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Sunday, September 22, 2013

Counting Down...Houses and Hearts



Three days and counting!  Soon I will be counting the hours!!  For what you ask?  Until we move into our house here in this new town!  We have been staying in a temporary rental for the last 2 and half months… complete with air mattresses, playpens,  and paper plates!  It’s not so much the living out of a suitcase for weeks that bothers me.  It’s more the being unable to really settle in… and well, I admit the little critters that seem to own this house bother me just a bit.  And maybe the dirty carpet does, too.

Ok, so true confessions of a “pocket perfectionist” (i.e. I have areas I am a perfectionist about but others I am completely disorganized!)…  I can’t stand grunge!  You know the kind when your children’s feet turn black from crawling across the carpet despite your cleaning efforts.  It has made me a wee bit crazy.  Just a tad.  Ok, I admit, I try to stay gone as much as possible, but when I am here, I am cleaning!!

And the air doesn’t work very well so you have to keep all the blinds shut to keep the place from overheating.   You have to keep the light out.   Dark and dirty is how it feels despite my cleanings.   So I run.  I try to stay busy.  Distracted.  I go to stores or to the park.  I want to be anywhere but in this place that I just can’t seem to make clean.

So I avoid the house.

And I avoid the heart.

When the pain or the gunk builds up inside sometimes it is easier to run.  Away.  So much easier than to deal with the darkness that creeps in over time.  Or the residue of pain that is layered about.  It is uncomfortable.  Uncertain.  Despite our best efforts, we just can’t make it all disappear.  So we run.  And we stay busy.  Secretly, purposefully distracted.

But eventually the busyness loses its appeal.  The frantic pace no longer charms.  And we can hear Him calling.  Calling us to come away.  To let Him into that house of the heart where only the light of His love will cleanse and only the healing that flows from Jehovah Rapha, the God who Heals,  can sweep away the wreckage left behind by mortal wounds.  Wounds that the enemy of our souls meant to destroy us, but that Jesus transforms into a display of His resurrection power. 

His Ruah, his breath fills us with Life.  And I need it.  Every day.  My house and my heart get dirty every day.  Why do I run?  Why the distractions?  I forget so quickly that His arms are holding me.  Even then.  When I am dirty.  Especially then.

And He waits so patiently.

Whispering to us to come.

To slow down.

To invite Him in with His cleansing light.

His breath of Life.

Today.

Not in three days.

No need to count the hours.

It is this hour that counts.
           





Sunday, September 1, 2013

Letting Go



(Written last Monday night…)

I admit to feeling a wee bit queasy.  I have been anticipating this day for almost three years.  Even before the twins were born I wanted to fast forward my life  to get back to the place where I had a little one in preschool again.   It’s not that I wanted to miss the sweet moments, but I did want to skip the painful barely breathing days and just be a normal mommy of a preschooler again.    There are no emotional microwaves though, and in our humanness we are locked into time.  I am certain that the last three years have been the slowest of my life.  And now that the big day is here, I can hardly believe it!

Tomorrow morning I will pack my little ones up and take them to their first day of school in the two year old class.  They cannot wait!  Just like their big sister.  Their teacher’s name is Mrs. Robin.  Just like their big sister (even though we are in a new town and at a new school)!  They have pink and yellow and orange plaid dresses.  Just like their big sister.  I found myself saying out loud today, that God willing, they will graduate from preschool.  Unlike their big sister. 

The healing goes deep.  But the scars go deeper still. 

I feel it in the moments of what if… like the night of open house when a yellow jacket hovered insistently around Abby (who is allergic) in the middle of her pre-k classroom.   It is almost as if he was there to mock me with his buzzing.  Can I really send her off to school with that epi-pen to play outside everyday and hope that God will keep her here with me?  Can I open my hand and let go?  Of control?

I feel it in the fog of morning when I am just between asleep and awake.  Like yesterday before I opened my eyes... I was in the car with Cameron and Makiah.  And then the accident happened.  And I pulled myself to consciousness and whispered desperately to God,  “That is my moment of horror.  I don’t want to live there, God.  I give it to you again.  Please take it today.” 

Even as I write these words there is a knowing on the inside.  That the Healer of my pain will not cease to work until I am home with Him.  Safely out of control and free from moments of horror or fear forever.  And I know that the scars will not always run deeper.  Because our pain has an end.  A cap.  But my healing and yours flows from a never ending source.  Pain can’t outrun Him.  Sorrow can’t outlast Him.  It cannot overwhelm Him.  Because when we have reached the end of ourselves, living waters will continue to spring up.  Bubbling in our soul and filling us with Life.  Life abundantly. 

So I breath it in deep.  And soak up the strength.  It is only there for one day.  At a time.  A grace for today.  In the morning it will be there for tomorrow… when I hold their hands and walk them into that school for the first time.  And when I let go of little fingers and of control and turn away with empty hands,  He will hold mine.  And theirs.  And if you let Him, He will hold yours, too.



"...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."  Philippians 1:6