Rest - The Innkeeper's Song

 Lately I've felt really worn out and tired. I had several big responsibilities stacked up on my plate all at the same time, and I just never felt like I recovered before Christmas hit. I've just been tired. Physically and emotionally, more than ever before. I haven't taken time to feed my soul, and my body has been sore and I've been running around trying to get everything done.

I was headed to my small group on Tuesday night and I put in a new CD from my husband. Jason Gray's Christmas Album. I really liked the first song, a call to join in Christmas. "Christmas is coming, will you be there?" I felt like i wasn't there. It was two days before Christmas and I just felt empty and blank inside. Earlier that day the shelf on my hutch had broken and all of my crystal and beautiful glass had fallen to the ground and smashed into thousands of pieces. Shattered. And it was about all I could take.

The next song on the CD was "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem". I'd just been thinking about that song, about how simple and quiet it is, and how it points out "How silently, how silently the wonderous gift is given." And I just wanted to stop and really think about it, about the gift of God and Christmas and the wonder I was missing.

The first song had a line that said "I don't want you to miss it/I know I have before/like the innkeeper who missed the wonder just outside his door". And I thought about how I've been missing it. It's been a great holiday, and lots of special memories with the kids have come from it, and lots of family time and really nice things. But I've been so tired, and when you're tired you don't feel things the same way you should.

The third song on the album was called "Rest, The Innkeeper's Song". I was driving up first ave when it came on, waiting in the mall traffic and trying to find a parking spot. And as it played, the poignient words hit me in the heart and I just cried. So I'm sharing it with you, even though it's too late now to think about it for Christmas. It matters every day. And I feel this way so often. So worried about getting rest and filling my needs, that I miss those moments with Jesus, those moments when God wants to show me something miraculous or teach me something new. Or just share his love.

 

I'm thankful that He answered my prayer for having rest, and that He still shows himself to me in the midst of my selfishness. Over and over.

 

 

 Rest- The Innkeeper's Song By Jason Gray

 

I found them standing in my door
In the clumsy silence of the poor
I've got no time for precious things
But at least they won't be wandering
If they're sleeping on my stable floor

There were no rooms to rent tonight
The only empty bed is mine
‘Cause I’m overbooked and overrun
With so many things that must be done
Until I’m numb and running blind

I need rest, I need rest
Lost inside a forest of a million trees
Trying to find my way back to me
I need rest

As a boy I heard the old men sing
About a Kingdom and a coming King
But keeping books and changing beds
Put a different song inside my head
And the melody is deafening

I need rest, I need rest
Like a drowning man in the open sea
I need somebody to rescue me
I need rest

To Rome we’re only names and numbers
Not souls in search of signs and wonders
But we're waiting for the day of our salvation
The messiah who will be our liberation
We’re waiting, I’m waiting

I need rest, I need rest
Oh come oh come Emmanuel
With a sword deliver Israel
I need rest

Tonight I can’t get any sleep
With those shepherds shouting in the streets
A star is shining much too bright
Somewhere I hear a baby cry
And all I want is a little peace

Christmas Reading List

I decided to take a break from facebook and its incessant time-sucking and distractions for Christmas this year. To enjoy my family and clear my mind for thinking about Christ and Christmas.
It's going to be  a low-key Christmas without a lot of relatives around, so I'm planning to have lots of down time. (We'll see how that goes). Which means I will have time to catch up on some reading. Here's my plan for things to read:

Walden - I haven't read it since high school and then it was with a begrudging heart, so I want to read it again and see what I can enjoy from it this time around. I'll probably throw in some other transcendentalist poetry while I'm at it.

Secrets at Sea by Richard Peck. So far everything Richard Peck I've read has been really good. Daniel gave me this book for Christmas last year and I haven't gotten around to reading it Mostly because it's about mice.

Ephesians - Well, not really read. BUt finish memorizing chapter 2. Because it only took a year to memorize the first 19 verses. I want to finish it before new year.

Isaac Asimov's Robot collection. Another Christmas present I haven't read yet. It's time.

Journals of Lewis and Clark - I'll just be happy if I finish a few chapters in that one.

So what about you? Any good reads coming up? Want to join me with a facebook fast over Christmas?

