic half and half in it, no less!).
A microwave break crosses my mind but I feel I can't stop. I am pressured, as there's much to remember -- if I don't stay on it today, the little things won't get done! -- and it's the last day of a week, besides. To so many people I have promised calls, but I still don't know all the answers they require. I haven't had this many small tasks, piling up and pulling sideways at my mind, in weeks.
I know I want a break.... But then, I often want to sit around and feel sorry for myself, too. Neither course of action seems completely wise today! I will not stand up. I cannot stop, until more work is done.
And then I realize I am humming. And then I realize I am singing. And I realize a break has found me where I sit.
Here's what came to me, a small window of sweetness in an ordinary, busy day.
"...It is you
We adore
It is you
Praises are for
Only you
The heaven's declare...
Holy, holy is our God Almighty
Holy, holy is his name alone
Holy, holy is our God Almighty
Holy, holy is his name alone
...As we lift up our hands
Will you meet us here?
As we call on your name
Will you meet us here?
We have come to this place
To worship you
God of mercy and grace
It is you...
As we lift up our hands
As we call on your name
Will you visit this place?
By your mercy and grace....
It is you...."
The pressure is less. The workload hasn't grown. And I feel better.
Though, gotta say, my coffee is still cold.... ;)
Just a girl, asking for grace, to survive her happily-ever-after.
10.28.2005
10.25.2005
Tidying up. Leaving traces.
I'm cleaning my desk (not by any strict neatnik's definition) and I just came across a scrap of paper with what looks like Miles malaprops I've jotted down.
I hate to forget the sweet childhood moments that gave rise to the scribbled words, so I'm going to quickly document their usage.
* Watching me try to assemble a piece of furniture, he says, "Mom! Use the CON-structions!"
* Trying to relay his order at the donut shop, he wants "the one with sparkles on top."
* Asking for the book "Stellaluna," in which a fruit bat ties to land on limbs like birds, he asks, "Let's read the one about the acrobat!"
I once said, in this blog, I love this little boy "To Infinity and Beyond." Never more than this week. If infinity has a beyond, we've made the turn. And Jer and I are more devoted to this family than ever before.
I hate to forget the sweet childhood moments that gave rise to the scribbled words, so I'm going to quickly document their usage.
* Watching me try to assemble a piece of furniture, he says, "Mom! Use the CON-structions!"
* Trying to relay his order at the donut shop, he wants "the one with sparkles on top."
* Asking for the book "Stellaluna," in which a fruit bat ties to land on limbs like birds, he asks, "Let's read the one about the acrobat!"
I once said, in this blog, I love this little boy "To Infinity and Beyond." Never more than this week. If infinity has a beyond, we've made the turn. And Jer and I are more devoted to this family than ever before.
Getting better.
I was holding steady until John 16. I was hanging w/ the fam, snug in my row, swallowing the words one jagged little pill at a time. Then someone used John 16:33. In an anecdote, maybe. Not even as a main point. But the words were spoken. And the words went:
"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
Then I knew I would never make it to the end of church without big ol' crocodile tears coursing down my cheeks. Just give it up, girlie, 'cause you aren't that strong!
It was a good cry, really. The reason I came, probably. To sit in a place where all the words ring true, where other ragged pilgrims who have nursed hurts much deeper than mine come together. Where we sing a few songs and spot a few typos and hear at least one football analogy, all while straining to retune our hearts to the vibration of the Divine.
It was good worship. Good for me to hear truths that especially touched my heart. To know other women were sharing the hurt of my week and rooting for me to feel better.
I was crying before communion, though, and I knew I needed a little intervention if I was gonna stand and step forward and be presentable and such. (It's a Southern demon, this bent toward presentation. I know; I know! But I really can't stand to fall apart in public.)
I did regain composure, and the way truly was mysterious. :) (This next part is especially for NPT, a small laugh between two girls in the know.) The congregation began to stand and some "canned" music was cued as a background for the taking of communion. The first phrase I heard was, "God, your love is extravagant."
