diamonds in the dump

He says yes.  

Even though I failed to get up early enough for a walk this morning, there is still grace.  

Outside the kitchen window, green branches tossing in early sunshine lure me like a magnet.  He agrees to flip French toast so I can slip out for ten minutes.  Grace.  

I pull on jeans, zip my red fleece, shove my feet into tennis shoes, grab a cap.  Then, I’m out in spring goodness, breeze blustering my face, and I feel only slightly guilty as I crack the gate and escape into opaque, white light.

I walk my normal route: left out the gate, across the little bridge, up the rise to the top of the ridge, and along the high bank of the “river” (which is really only a glorified irrigation canal).  Usually I walk along the ridge as far as the big bridge a quarter-mile down, but today I’m only going halfway before I’ll need to turn back to French toast and the baby’s morning feed...

It’s been a week or so since I’ve walked this route, and every day the sun has been getting up earlier, so this is the first morning I’m walking in full blaze.  As I crest the ridge and turn to head downstream, I stop in my tracks.  My eyes are almost blinded by winking, blinking diamonds.  

Everywhere, bits of broken glass bounce the light into glorious, glinting fragments.  

          

You see, this mound where I walk actually doubles as the town dump.  Broken bottles, dirty diapers, old car tires, and coils of rusted wire litter my route, and I take this path only because I’m sure of meeting no people at almost any hour of the day.  I walk here to be higher up - the raised riverbank offers a view of the mountains - and alone with my thoughts.

And today there are diamonds. 

Winking, blinking diamond glory, all those bits of broken glass reflecting a paean of praise to the sun.  Brilliance from brokenness.  

My eyes are full of blinding light.  I grin as I raise one hand to shade them.  

In just five quick morning minutes, I’ve found glory. 

I walk along the path into the sun a couple minutes longer (stretching my window of breakfast-grace) and as I turn my back on the sun to walk back towards our gate, the sparkling view dulls.  

But my eyes are still dancing with specks of glittering light, and I’m still smiling as I turn my face into the breeze and thank Him for shining glory amidst all this brokenness.  

Today I'm thankful for:

a husband who makes delicious French toast.

ten minutes all to myself.

grace.

sunlight tossing in green branches.

broken glass.

glory.

the way God can make beauty out of anything, 

even trash.

aphids of complaining, petunias of thanksgiving

 

I have two potted petunias hanging outside my front door.

One is thriving, one is dying.  

 

White blooms burst from the healthy one, while the sickly one can barely hold up its limbs.  What is making the difference?

Tiny aphids are draining the life from one of my plants.  

All the energy that should be bursting into beautiful bloom is being sucked away by these minuscule pests.  

I couldn’t help but see the parable: 

I have days like each of these plants.  

My full-of-life blooming days are characterized by flowers of thanksgiving.  

My depressed, grumpy, everything-seems-so-hard days are usually caused by aphids of discontentment.  

The trouble is, the more I complain the worse I feel!  

I’m realizing that every complaint is like one of those little tiny pests.  They don’t seem very important one by one, but taken all together, they will eat you alive.  

In contrast, the more I thank, the more I bloom.

Every time I breathe quiet thanks - for cheese, for a knife to cut it with, for hot running water in my tap, for a mug of tea, for a working toilet - it doesn’t seem very significant.  Mundane, really.  How could this possibly be making any difference?

But guess what?  I’m happier.  Really.  I. am. happier.  I’m less grumpy, less petty than I was a year ago (I hope).  Replacing complaining with thanking is actually changing me.  Whether my hours are rolling out neatly or full of interruptions, whether I’m feeling tired or rested, giving thanks is gradually changing my perspective, my heart-space, the flavor of my days.  

I am quietly starting to bloom.  

What are your “aphids” today?  What things are you tempted to complain about?  Could you give thanks for those very things, and watch your day change from feeling sucked dry to bursting into bloom?  

framing up a miracle

It felt like an electric shock through my heart.

I stopped.  Stared at him for a second as he was kneeling on the floor.  He grinned at me, with that knowing look of his that makes him look 15 years old instead of 5.  Then he bent to his task again, cheerfully with a good will, and I stood watching him, rooted to the spot, this tingling warmth growing in my heart.

I’d asked them to clean up their toys before we played a game.  

He’d opened his mouth to say “Awww - “ and then stopped himself, mid-grumble.  

For a second, he sat motionless with his head down.  “Mom,” he’d said then, lifting his head, “I almost grumbled, but then I remembered our verse… Do - “ and I join in and say it with him, our voices both breaking into smiles - “all things without complaining or disputing.”  