Infant Loss Awareness Month

so yesterday was the Infant Loss Rememberance Day. This whole month is infant and pregnancy loss awareness month. Which I have mixed feelings about. In some ways it just rubs salt in an open wound, but I guess there's some healing that goes with it too.
Today someone posted this beautiful article about infant loss. It's called The Other Quiet Mom, and it's about how the grief never totally goes away When you're a mom and probably just a woman in general, you get stuck in these conversations about having babies and kids. You listen, you participate. And, sometimes, when you're a mom who's lost a baby or a child, you just check out. Because something someone said caused your mind to wander off to the worst day of your life, and you just need a minute to breathe, to let yourself grieve, and of course the middle of a casual conversation isn't really the place to do that.
If you ever wonder how I feel about that baby, read this article. Because that's what it's like. Most of the time it's OK, but sometimes, while you're telling your pregnancy stories, I'm just thinking about her and wishing she were here.
The worst part for me is when people start actually talking about infant loss. People who don't know my story. And they blab and say things that no one should say at all, let alone to someone who's actually lost a baby. Those conversations are ones where I sort of wish I had a knife to stab people with. I once got stuck in the hot tub at a hotel with someone like that. It's kind of a funny story, but it actually isn't. She was "just wondering" if Michelle Duggar actually felt sad about losing her baby. (That had just happened, and Michelle was speaking at the conference we were all attending). She didn't think someone with 19 other kids would be as upset as someone who'd lost their first pregnancy.
Fortunately I had a friend with me. I miiiiight not have been so gracious if I hadn't. Part of me gets so pissed I want to scream, and part of me gets so sad I just want to shut down and hide. So you can imagine. Anyway, I assured that girl that it didn't matter how many kids you had, losing a baby is always painful and you always miss that baby.
It's weird. You just don't know what to say in those scenarios. I didn't tell that loud-mouthed girl my story. I didn't want to entrust that to her, although it probably would have shut her up. The story of your lost baby is a sacred one, and a person can't just spout off sacred things to just anyone. But sometimes, you feel like you should say something.
There's a kind of loyalty, like you have to tell people or else that little baby will slip into the nothingness of unnamed children. But you also know that, in telling people, you risk changing the dynamics of the relationships. Conversations have sort of a jive to them, and saying the name Grace to friends who know me sort of breaks up that jive. People are used to it, I think. I don't know if they mind, but I also sense a sort of hesitation to return to the subject of babies after her name is uttered.
Then there are people who are just OK with saying it. And that's some kind of glorious relief in just knowing it's OK with that friend if it comes up. Three examples:
1) When I first lost the baby, my friends came over and immediately one just asked, "Hey, do you want to talk about it, or do you not want to talk about it?" Let's just get it out in the open. That's a great thing to say to someone, by the way.
2) My husband's brothers are also really sweet about Grace. One of the youngest ones told me that he still counts Grace when he tells other people how many grandkids there are in the family. I didn't really know how to respond when he told me that, but thinking about it now makes me tear up, so it must have meant more than I thought. The more time that passes, the more things like that mean to me. I just don't want her to be forgotten.
3) At gymnastics once there was a gal I knew from church-ish things that I small-talked with every week. She was bulging pregnant ready to pop, and we were talking about it. She mentioned being high-risk and so I told her I was too. Then I , for some reason, told her about why I was high risk. And she nodded her head. "I had the same exact thing." She had the same experience I did. Same diagnosis. And same symptoms of future pregnancies. It was great. Because for once, it didn't make things a little awkward. It just made us better friends.

So, all that to help you understand how the long grief goes. There's the intense short-term grief of the first weeks, months. Then the year-long one, where you think of every little thing that should have happened. And then, as years pass, it becomes more like wishful thoughts, coming in waves. Some waves are bigger than others. And once in a while, I still almost drown in one and completely break down.
But I want you to know. I don't mind talking about my little girl that is in heaven. And I don't mind crying sometimes about missing her. The only reason I hesitate is so that you don't feel awkward.