Now, that's not nearly amusing in and of itself, but when you are -- as I am -- conditioned to pronouce that word "extragavant," the phrase somehow becomes ROTFL funny. (Stop and say it with me, now: "God, your love is ex-TRAG-a-vant!") In the inappropriate twitter I suddenly had to suppress, I found the strength to step up and hear a blessing with my name inserted in the middle.
It was good worship. I came; I carried a burden; I cried. Oh, but, truly! I came into the house of the Lord, and I did not go away empty.
My mother-in-law asked if it was too much, being in church yesterday, but it wasn't. Somehow, it was just enough.
Also, while there, I learned about two more women I know who lost babies in early or mid-pregnancy. And I decided to start a list. A short list of blessed assurance -- children I know who arrived on earth after their mothers suffered loss for the right to be moms. So far, the list includes:
Josh and Gabe
Taylor and Jameson
Joshua
Caden Seiferth
Olivia Smith
Micah Sheets
two Johnson cherubs
Lee
Noah
and baby Thomas (appearing April 2006!)
...And these are just the kids I can think of right away; in two small circles of acquaintance.
Since I know there are many more out there, I'm going to keep the list active for a while. Then, when I see any of the faces on the list, I will be reminded of how God is faithful. How his ways are above our ways, but his plans are always for our good. How nothing is impossible with God.
When I see these children, I will worship.
"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."
Then I knew I would never make it to the end of church without big ol' crocodile tears coursing down my cheeks. Just give it up, girlie, 'cause you aren't that strong!
It was a good cry, really. The reason I came, probably. To sit in a place where all the words ring true, where other ragged pilgrims who have nursed hurts much deeper than mine come together. Where we sing a few songs and spot a few typos and hear at least one football analogy, all while straining to retune our hearts to the vibration of the Divine.
It was good worship. Good for me to hear truths that especially touched my heart. To know other women were sharing the hurt of my week and rooting for me to feel better.
I was crying before communion, though, and I knew I needed a little intervention if I was gonna stand and step forward and be presentable and such. (It's a Southern demon, this bent toward presentation. I know; I know! But I really can't stand to fall apart in public.)
I did regain composure, and the way truly was mysterious. :) (This next part is especially for NPT, a small laugh between two girls in the know.) The congregation began to stand and some "canned" music was cued as a background for the taking of communion. The first phrase I heard was, "God, your love is extravagant."
Now, that's not nearly amusing in and of itself, but when you are -- as I am -- conditioned to pronouce that word "extragavant," the phrase somehow becomes ROTFL funny. (Stop and say it with me, now: "God, your love is ex-TRAG-a-vant!") In the inappropriate twitter I suddenly had to suppress, I found the strength to step up and hear a blessing with my name inserted in the middle.
It was good worship. I came; I carried a burden; I cried. Oh, but, truly! I came into the house of the Lord, and I did not go away empty.
My mother-in-law asked if it was too much, being in church yesterday, but it wasn't. Somehow, it was just enough.
Also, while there, I learned about two more women I know who lost babies in early or mid-pregnancy. And I decided to start a list. A short list of blessed assurance -- children I know who arrived on earth after their mothers suffered loss for the right to be moms. So far, the list includes:
Josh and Gabe
Taylor and Jameson
Joshua
Caden Seiferth
Olivia Smith
Micah Sheets
two Johnson cherubs
Lee
Noah
and baby Thomas (appearing April 2006!)
...And these are just the kids I can think of right away; in two small circles of acquaintance.
Since I know there are many more out there, I'm going to keep the list active for a while. Then, when I see any of the faces on the list, I will be reminded of how God is faithful. How his ways are above our ways, but his plans are always for our good. How nothing is impossible with God.
When I see these children, I will worship.
10.21.2005
And now we are three.
For a little while, we were four.
Our young family, that is. We who used to number three had grown to four. And we were so delighted. Secretly delighted.
We were going to have a baby. A brand-spankin' new little person! Finally, our second child. (To me, a mysterious and mostly mythical creature not unlike the unicorn. Glimpses were rare and knowledge was sketchy. A second child? I've heard of them. Not sure about that breed, though. How does one arrive at two, when the first required a complete life makeover and is still such a full-time job?)