I’m nodding, still smiling, feeling that tingle go right through me.  

“You know,” he adds, a toy in his hand, “when I had my head down?  I was praying.  I asked Jesus to help me do it without complaining.”  

I stood there rooted to the spot, a thrill of wonder in my heart, watching my son obey with a good will.  

Where have I felt this before? I thought.  Yesterday.  It was yesterday, when I was framing up green sunflower shoots poking through earth.  

I wanted to freeze this moment in time too, capture it like a photograph in my soul.  Frame up a miracle: my son’s heart, with the little green shoot of the Word poking up.  Word-seeds taking root in his heart, germinating, sprouting, pushing up to the surface.  

The weed of his sin choked out by the sturdy sprout of Truth. 

It was like physical green suddenly birthed into spiritual green: fresh, green miracles, outside the house and in.  

I was suddenly surrounded by glory.  

Today, I am thankful for:

The visible sprout of Truth.

Grace evident in my son's life. 

That our home is nurturing spiritual growth!

Sunflowers growing.

Seeds.  Every-day miracles.

Grace.  Every day undeserved, every day incredible.

for all you fellow sparrows...

One of my favorite bloggers (you can probably guess who) posted about sparrows yesterday... and I thought of you.

You, and me, we're just two little sparrows, making nests, fluttering our wings, trying to find worms for breakfast.  We're both living in tents, dying a little every day, chirping back messages over our shoulders to others coming behind us - "Here's where the best crumbs are found!"

Come count crumbs today with me, and Ann, and a whole host of others...

...for daily worms... I mean, bread!

...for messages chirped back from those who've flown ahead.

...for Light to show us the way.

...for nests in which to lay our heads.

...for feathers to keep us warm.

...for the One who holds each of us in the palm of His hand.

A gift from one sparrow to another... give this music as a special Mother's Day gift?  Click on the album cover on the sidebar to preview snatches on iTunes...

{If you prefer a physical CD, just click the "Buy Now" Paypal button on the sidebar, and my own loving mother will slip one in the mail to you...}

{Email readers, feel free to forward this post to a heart you think would love some gentle new music this Mother's Day - maybe your own mother, or someone else's, or a young mother who needs encouragement as she tends her own flock of little sparrows?}

setting up the pins...

Life with small children sometimes feels like weaving a braided rug.  I pick up a strand of one color - dishes, laundry, a cup of tea - only to have it interrupted by another color - the baby crying, a scraped knee, a knock at the door.  The days tumble out in no particular order, my best attempts to build a routine crumbling around my feet.  

My favorite song at the moment is by Sara Groves, from her album Fireflies and Songs.  It’s called “Setting Up the Pins”, and there’s a bit in the middle that goes like this:  

Everyone, everywhere, someway, somehow,

Settin’ up the pins for knockin’ ‘em down…

It can feel simple but it’s really profound…

Settin’ up the pins for knockin’ ‘em down…

Rent-a-tent, build-a-stage, throw-a-party, get-a-gown,

Buy-a-ticket, rent-a-car, pack-a-bag-and-leave-town.

Cook-a-dinner, clean-the-kitchen, hit-the-light,

Brush-your-teeth, read-a-book, say-a-prayer, good-night!

That’s what my days feel like… and I love Sara’s song because it ends like this: 

My grandmother had a working song

“Hum-diddle-oh” all day long

Sing for the beauty that’s to be found

Settin’ up the pins for knockin’ ‘em down

There is actually beauty to be found in setting up the pins every day, just to knock them down again.  There is Beauty to be found, and His name is Grace, and I can find Him just by opening my mouth, my heart, in thanks.  The minute I thank Him for the moment, the dirty diaper, the crying child, the potatoes boiling over on the stove, He’s right there with me.  

He was already there, I just didn’t have eyes to see.  

Thanks weaves the sacred with the mundane in a daily-unrolling tapestry of grace, where dirty diapers come right before softest snuggles, and crying children give way to laps full of stories.  Crusty dishes mean three growing bodies ate nutritious food, and piles of laundry mean healthy kids played in good clean dirt today.  

It’s all in how you look at it.  

Thank you, God, for...

...a breezy, blustery spring day.

...clothes drying on the line.

...a surprise visit from a friend.

...a clean bathroom sink.

...my sweet-smelling, soft-cheeked baby daughter.

...my blue-eyed, blond-haired dynamo three-year-old son.

...my thoughtful, studious, mischievous five-year-old son.  

...my hard-working, loving husband.

...Your love, unending.