Tell Me We'll Be Friends Forever

I had a friend in high school who, from the first day we met, I knew would always be my friend. We had so much in common, we liked the same things, we hung out all the time, and we really were best friends. The weeks went by and we just got closer. The years passed together, and we spent time at each others' houses, after school, in class. I always called her my best friend, even though we both had other "best friends" we probably had invested more in. I never even wondered if we'd lose touch (and that was before facebook), if we'd fight and never make up, if we'd stop caring about each others' lives.
Really I never used to wonder that about any of my friends. Partly because I'm sort of dumb when it comes to planning ahead. Partly because, despite my cynism about how the world works, I'm maybe a little idealistic about good friendships. And partly because, at that time, I had two very close friends I'd known most of my life who I was still friends with. I don't know, maybe it's normal to just expect every relationship to go on forever.
But reality is that most relationships really don't. At least for me they don't. And I know for a fact that I'm REALLY blessed in this area. Like ridiculously blessed. With those two aforementioned friends who are still my friends, my wonderful loyal husband, and a really great family, I just don't need to complain.
BUt I will anylize. Because that's what I do.
What happens to those forever friends who disappear from our lives? My friends from high school are mostly not my friends anymore. Most of them I don't actually even know what happened to them. At the time I thought they were close friends. One of them, I'll call her Ann, would sit and talk with me for hours about deep (for high school) meaningful things. We were like Dr. House and Wilson, always over analyzing each others' lives and concluding why they were the way they were. We gave advice, we told each other secrets. I liked her a lot, but I think, looking back, she might have been a frienemy. Either that or insanely jealous, emotionally unstable, and unable to cope with marriage... That's a whole other story.
Anyway, I had these friends. Lots of them. Some of them were sort of shallow, some weren't. Some were pretty great and (I thought) deep, with good roots. And now, as I look back at each one of them, the things that put us together aren't really common or useful or present in our lives anymore. One girl I went to church and school with (there were like three of them), we hung out all the time and did stuff. Her boyfriend was my brother's BFF... and it turned out, that was a big reason we were friends. So when she broke up with him after college, she sort of broke up with me too.
So I guess this happening over and over, the natural cycle of friendships, has made me think that none of my friends will be my friends forever. Yet I still imagine us growing old together. I still picture our kids as teenagers, friends. I still think it will happen even though the chances of all of the friends I have still being around are pretty slim. So why do I keep hoping? Because otherwise I probably wouldn't keep trying to be friends with anyone.
If I'd known the friends I had in high school were all going to take different turns in life and leave and stop talking to me, or just disappear... I probably wouldn't have wanted to keep them as friends. But they might not have chosen me, either, if they'd known how it would turn out.
Each person we meet changes us in some way, opens our eyes to a new world, to a perspective we hadn't heard. Each person has inherent value, and each person is worth getting to know. While we may or may not know them well, I guess you don't know how good of a friend they'll be until you put the energy in to get to know them.
I have a theory about heart-to-heart friends, that we really only make them when we're young, and once we hit 25, we stop really inviting people in to the intimate places of our hearts. I don't know if it's true, but it seems to me that most people are either happy with the friends they already made when they were younger, (or maybe their spouse), or they're happy with being shallow and not having any close friends. Or maybe no one's actually happy with their relationships. I guess that's also a possibility. I met most of my closest friends before I was 25. Not that I don't want to meet more, but some how it just gets harder, I guess.

So the friend from high school who I thought would be my friend forever? She kind of still is my friend. Or rather, my friend again. We had a little 12-year hiatus. So it's not the same as it was, because our interaction is all on facebook. We lived a lot of our lives between communication. We experienced the bulk of adulthood without each other. So we don't have the shared experiences a lot of friends do. But I sort of feel like, if we ever did meet up face to face, we'd maybe just sort of pick up where we left off and move forward, deeper, knowing each other better now, knowing how the world works better. Because there is something about true friends of the heart, something that makes you able to forgive their unintentional wounds, something that just wants to believe the best about them, something that connects you even when you've pulled away. Memories maybe? Or maybe we all really want to be known and we're just afraid and messed up and do the best we can with what we have. And sometimes that ends up being called friendship.

Lonely Highway

Do you remember what it was like
back when you were by yourself
and you'd skip town some Sunday afternoon
In the spring you'd lave your windows down
and fly past your troubles
heading toward the new moon?
You'd sit there with the radio
and stare up at the stars
Just you and your steel cacoon
and all the thoughts of life and love
could pour out on the page before you
and it seems so long ago
and those days seem so carefree --lost
somewhere in these days' monotony
But sometimes you still get the chance
to kick off your shoes and go for a drive
Sunday night on the lonely highway
You find in the darkness you still can dance
and you see for yourself all the answers
to all the questions you used to ask
and you can't believe you survived those lonely days
It's good to be alive.

