Beloved (Zion and Birthmother Anna)

Zion likes the word concrete. He says it often, and with gusto! Emmaus is pleased to fuel his brother's widening construction-site vocabulary. Like fresh herbs from the garden added to a simple dish, the brothers transform the most bland sentences into innovative, one-of-a-kind conversations by throwing in their favorite words. To talk of the best things imaginable is to infuse joy into the ordinary.

I also have a favorite word, which has rooted itself into the natural spaces of my thoughts. I freely ask that it influence everything in the same solid manner as concrete. The word is beloved.

I first tasted the power of this word from my girlfriend Tiffany who always refers to her husband Art as Beloved. This bold word insists that of every other characteristic Art might possess, he is first Beloved. Such unabashed, life-speaking language directed my opinion long before I knew anything about the husband Tiffany adores.

My hand reaches only as far as my walking feet can journey. The only lasting shelter and protection we can offer our children is not physical, but rather the character we build in their minds. If the first word of description they hear is Beloved, then all else is filtered by who they know they are. When I call out to them, "Beloved" I am already encouraged to treat them as such. Imagine screaming, "Beloved!" It is almost impossible. With so many highly capable little ones, whose rebellion of heart is as strong as my own, I must protect them and me from anger that produces fruit from an evil source; fear, anxiety, revenge, temper and violence. It is as if I am given a natural pause when the habit of using the word Beloved comes before thought. To conquer the initial reaction to another's sin with kindness is to redirect and infuse love as the conclusion of sin. It is the way of Jesus. I need His way. Throughout scripture we are called His Beloved, so as His Beloved, we are most assuredly Beloved to one another.

You are Beloved, know that you are and perhaps this can be your favorite word as well. Use it generously for it sticks even better than concrete, just ask Zion!

Blaze-red Glory

Emmaus, Zion and Ezra raced across the lobby of the high school auditorium, delighted to have space to run. The fanciful lyrics of the Mary Poppins' song, "Just a Spoonful of Sugar", filled my thoughts as I corralled our crew away from the jovial voices of adults emerging from the theatre. My eyes darted from one to another of our five youngest children. Leashes would have been lovely on a day like today, especially since both Magdalene and Elias were in the ballet production.

In a terrible moment, Zion and I both caught sight of the bright red handle of the fire alarm secured to the far wall, at exactly the height of his inquisitive eyes. I sprang towards Zion in movie-like slow motion while our boy slipped through my grasp, reached the wall, then tilted the handle. For 3 sickening seconds nothing happened, then the shriek of the fire alarm enveloped every other sound and intent. Like a bumbling burglar I tried to undo the damage done by flipping the limp handle up to the trigger point. It refused to reengage and fell back in exhaustion, satisfied at fulfilling its heroic duty.

Zion and I threaded through the crowd of 400. As I called, "False Alarm!" to all who would listen, eyes shifted from my flushed face to the furrowed brow of our stunned three year old clinging desperately to my arm. "Please continue to exit the building," I added motioning to the exit signs, feeling like a nervous stewardess who'd prefer to be pushing a beverage cart. The graciousness with which our announcement was received amazed me. Some even patted Zion's head and said, "It's okay little guy," to which I shook my head violently, terrified that this might initiate a new trend in misbehavior!

In no time at all, a magnificent blaze-red fire truck rumbled into the parking lot. Three firefighters alighted onto the curb; two burly men and a lean, blond female. Their energetic presence brought comfort and calm to Zion for he felt he knew them. Emmaus, Zion and Ezra have nicknames for themselves from their favorite UK children's series, "Fireman Sam". Ezra is the blonde character named Penny, while Zion and Emmaus are Sam and Tom, the other beloved heroes. To Zion's delight "Penny" stood before him, then knelt to look into his eyes, while "Sam" and "Tom" stood smiling at him, just a few feet away. "Penny" gave kind, strict reasons why toddlers should not pull fire-alarms. She offered only a gentle smile to the overwhelmed mother who by then had tears streaming down her face!

Almost as quickly as everyone exited, word for re-entry was given. I scooped up the youngest three for necessary departure while Dennis gathered the rest for the second half of the show. As I choked down my emotions, Emmaus and Ezra generously lectured Zion on his naughtiness. He responded in a hushed voice, "But the Fire-fighters will fix it?" When finally home, my nerves got the best of me and I fell sound asleep beside the exhausted threesome. I awakened to a text from my girlfriend Damaris, who owns the ballet studio.