But we arrived. And we were finally a complete family. For about 12 weeks. Seven that we knew about.
The baby's heart stopped beating sometime around week 8. But my body didn't want to let go. So, yesterday, I woke up at 4 a.m., checked into a hospital at 5, and had my insides scraped out to salvage my suffering womb.
It sounds very dramatic, doesn't it?
Actually, it's completely common and far from the end of the world. Women lose babies in about 15 to 20 percent of all pregnancies. Women have more babies later, with no complications. I'll be one of those women. I have faith.
It just hurts.
Because we all lost something.
And, I suspect, what we lost would have been so very dear.
Today, it feels kind of like my heart had a D&C, too. It's all raw and scraped on the inside.
I am the luckiest girl I know, to have what I have and whom I have in my life. I am not alone. We are three, remember? ...But I so wanted us to be four!
Dear God,
Please mend my wounded places. Heal my hurts and hide my family in the shadow of your wings. Thank you for being my God. Thank you for this day and for every ragged breath.
I've always loved this Newsboys song. Today, it's all I can do to repeat the words. But I want them to speak for me.
Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
And blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord blessed be Your name
My heart chooses to bless and not curse. To hurt and not grow bitter. To press on. And my heart knows that I will be given more than is ever taken away....
Our young family, that is. We who used to number three had grown to four. And we were so delighted. Secretly delighted.
We were going to have a baby. A brand-spankin' new little person! Finally, our second child. (To me, a mysterious and mostly mythical creature not unlike the unicorn. Glimpses were rare and knowledge was sketchy. A second child? I've heard of them. Not sure about that breed, though. How does one arrive at two, when the first required a complete life makeover and is still such a full-time job?)
But we arrived. And we were finally a complete family. For about 12 weeks. Seven that we knew about.
The baby's heart stopped beating sometime around week 8. But my body didn't want to let go. So, yesterday, I woke up at 4 a.m., checked into a hospital at 5, and had my insides scraped out to salvage my suffering womb.
It sounds very dramatic, doesn't it?
Actually, it's completely common and far from the end of the world. Women lose babies in about 15 to 20 percent of all pregnancies. Women have more babies later, with no complications. I'll be one of those women. I have faith.
It just hurts.
Because we all lost something.
And, I suspect, what we lost would have been so very dear.
Today, it feels kind of like my heart had a D&C, too. It's all raw and scraped on the inside.
I am the luckiest girl I know, to have what I have and whom I have in my life. I am not alone. We are three, remember? ...But I so wanted us to be four!
Dear God,
Please mend my wounded places. Heal my hurts and hide my family in the shadow of your wings. Thank you for being my God. Thank you for this day and for every ragged breath.
I've always loved this Newsboys song. Today, it's all I can do to repeat the words. But I want them to speak for me.
Blessed be Your name
In the land that is plentiful
Where your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
And blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name
And blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
Every blessing You pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name
You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord blessed be Your name
My heart chooses to bless and not curse. To hurt and not grow bitter. To press on. And my heart knows that I will be given more than is ever taken away....
10.17.2005
Silly Thomas!
So we're watching some Thomas on the tube (me mostly lulled by George Carlin's narration; Miles engrossed in the finer points of plot...).
First I hear this on screen: "Thomas kept the other engines awake late at night in the roundhouse. 'I don't want to shuttle freight cars!' he said. 'I want to see the world!'"
And then I hear this from the recliner: "Pshaw! Silly Thomas. Trains can't see ANYTHING in the dark. That's why, right now, he needs his sleep."
To see the world, but only in the daytime. I think this is a rational child goal. We parental types will try to make it happen. With ample pauses for his sleep. :)
First I hear this on screen: "Thomas kept the other engines awake late at night in the roundhouse. 'I don't want to shuttle freight cars!' he said. 'I want to see the world!'"
And then I hear this from the recliner: "Pshaw! Silly Thomas. Trains can't see ANYTHING in the dark. That's why, right now, he needs his sleep."
To see the world, but only in the daytime. I think this is a rational child goal. We parental types will try to make it happen. With ample pauses for his sleep. :)
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