What's Born from Brokenness

I probably write about Rich Mullins too often, but I think that people who encounter him relate and are changed, even years after he's died. Recently they released a movie about his life called Ragamuffin. If you haven't seen it, please do. It's really good. It's not really about his music or really even about his life. It's not made for Christians. And it isn't like a Christian movie. It's a movie about God's "reckless raging fury" of love and someone who was caught up in it, even as he fought against it.
And that's where so many of us are. We don't even realize how much we're loved, how much junk we're clinging to, and what we could be if we knew just how big and wide and fierce that love is.
Today is the anniversary of his death, so of course I got to thinking. Not long after my grandma died, I had a very vivid dream, and I woke up wishing it hadn't ended.
We were all sitting around in her living room (I don't know why so many of my dreams are at her house), and there was just this hushed peace over all of us. And Rich Mullins was sitting there with me and my cousins and friends, just lounging on the couch, playing music. He sang a few songs, only one of which I recognized or remember now. And I still think about that dream, and the longing it put in me to be in heaven, in the safest and best place that exists, singing songs with people in perfect unity and peace.
But I think on earth, in our lesser world, the best things are really born from suffering. All of the songs that help heal our broken hearts are written by someone who related. All of the words spoken in our worst pain that build us back up come from a place of truth, found from hard searching. We can cling to Jesus because of his suffering on our behalf. And that's why Rich Mullins meant so much to so many people. We felt like maybe, for once, we weren't the only one who felt the lonliness and darkness. And we felt like maybe there was hope in the savior he talked about. Because only someone who understood our pain could really share an answer that mattered.
So now, seventeen years after his songs stopped being written, I still cling to some of those answers that came out. I still sing the words on those dark lonely nights. I still search out that reckless "raging fury that they call the love of God". I long for home. And I strive to be God's.


                               -------------------------------------------------------------

Maybe heaven will be something like this
All of us together in Grandma's living room
listening to Rich playing guitar
and Debby and Daniel will join in
--some kind of meeting of the hearts
and we'll be praising the God
  who we finally get to see
with no veils and no sin in between
Everyone there will be allowed to just be
no more striving
no more shouting
no need to give up and start again
made new
Made perfect in the Truth and the light
thinking back on our candlelight
days in the park
and seeing how God's love went and made it all right.

My friend, Christy Miller

When I was a kid, like 4th through 8th grade, I read about every Christian YA series available at the local library. I was at that age when you can read and absorb information at ridiculously fast speeds, and I didn't have a social life. The combination yielded copious reading time. Hundreds and hundreds of books. Maybe even a thousand.
There were countless ones I loved, and if you wanted I would give you a list of them. But, among my favorite were books by Bill Myers. Then, as I got older, I discovered these girly-ish books by Robin Gunn called The Christy Miller Series. I think maybe my BFF bethany told me about them, but however I ran across them, I was in love with the first book. Probably because it involved Hawaii and I've always had this thing about surfing and Hawaii. Don't ask.
Anyway, I read all of those books and I read them again. As an adult, I purchased them and read them again. Why? They're actually kind of cheesy. Christy's world is kind of idealistic, a little picture perfect, even though she faces real-life problems that are realistic. But there's just something special about those books. You feel like you know Christy, like she's your friend.
Really, she was a lot like my real best friend Bethany. And I'm a lot like Christy's fictional best friend, Katie. So maybe that was partly why I loved them.
The thing I really loved as a love-sick pre-teen, was the romance part of the books. It wasn't really over the top. It wasn't even totally the focus of the stories. But there's this guy. Todd. OK, so he's pretty much everyone's perfect dream of a guy. Unrealistically. But there's something endaring about both of them and the way their friendship develops into love. It takes its time. It's focused on friendship. Even though Christy's full of dreams and hopes, she and Todd are careful and patient, and refreshingly un-dramatic about their feelings. You have to read it to understand. It's kind of Anne Shirley/Gilbert Blythe like.
I recently picked up the compilation series of the books and last night I treated myself to one of them. Todd's away on a surfing competition and no one's heard from him for a long time, so Christy sends him a little card with the Bible verse Philippians 1:5-7 in it. The "confident that he who began a good work in you is faithful to complete it... I pray for you... I hold you in my heart." Then, six weeks later, Christy finally gets a response. On a coconut, mailed from Hawaii. Todd wrote Phil 1:9 on it and said, "I hold you in my heart too".
How's that for romance? Pretty great.
Anyway, the point of all that is just to say how influential those books were in my life. I wanted what Todd and Christy had because I could see it meant more than all of the other quick dating relationships going on around me (And Christy tries those too, of course). Some how, when you read all of them, you see the the way Christy is guarding her heart for her future husband. She writes letters to him and keeps them in a little box and then she prays about him even though she doesn't know who he is. It doesn't sound as good when I write it out, but it's cool in the book.

