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?}

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.

Sparrow - finally here!

It's finally finished... 

...just in time for Christmas! 

I am so excited to share these songs with all of you!  They come from my heart, and I hope they minister to yours.  

From the booklet of Sparrow: 

These songs have blossomed out of thoughts and realizations from years of living a cross-cultural, transient life.  

I’ve recorded a few songs in the past, but this is my first original album on this scale, and even just agreeing with God to start the process was a huge step of faith.  I recorded the whole thing when I was nine months pregnant with our daughter, Ruby Grace.  

The title track especially captures my relief at being able to tuck my most precious treasures - my children - under God’s wings and trust Him to be our home.  

My prayer as you listen is that God Himself will draw near and speak to your heart, and that His presence and peace will become tangibly yours.   

Some photos from the making of...

May you know His presence and peace this Christmas, kind friends!   

exercising the gratefulness muscle

Another Monday… and I’m struggling to be grateful.  This gratefulness thing is like a muscle in my heart: when I consistently give thanks, the habit gets stronger and stronger and joy flows steadily, even in inconvenience.  When I stop for a few days (or a few weeks), my heart-muscle degenerates quickly back into mushy complaining, and the world goes back to looking gray and dour.  

Maybe it’s because I’m so “all or nothing” - if I don’t write down a whole list in a day, I just don’t write down anything at all.  And I feel awful.  Bland.  Joyless.  Guilty.  Heavy.

How do I keep strengthening this gratitude-muscle?  What if I gave thanks for just three things a day?  What if I wrote down JUST ONE THING?

The cross of Christ.

My healthy, thriving children.

My faithful, loving husband.

A roof over our heads.

Aren’t these things true every single day?  And couldn’t remembering to give thanks for them spark joy every single time?

I write “Feb 20” at the top of a fresh page in my gratitude journal, and start new today: 

1199. New praise from Kari Jobe1200. Fresh sounds, inspiration1201. WATER RUNNING1202. Living Water1203. Chicken and dumplings1204. A little more energy1205. That even though I keep taking my eyes off of You, You shine out so gloriously that You call me back to You, and I come running

Deep down, under the tiredness and the water issues and the depressing, defeating state of affairs we’re currently walking through, I can feel the joy-trickle start.  

He never changes.  

He is always the same.  

He is always Joy Himself, Joy-filled, and able to Fill with Joy.  

*****

What do you do to exercise your gratitude muscle when you just don’t feel thankful?

for when you're feeling a bit blue

I’ve been a little blue the past few days.  My parents were here for a 9-day visit, and now, they’re gone.  Richness, fellowship, encouragement, laughter, presents, presence… all were ours for 9 special days, and now the gaping emptiness leaves me feeling rather forlorn.

And then I hear it, piping happily through the children’s songs I turned on this morning (ostensibly to cheer up my boys, but really because I feel so much like a child myself today):

“Give thanks (clap clap) to the Lord, 

Give thanks (clap clap) to the Lord, 

For He loves you,

He loves me too,

Give thanks to the Lord our God (clap clap)!”

(Wee Sing More Bible Songs)

And then I remember: how to get out of the blues, how to float up to normal, how even to find the bubble of joy in my heart:  Give thanks.  

So here’s my list for today:

• Happy perky children’s songs about loving Jesus
• Two boys who are happier today than yesterday, playing quietly while I write this (a miracle!)
• The promise of a house helper coming this morning to help me can spaghetti sauce (after not being able to find a helper for the last month or so)
• A husband who loves me and makes great coffee
• Two incredible parents who love me and love Jesus even more
• Their amazing church who gifted them the tickets to come for a visit 
• The first chance I’ve had, ever, to host my own parents in my own home
• My dad’s raving over my fresh breadsticks :)  
• The sweet savor of their visit, and the sweet aroma left behind by their love
• The way my house is more beautiful for their presence (stenciled verses in my hall, a new carpet, cherries in my kitchen)
• The way our tummies were filled and our hearts were too
• Their attention and entrance into our boys’ two different worlds
• Their commitment to relationship
• Their wisdom and understanding, and ability to listen and ask good questions
• Their example
• The way they taught me to be self-aware and analyze my actions until I find the roots of my own sin, so I can bring it to Jesus and let Him deal with it
• How patient they were during all their jetlag and viruses
• How affirming of all we’re trying to do
• Their flexibility and open hands around all expectations and desires
• Their smilies, hugs, interest, zest for life, and sheer delight in us and all that surrounds us
• The pleasure and privilege of having godly parents
• The incredible surprising blessing of having them here, in person

William’s list (unedited):

For Gramma and Grampa giving me new presents

For Grampa Tim & Gramma Ros playing with me

That you played with me (you, -point point- at me)

That Ben was playing with me

That I could go in your bedroom and drink hot chocolate yesterday after nap

This yummy apple I’m eating

Ben’s list (also unedited):

GrampaTim

GrampTim

GrawRos

New helicop-pa-ter

GrawRos

Gram-pa-Tim

Um… GrampaTim

Um… ABCDEFG

*****

Before the “Give Thanks” song on the CD, there was a child’s voice reciting sweetly:

“Give thanks to the Lord for He is good, His love endures forever, Psalm 139 verse 1.”  

And I think, Yes, You are good, Lord.  And this love of Yours, that endures forever?  One day we will all share it in unbroken fellowship You together, with no separation, forever.  

Balm for my aching heart. 

of rainbows and glory

Last night after dinner, the sun came out while the sky was still black and misty.  I whispered to Will conspiratorially, “Let’s look for rainbows!”  And when we opened the front door, there it was:

We called everybody to come look, took pictures, gazed on glory, filled our souls. 

As I was explaining how rainbows can only exist when there is rain and sun at the same time, I thought about holy moments, and how finding thankfulness through the rain of the everyday chaos miraculously produces a rainbow of joy in my heart.  Christ in me, the hope of glory.  

When I opened the front door again a few minutes after taking those photos, the glory had faded, veiled in cloud.  Ephemeral.  Like all we have, all we are.  Just grasses, here today-- tomorrow withered and faded.  

This morning Will woke up, came in to the kitchen, and said, “Is the rainbow still there?” 

And of course, yesterday's glory was yesterday's.  Today the slate is clean for finding new glory...

This is what it means to live as sojourners: finding glory in each new moment, always moving yet always at home, always grieving yet always at peace, always sorrowful yet always rejoicing.  

Living always with the hope of glory.  

And these shining words: “Christ in you, the hope of glory” resounding in my soul, last week, this week (continuing on with Colossians in a Year: 2 Verses a Week)… this hope resounding, remaining.

My dad loves to say, “Life is hard, and then you die!”  

My adaptation: “Life is sometimes mud puddles, but if you look there are glimpses of glory, to make you long for heaven... and then you die and are enveloped in Christ and His glory for always!”  

 

“...Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

Colossians 1:27