At the conclusion of the production, she had announced to the audience her thankfulness for the trust the parents placed in her and the studio. The second half of the performance was flawless and several joked that a fire-alarm seemed somewhat appropriate for, "Mary Poppins".

During the long ride home, before the nap and the text, I felt the weight of the burden I carried for my child's sin. I thought of all the ugly things I do and think, and yet the Lord loves me (us) so much that not only would He bear my sin, but send in his sinless son to take my consequences. The blatant reality of forgiveness and "clean-slate" moved my soul when later that afternoon I saw flowers on the table brought home by Elias and Magdalene. Damaris had gathered many blooms from her bouquets to create a beautiful offering just for us. Such love and grace carry much weight when we know we do not deserve them.

In these days since "The Alarm", Emmaus, Zion and Ezra notice every single extinguisher, alarm and fire-hydrant, no matter where we are. There is no risk of forgetting this experience! It is yet another picture of grace, jarringly dramatic, but welcome in its blaze-red glory, non-the-less.

Amen

As our three youngest babes prayed with me yesterday, I saw laced fingers and tightly shut eyes and heard a resounding finish of, "Amen" to the God they know is listening. Just days before, Gabriel had written in a letter, "...today I received my dog tags - it is moving and stirring to see them hanging around my neck as I lean over the bathroom stall...I know it is a morbid thought, but if something ever happened to me, I would like Elias to have them." The reading of Gabe's words felt like a foreshadowing of Friday when one of Gabriel's classmates died in an field training exercise. It was the same day that almost 100 Norwegian youth were murdered. I felt the weight of so much sorrow, and ached for the grieving families of each of those precious teenagers.

In the garden, a picture of hope came to my mind. There is a stunningly beautiful clematis climbing the lamppost. It surprises me each Spring when the courageous vine seeks to survive in a treacherous part of the yard, where little good can be found. Ages ago, when I planted the shoot, I'd hoped for instant beauty. Until last week the scraggly remnant yearly had produced only leaves on a thirsty stem. When the buds finally appeared I did not expect huge, exquisite, deep purple flowers from a living thing that had known such struggle. I looked at those flowers today with new eyes. God kindly has been teaching me to be thankful for the privilege of difficulty and sorrow, and to trust His promise in the end; that He will wipe away every tear, that joy comes in the morning and that good can come from evil. His book of Truth is the Living Water for our thirsty souls.

Gabriel also wrote these thoughts this week, "God is indeed good. He is terribly good...terrible in His goodness, meaning that the force and power behind his shaping would overwhelm us, were we not able to behold the mercy and love that guides those hammer blows, the heat of the forge and the freezing waters. For they fashion me into the weapon, yet give me with that the strength, the wisdom to allow myself to be wielded."

To yield to The Maker and thus, in surrender, be wielded by Him, is to face a world wrought with tragedy as a ready soldier. A soldier of the highest King armed with weapons not of this world, no, the only ones which can defeat evil; love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Dog tags are for flesh, but the flesh is merely stem bound to earth. We are created for eternity and it is there we will fully bloom. Hope springs eternal, and to this we can say, "Amen!"

All Aboard!

It is early and a pile of little ones chatter away, as I cling to my few remaining inches of bed. If Ezra joins us I will surely be the first to drop to the floor. It is a peaceful invasion...well, relatively so, but like everything in parenting, complete surrender of all lesser things is the only way.

And so with morning hopes of quiet time to think and write given over to motherhood, I must find a way to celebrate my task. A toast perhaps? Yes, toast in bed and "Bob the Builder: Construction Site" on the small white computer, then I will steal a moment to breathe and speak with my pen.

As I wait for their simple breakfast to warm and crisp, Pax, our chocolate lab, needs a bit of company. So out beyond the herb garden I stand. It is raining again, but the yellow rose beside me doesn't mind, she blooms. This has been a month of tears. How desperately I desire to look to heaven and receive my heartache with thankfulness. To bloom in the rain of my life is what I want, but it is hard.

Our oldest children are walking the steep path to adulthood. Gabriel began the brutal phase of Cadet Basic Training two and a half weeks ago. Elias will soon enter his senior year of high school and anxiously anticipates life beyond. Magdalene's 9 years of home schooling has come to a close as she will begin high school with her brother in the fall. They are seeking their way in a world less kind than the one I might imagine through my rose colored glasses, you know, the ones so easily misplaced. This coaching phase of parenting is perhaps the most difficult. To watch the refining process is to sometimes feel imprisoned by the finality of a job well done...well, at least done, yet covered on all sides by God's grace and filtered through his hands.