And it changed me. I'm thankful for Christy Miller because she introduced me to the idea of friendationship (a phrase coined by my youth pastor later). And because of Christy Miller I didn't want to spend time investing in the wrong people. Because of Todd, I felt like I could hold out for a great guy.
Reading in general made me want to be a writer. But reading these books by Robin Jones Gunn made me realize that fictional stories can have transcendent meaning. That you can learn just as much from characters as you can from real people. And I for one am thankful that I learned from Christy's mistakes rather than making them myself. ;) (And, for the record, my husband is WAY better than Todd. He was in high school and he still is. Except he doesn't surf. Although he would be able to if we lived anywhere near an ocean because he's one of those people who can do anything he tries. Tangent over.)
Eventually Robin Jones Gunn wrote "Christy and Todd, the college years" and finished off the three-book series with their wedding. Now, the best news I've heard in a long time, she's written and is writing the newest installment: Christy and Todd, the married years. I can't wait to read them!
Also I can't wait to have my kids read the Christy Miller series as they get older. Now it might be a little outdated... the original ones I read had tapes, VHS, roller skating, and jean skirts. But hey, truth is truth. And Christy is timeless.

The Darkness

It used to frighten me to drive home from my boyfriend's house on the dark nights. He lived about five miles away from any sort of civilization. Getting home required four miles of gravel roads, passing three farms and a graveyard, along with these two creepy lights shining from the gates of this house that was tucked away where you couldn't see. I don't know why those lights always bugged me, sitting there on the road like eyes in the darkness, waiting for me to pass. They never moved but it felt like they did. It felt like they followed me.
I wasn't the kind of person who thought about the dark much back then. But driving in it had this horrific effect. Now I live on the same road my boyfriend (who I married) grew up on, one house down, one house further away from the darkness.
And when we first moved, a sense of dread would come over me every time I had to crawl that car over the hills at night, through the cornfields with the animals and combines lurking somewhere across the vast unknown.
That's what unnerving about the darkness. It's the unknown. There are things you could see in the daylight that disappear into the shadows after the sun sets, and suddenly you're left guessing about everyday things.

I used to be afraid of the unknown things, too. I used to turn over carpets and open closet doors and shake out old suitcases trying to get answers to what had been hidden. I used to think there had to be answers to everything. And I used to die inside a little bit every time I realized again that sometimes there aren't answers. Sometimes you can't see what's ahead, and sometimes you just have to walk that way anyway.
So faith comes out in there, somewhere, I guess. And maybe that's all that's changed. Now that I'm 32 I don't fear the unknown as much. I just pull it in and embrace it. Yes, it's unsettling. And it's a fearsome thing to understand that darkness is a necessary part of every single life.
But so many things happen in the darkness that actually become spun and woven into beautiful things. Like chickens laying eggs, the world being set into motion, the seeds growing underground. The owl's lonely hoot, the crickets' song, the fireflies winking. The womb. Darkness all around, yet something being created. Something unknown, something unseen. Something wonderful.
I guess getting older has made me see all the things I fear don't always become what I feared they would. And I guess it's helped me see that God--who works in unspoken nights, who never sleeps, who knows all and sees all--does not want me to fear, but to trust.
So now I find there's this kind of wonder in driving in the dark. I head out of the city, away from the glare, and over my shoulder I see all of the things I knew behind me in the dim rear-view mirror. And ahead, the stillness of night. The fireflies, the owls, the beauty of quiet. And me, open heart, trusting the God who works His best in the dark.

Pray

If you know me, you know I'm not someone to jump onto bandwagons. You also know I don't really like reading the news. But last week the news became unavoidable. And I stopped being able to ignore the bigger problems with the world. With what's happening in Iraq and Ukraine, I have a sense that the world is on the cuff of a huge change. I can't really explain the feeling. I've never before wished that I knew more about end times prophesies, but I find myself wondering, trying to recollect vague memories of teachings I've heard about the kingdoms.
Anyway, facebook filled up with news about Iraq and I felt a big burden to do something. I knew my only recourse was prayer or giving money, and without knowing who to give money to or what to do, I turned to praying. I can't even explain how this was different than other things I've prayed for. I feel as if the whole world is relying on us to push back the evil, and we aren't doing our jobs because we're comfy here in our USA wealth and peace and we don't want to think about discomfort. I know that the balance of the kingdoms don't lie in our feeble prayers, but I also know that people who want God's kingdom to come don't sit in their couches, read a news article, and then go back to playing video games or watching the Big Bang Theory.
I know this requires prayers, fervrant, serious prayers. And what I've done so far has been so small. There really isn't much to do, except ask others to join me. We cannot stop praying for God's people who are suffering. We cannot stop praying for His peace to reign.
So I asked others to join me for a day of prayer and fasting (if they wanted to fast). I was surprised how fast my facebook event caught on. It spread and lots of people "attended", praying together with me. I think it was good. I hope it was.
I confess I didn't make my full twenty-four hour fast like I thought I would. I wasn't even feeling that hungry, but I was getting a serious headache, and I knew that I wouldn't have a chance to pray after seven because I'd be in a meeting, so I decided to eat three hours early. It was so easy to convince myself that was OK. And it was, but it makes me sad that I'm not a little bit more resolved about some things.
So here's one prayer I wrote for Iraq. Maybe it will inspire you to join me this week to continue to pray for peace.