...Your grace, that covers all.

...Your Presence, all the time.

The best moment of today?

Christ is Risen! {Multitudes on Monday: an Easter photo journal}

He is risen indeed!

for when the only way out is through {Multitudes on Monday}

{An honest glimpse of our reality from several weeks ago, still on the road…}

“The secret of happiness is not in doing what one likes, 

but in liking what one has to do.” 

~James M. Barrie (1860-1937), Scottish novelist and dramatist

I feel crazy. 

No, I feel dry and helpless.

Someone else has my baby, my boys are parked in front of the TV, I’ve just packed up our bags for the umpteenth time, and my heart feels so dry.  I felt like I just couldn’t do one more thing (pack lunches, pack dinners, do something creative with the boys) until I wrote down some of how I’m feeling.

I’m dying to be a good Mom.  I’m dying to not have “stress spikes” that make everyone else in my family miserable.  I’m dying to memorize Ann’s Romans passages, to start exercising again.  My heart feels thin and my tummy feels fat and flabby.  

When my heart runs dry, and there’s no song to sing…

No holy melody, no words of love within

I recall the height from which this fragile heart has slipped

And I remember You

I will turn back and do the things I used to do

For the love of You

Matt Redman

I feel like I have to put my life on hold, to live my life.  Like, in order to obediently complete the life God has asked me to live, I have to put all the things I long to do on hold.  I know in my heart that’s not really true, but today, as we contemplate getting on yet another plane, with 11 more days, and then an international journey, 2 more weeks of yet another country, and a grueling all-nighter to get back to our house - which will probably be filled with cobwebs and freezing cold… as I look at that, my heart sinks within me.  I quail.  I can’t do this!  I don’t want to live this day, this life!  How can this possibly be good for us?

What about the healthy rhythms?  How in the world do I maintain those, when my baby is still waking up 2-3 times every night, and I despair of going to sleep because I know I will not feel any more refreshed or rested in the morning.  I lie there with eyes open, aching, frustrated.  

I feel like I have to wait to start exercising again, memorizing Scripture, creating music, cooking creatively, until we get back to our “settled” life.  But that’s another whole month away, and we’ve already been 5 months in transition.  When I think those thoughts I feel like screaming. 

So what’s really going on here?  What’s pushing me?  Ann’s beautiful blog, maybe?  Ok, well, what do I see when I read her blog?  Health.  Contentment.  Peace.  Fulfillment.  Rest.  Intentionality.  Creativity.  Beauty.  All the things I long for and desire.  All the things I’m craving this morning, none of which I feel is true of me right now.  My socks don’t match my shirt.  My muffin-top tummy sticks out over my pants.  My hair is frizzy, boring, pulled half up, exactly the way it always is.  My face is unmade-up and blotchy with tear stains.  I’m sitting on the floor in the guest room with our borrowed bedding piled next to me, our borrowed bed behind me, the carpet still dented with the wheels of our suitcases.  

Sometimes this life just doesn’t make sense.

James read Psalm 30 to me this morning, and it was these words that sang to me:

2 O LORD my God, I cried to you for help,

and you have healed me.

3 O LORD, you have brought up my soul from Sheol;

you restored me to life from among those who go down to the pit.

4 Sing praises to the LORD, O you his saints,

and give thanks to his holy name.

5 For his anger is but for a moment,

and his favor is for a lifetime.

Weeping may tarry for the night,

but joy comes with the morning.

Psalm 30:2-5

Joy comes with the morning.  

I do not feel like that is true today.  I feel like despair came with this morning.  

But the reality is: It IS true.  Those words ARE true, whether I feel like they are or not.

Joy comes with the morning.  

If the punctuation of the last verse of Psalm 30 were slightly different, it would read like this: 

12 that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent, O LORD my God, 

I will give thanks to you forever!

In order that my glory may sing praise and not be silent (oh, how I feel like being silent!), I need to give thanks.

Thank You that my baby girl has almost doubled her birth weight in four months and is plump and happy, unlike the starving babies I read about this morning in Christianity Today.

Thank You that my boys are happy, healthy and learning how to be holy, despite all my weaknesses and failings.

Thank You that my husband paused to kiss me through my tears and whisper, “We’re doing this together… we need each other… I’ll help you and you help me.”  

And thank You for the words James gave back to me then, the same words I gave to him a few days ago when he was spiraling into frustration: 

“The only way out is through!”

Help me Lord, 

to give thanks and not be silent, 

that my soul might sing praise on every day, 

no matter where in the world I am 

or what lies in front of me to do.