Last night Malachi called to his younger siblings, "All Aboard!" He and Salome' arranged the seven stools on their sides, on the floor, as train compartments. The unruly bunch came to order quickly when they realized the conductor was doling out his first round of snacks. Their game reminded me of a quote from Corrie Ten Boom which I have taped to the inside of my pantry, "When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, don't throw away the ticket and jump off. You sit still and trust the engineer."

My white-knuckled fists would hold tightly to our first three children if I did not trust The Conductor. Each of their unique adventures must be laced with struggle, sorrow and suffering. Why this is, I will never know on this side of heaven. Yet it is true, the soul who suffers and refuses to swallow bitterness, will taste the sweet fruit of thankfulness and humility, necessary traits for a spiritually healthy life. Love and truth invested in children in the daily white-flag surrender of parenting will also equip our next generation. We must trust our children to wield the tools we give them well.

As I weep and pray I settle my spirit in these words, "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy." Psalm 126:5. In this I fix my mind and ask my heart to bloom in the rain as I sit tight on this train..."Snacks please!"

I am

Here I am, this strange little person, sitting in the corner of the couch. If a star were to gaze down at the earth, I would be too small to be seen. But I see the stars, their magnificent presence grounds me. I feel tiny, I am only this. I am no more, no less, neither grand nor unnecessary. My Father said of His name, "I am". So when I wonder who this person I live as, happens to be; I realize in humble confidence that I am the child of The I am.

The Color of God

Malachi spoke brightly from the backseat of the car, "Mommy, do you wonder about the color of God?"

I answered simply, to get myself out of the way, "No, do you?"

"I think God is black," he stated, "He is every color of everyone, all the way to the deepest shade."

I waited and there was quiet, then he began again,

"No, actually, I believe God is medium brown, because when God looks around Him, He sees all the colors, of all His children, and He is in the very center of them."

Perhaps, this is why we are to be like children.

Available

As I tiptoed into our bedroom last night at the end of the evening's tasks, I came upon a precious sight; Dennis, Malachi and Salome' sound asleep after only a few pages of reading, "My Father's Dragon". With Gabriel in Norway, his room has become a haven for us when little ones overtake our bed. The expansive picture window, where Zion first met the moon, is an inviting space for some thoughtful moments before sleep's insistence will no longer be denied. So I slipped into the vacant room, crawled between the sheets and breathed in deeply the delicious breeze pressing through the open window. Yet, to my my dismay, just beyond the house which separates us from the street, the bright lights of an ambulance and fire engine caught my attention. Silently the vehicles arrived and several rescuers alighted from them. The surrounding darkness shrouded any other details from my view. The shadowy figures disappeared from sight, then departed within 30 minutes. Sadly, I knew neither the savers nor those in need of saving. I can meet our homeless friends on the corner, or chat with the cute gal who sells me shoes, but who are those neighbors just a few houses away, whose evening erupted into possible tragedy as I watched through my open window, a curious eavesdropper.

To be known is a choice of transparency and trust, but to know another is a privilege which requires an invitation. The doors of the neighbors I do not know appear large and foreboding, I have not been brave enough to knock on many of them. To pursue a relationship seems daunting to me, but if I had cared enough to try, I might have known the need, and today I could have given compassion.

A decade ago, our sweet Elias, seven years old at the time, was given an opportunity. We were visiting my special needs girlfriend who lived in a care home. Between us and the door, an elderly woman sat. Her hair was matted in long tendrils around her face and her spindly fingers were marked by dirty, long nails. Her sunken eyes looked hungry for attention, but the stench of urine from her wheelchair seemed to create a barrier to compassion. I smiled at the woman and gave my three children the chance to scoot behind me and out of her reach. Elias, did not walk away, but instead he stood close to her wheelchair and bent his smiling face within inches of her sunken cheeks. Her eyes shone as he reached his arms around her bent shoulders and hugged her. Time stood still for me as I watched in wonder at the love our boy lavished on this precious, needy child of God. Our little boy seemed so brave to me that day, but I think a better, truer statement would be: available to love. The elderly woman needed someone and his tender heart said, "Here I am!"

Life is hard, but less hard when we are available to each other.

And just as I speak this to you, my tired spirit rests in the truth that God, who loves us deeper than we can even begin to imagine, is our ever present source of love, compassion and wholeness.

Good night, Sweet Friend, I will tiptoe somewhere now for sleep, and between the two of us, perhaps these words will encourage our simple ability to be available to someone who needs love tomorrow (or today).