Lord

There are so many things happening in the world right now, so many forces at work. So many evil men claiming power, oppressing the weak, killing others. I admit it is overwhelming and I sense my own limitations in every news story and every thought I have. I don’t know how to pray so often I just don’t. I feel helpless and useless and I listen to a lie that I’m insignificant.

I don’t know how it works. I don’t know that a soverign, unapproachable God who dwells outside of time and space, changes his course of action because of prayer. I don’t know that it does anything. But I do believe that you told me to ask you, so I ask. I believe that you promised where two or three were gathered in your name, you would be there with them. I believe that you are powerful and good and strong. I believe that you work things together for your good. And I believe that you are trustworthy. So I lay my heart before you.

I confess my disinterest as sin. I confess that I prefer to ignore the news and move through my day, living in comfort and peace that is a blessing from you. I choose to not pray or I pray half-heartedly. Lord, change my heart. Change me to care about the things you care about. Give me faith to believe that my prayers do make a difference, that they are worthy. And Lord, I ask you to hear my prayers. I acknowledge you’re sovereign, and that you hold all things in your hands.

So Father, I want to ask you today to be with those who are suffering because of their faith in you. They are numerous—countless. They are faceless to me, but Lord I know they exist and to you they are each so valuable. I know that they rely on the prayers of faithful believers who are dwelling in safety and peace. And I don’t often even care. But today I just need to ask that you’ll forgive my indifference, and hera my pleas. Save these children. Save your people from the hand of death and destruction. Give them your peace—the peace that comes from you and not from the world. Provide their needs, and speak your Word into their hearts. May they find unity with each other and solidarity as they suffer. May they demonstrate your love to their accusers and, through their actions, shine your light in the darkest of places. Father, renew their strength. Give them your power to speak your truth. Allow them to act in love in the face of oppression, giving to others as you have given to them.

I ask that you bring your peace to this land, stricken with war and darkness. Cover your people there. Cause those who don’t know you to cry out to you, the One True King. And bring your salvation to the middle east.

Amen.

The Pizza

In my family there's an epic story that gets told and retold almost every time we're together.
The truth is, it's a dumb story. But my younger brother can't stop telling it. He likes to remind us about it, and bring it up whenever there's occasion. Now we bring it up as a joke on him, but we're still telling the stupid story.
It was one of those nights when mom was gone or sick; can't remember. she wasn't there so we were having freezer pizzas, which we hardly ever did. One of them happened to be particularily nasty-looking with bally sausage clumped in the middle and melted between some sparse cheese. The other one was OK, so we ate all of that. Then, because we were still hungry, my dad took the gross sausage culprit and went to the bathroom with a knife. His words were, "I'll scrape this poop off into the toilet where it belongs."
Being eight, six and four, it was hilarious.
And ever since then, no one has forgotten.
Every family has one of those storytellers. The ones that remember the details no one else cares about. The one who brings up the embarrassing moments at the most awkward times, like when your first boyfriend is over, or at a meet-the-parents kind of thing.
The truth is, we would have forogtten about that pizza twenty years ago if it hadn't been for David, always telling it to us. The phrase he uses is, "Remember that pizza?"
We used to all giggle. Then we'd ask what about it. Then we'd laugh again. Then we'd have to tell it to whatever company we were in. Now we all just kind of roll our eyes or resign with a little smirk. It's funny, but it's not the story itself that's funny anymore. It's the remembering.
So tonight, while my girls were eating and one of them said, "Remember that..." I realized they're the right ages. They'll have some night with Dad that they always remember. They'll have TV shows they watched and talk about, movies they quote, songs they sing. The rite of siblinghood, I guess.
The thing about the Pizza, though, is that the whole thing happened in only five minutes. And it was such a regular day. So mundane, really. Dad making freezer pizzas. Americans do that every day all over, and most of them don't go back and remember that "one time".
But I want my kids to have those "one times". I think they will remember stupid things, silly things that we do. And I think that they'll end up with their own pizza story. That's how it works as generations grow. we share our memories and stories with each other. I hope that we aren't all too absorbed in media and phones to have moments like that, forgotten and thrown away. I hope that my kids get to laugh hard together for thirty years about something stupid. Though hopefully it's not about pizza with dog poop on it.

The Flight of the Robin

Robin and I met because we were in science class at the same lab table. We became friends because we had the same birthday. And we had one of those epic friendships. Where you do all kinds of stuff together and you talk about whatever’s on your mind without filtering it, and you just exist as yourself, comfortable, because weird was status quo between us. Seriously, I think I knew she was best friend material when I noticed that she wore a bracelet made out of a melted toothbrush. That's how awesome she was.

We were both fringe people, I think. I think that ended up being what made us better friends than the rest of our groups. There were two groups of people we hung out with together. One were the church kids. They all went to church together. Except me and Robin didn’t. I went to another church and she didn’t go to church. The other group were the smart kids. They’d all gone to elementary and middle school together. Robin and I had come from separate schools, but separate from theirs too. So they had some kind of camaraderie that we weren’t part of.

We all got along fine, but I think that both of us always felt like we didn’t truly belong. So we sort of had our own thing going even though we ran in the same circles. We were with the brilliant kids who got great grades, but our grades didn’t make us salutatorians (well, maybe she was. I don't remmeber now). We were both in the music ensembles, but we didn’t live and breathe it like some people did. We weren’t first chair material. We were both religious people who knew God, but we weren’t part of the pastor’s kids inner circle that understood things that we didn’t. So being different made us the same.

I was clueless and it took me a long time to realize that she and I were more different from each other than I thought, too. We were so similar. We liked so many of the same things. And we thought the same way. And I always knew there was a sadness that followed her around but I didn’t really put it all into place until later. I always felt like there was something I didn’t know about her, but I didn’t realize that her hiding was a way of protecting herself.

We spent four years together in high school, but after I got married I felt a rift developing. Too clueless to see that she’d sort of shut me off, I pursued our friendship thinking it was me. I know it partly was, but I guess part of it was her too. And I wish I’d known what to do then. But it seemed like I’d lost her. After a year or so I stopped trying. I missed her horribly, but I sort of figured things had just ended and there wasn’t much to do to change it.

I’ve written about her before on here. I just never wanted our friendship to end. I’d pray for her sometimes. I’d think of her often, and I kept most of the things I had that reminded me of her. Batman and Robins, pictures, stupid notes we’d written, moose slippers. They hurt to see but I didn’t want to forget her either. So I just kept her in my heart.

I’d just prayed for her a few months ago, and just sort of decided to let it all go, when out of the blue I got a message on facebook from her. What a surprise. What an answer to prayer. I thought I’d lost her forever, but that's not true anymore. I know this, because she sent me a picture on facebook of a Batman and Robin monster keychain… and I think that just sealed the deal. Things are different, but in a lot of ways the same. And I’m overjoyed to be sharing life again with her. The moral of the story is, if you don’t want to give up on someone, and even if you do want to, just don’t.

The Broken Songs We Sing

This week has been a helluva. It just seems to get worse for people around me, and it just... feels like the darkness is getting a little too close. The last two weeks have been so full. Good and bad, mixed together, but f course the bad comes out stronger, uglier and seemingly triumphant. I'm really tired of bad news.
It's not just that two things got stolen from me. Because I know they weren't that big of a deal. It's just more and more bad news. People are dying a lot in the local news. I had to report my stolen kindle to the police today which made me so sad. But it's not even a big deal because there are some people I know whose lives aren't ever going to be the same this week.
And sometimes there just isn't much to say while we stand around in the aftermath, the ripples of the troubles floating out around us. Sometimes ther'es not much to do when brokenness encroaches when we realize again how hard this life is, when reality hits too close to home.
We stand there, hands in pockets, staring into space, thinking maybe there are answers out there, maybe if we think harder or prayer harder or just cry a little more, some how it will patch itself back together and then, maybe, maybe things won't seem quite so black. Maybe it's just a little blip on the radar in the scheme of it all. But that doesn't make it any less dark.
And maybe we'll never be the same.
What's there to do for that friend whose life just isn't going right? For my relative who's marrying her girlfriend and whose family emits the hatred vibe toward her? Whose husband lost his job? For the little girl who grew up among us at church and is now going to bury her husband of five weeks? For that family of fifteen kids whose mom won't ever kiss them goodnight again?
Anger and rage surround the questions that burn in my chest, and they mostly just come out in tears or in painful questions I can't answer. Sometimes I wonder why I believe in anything. Sometimes I question if what I do believe is really just some well-crafted lie that people made up to make themselves feel better. And just when I get to that point, I step back and remember.
Love gets the final word.
It isn't really a consolation when you're in the middle of the pain. It doesn't really change how crappy it all is. But it opens up a door that lets a little light in. Jesus gets the final say. And he's going to wipe tears from our eyes and tell us it's all all right.
He's going to build a new kingdom of perfection where sorrow dies, where lies are not believed, where love and light dwell eternally.
And even while we wait, He's good. His promises are true, no matter how we feel. I wouldn't have been able to say that seven years ago. Maybe not even five years ago. But the song that grief sings is temporary. And when joy seeps back in, you look over your shoulder and find those dark days were covered in something inexplicable, something mysterious and untouchable, and yet so reachable, so personal. Something that heard all of those lonely cries in the night, something that worked behind the scenes, moving people to do the right things, patching the broken pieces of your heart into something new and beautiful. Something that spoke to you at the point when you were ready to give up and let go. Love. And there, in that place where grief drops off and love takes over, we find fortitude and Strength, we find Hope, and we find Peace.

The Swisher House

My parent's flight got in late last week so I took a little hike in their truck down the gravel roads a couple miles to where we used to live. Things are so different out there. 3 more houses have burned down (weird, right?). The neighbors up the road's property has become a storage/junk yard for farm machinery. The little farmer down the road plowed down the house and made it into a field. Trees aren't the same. The fence around our yard was gone.
I love that little house for what it was. The haven of my childhood. I had such happy memories there, so much of who I am grew in that house and in the barns and fields surrounding it. So I wrote this.


The Swisher House

There used to be a tree in that ditch a quarter mile down
and i imagined a badger lived there
or sotmimes made it into my fort
And we used to hang ropes off of the cypress trees
   to make them into swings.
The gravel was thicker, and all the walls were whiter on those barns
The corn cribs' door stood open for us and we'd climb into the rafters

There used to be a fence around the yard that kept the dog from chasing cars
And there used to be children and goats and cows and pigs
     Dad's '77 truck parked in the driveway
and the grass was always mowed
and it seemed to me
things used to be a lot less close.

Now the quiet farm rests in the final hours of its years
the days passing around
as the weeds and wild grow higher
Driving by I get the feeling it hasn't seen kids in a while
No grass forts or campfires
    or bare feet running through the sprinkler.
It looks so much smaller
   yet still so familiar.
And I can still cast a glance out the window and hear
  the mewing of brand new baby cats
   and the howling barn dog
   the pigs sqealing in the barn
My brothers and me and all those years
  of quiet cold nights
  and slow summer days
  and tractors and horses and games in the grove
The world fresh and wide
Me and my imagination running wild.

The Resurrection - Martha

I guess this is my tradition. My Easter poem. It took me a long time to write it this year and I'm not sure it's even that good, but it's stuff I've been thinking about embodied in a bible character.

The Resurrection - Martha

Three days gone

Before Jesus even came

And in those days all hope drained from me
while he prayed I wondered if I’d put my faith in the wrong place

Because He could have come sooner

he could have kept it from happening

I’d met him on the road shouting out in my despair

Where were you Jesus, if only you had been there

There was something about the glory of God

and promises for the future

But I didn’t care about it then because my brother was gone

And my whole future and life went with him, sealed inside that stone grave

Now Jesus stood there at the tomb and joined the weepers

Before he opened up his arms and prayed

And I wondered about my wavering faith,

put in the wrong things, lost in the wrong place.

Then the Lord called my brother from the grave

We were too busy being appalled to know how to rejoice

                We took off the grave clothes and watched him walk

And Jesus was there among us

Laughing at the sunlight, wiping tears from his eyes

And that was when I glimpsed that glory,

the Resurrection and the Life

Now it’s all changed in just moments, with news they’d taken Jesus away

And tonight I saw his body, lifted from the cross

Broken and breathless, bleeding still

and I don’t really know what I can do or say

and I’m afraid that the thing I once called faith

was just ambitious dreaming

He said he was the resurrection, but now he’s not here

To bring life or speak those words of hope

And I’m trying to remember what he said

Remember the moments, those pieces of heaven that came and touched earth when he was here

My brother, the rejoicing, the grave clothes on the ground

the palm branches and praises

The woman anointing his feet for his burial

I thought he’d meant something metaphorical

But I guess I was wrong again

And then the words that I’d spoken came back to me

If only you had been here.

Where are you now, Lord

When all of the rulers plot against us

When your friends ran away to hide

I believe in the resurrection, but you had me thinking I wouldn’t have to wait

You were going to be with the Father

And you left us behind to find our own way

So here I am again, worried and troubled about so many things

And though it’s dark

Though the hope you held in your very hands has faded from my heart

I still believe.

I believe you’re the resurrection

And I’m waiting through this time

Whoever believes in you will live even though he dies.