photo © 2008 Chris Wightman | more info (via: Wylio)I invite you to grab a cup of coffee and
join me today for a chat with Author, Carol Peterson
at her blog, "From Carol’s Quill."
Actually….Carol’s “chatting” with me – yep, a real, live interview.
Come on and join us!
The music starts and he reaches for her hand; the same gentle grasp she’s known for 52 years. The stand-up base strums a familiar melody and together they think back to days of poodle skirts, Saturday matinees, and malt shops. Innocence savored.
His eyes sparkle and she blushes the same school-girl grin that first captured his heart so long ago.
Together, they’ve known birth, death, children, friends, Thanksgiving dinners, wars, sacrifice, hard work, reward, sunsets and love.
They’ve known choices, made conscious decisions to run with the wind or to stand against it. They’ve learned lessons together, crossed the bridges together, prayed through the storms together…rejoiced in rainbows together.
They’ve spent their yesterdays looking forward to the tomorrows and the challenges that lie ahead knowing days are gifts to be opened and enjoyed...
…but in the end, it’s not the number of days spent, it’s the dances danced. It’s the mountains climbed. It’s those on the receiving end of your giving, and those still within reach as you breathe your last.
"Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others."
(Phil. 2:1-4) NIV
(Diverting from the normal blog-type post to share a quick praise…..)
I left work right on time yesterday, picked up kids, dropped off kids, ran to fill a prescription at the pharmacy, stopped to grab a pizza, then took one quick dash around the grocery store. I pulled up in front of the house, turned off the engine, and that’s when something went POOF underneath. I heard hissing and immediately thought “flat tire,” but the gush of water revealed that all was not well under the hood.
Really? Today? Right now, we gotta have car trouble??? Great! I immediately envisioned myself walking to and from work, how long would I be stranded, etc.
Why did I do that – give in to a frustrating moment? Why didn’t I realize, right then are there, that God had THAT moment all under control, too?
As His perfect timing would have it, not 10 minutes later my husband comes in through the back door…unusually early for a weekday. The plan was to come home, grab something quick that resembled dinner, then head over to the college for a jazz rehearsal with our son (and the rest of the band). Instead, the look on my face prompted an explanation, and about 3.5 seconds later, he was under the hood with engine grease up to his elbows.
I’ll spare you the dirty details, but I’ll tell you that within the hour, my husband had the broken part off, the new part purchased and installed, and away he went off to jazz rehearsal without missing a beat!
How amazing that God would allow me to run all over town, accomplish all I needed to and then when I’ve returned safely back home, He allows things to fall apart! Any other day, my husband could have been on a business trip or working late, but no…God chose THIS day at precisely THIS time, why? Because it was the perfect time!
Thank you, God, for taking such good care of us!
O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.
You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.
You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord.
You hem me in—behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.
Psalm 139:1-6 NIV
It wasn’t just a fishing pole. It wasn’t just a camping trip. It wasn’t just bubbles and a wand or a kite soaring above ocean waves with tiny hands gripping a spool of string. It wasn’t just simple ingredients mixed together on a rainy morning where giggles and aroma of chocolate chip cookies mingled in a grandmother’s kitchen. It wasn’t just a trumpet picked up at a yard sale. It wasn’t just a barn. It wasn’t just a picnic in the back yard.
She wasn't just any old woman who boiled a pot of eggs on a hot July afternoon and hid them all around the garden for the joy of watching her grandchildren hunt for them because “Why should we only hunt for eggs just one day out of the year?”
Sometimes, it’s not about the cost, however great or small – it’s about the investment we make in the moments captured and embraced with the heart.
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
(Matthew 6:19-21) NIV
In honor of Mother’s Day, I’d like to share a little something I wrote about 15 years ago, knee-deep in motherhood and writing was just a dream with no direction.
The snooze alarm sounds off for the third time, and my 4-year-old stumbles into the bedroom. Through dim sunlight, I awaken to Mickey Mouse pajamas and a Pound Puppy (a.k.a. “Baby Dog”) in my face as he tries to climb up to my side of the bed. After two, three, four attempts, he settles for a space on the floor and covers himself with my robe.
“Time to get up, Mom. Rugrats is on,” mumbles the voice on the floor.
“In a minute, Sweetie.”
Reluctantly, I pull myself from bed and amble downstairs toward the coffee pot, Mickey Mouse pajamas and Baby Dog in toe.
Soon, I hear the littlest pair of feet in the family hop to the floor. And in a moment, my daughter appears around the corner, one hand rubbing sleepy eyes, and the other grasping her beloved “Pink Baby.”
After morning hugs and kisses, I pour a cup of coffee, but before the first drop hits my lips, two
tiny voices request, rather firmly, apple juice, milk, cookies and “masha-tatos”.
“I want cheese puffs!” my 4-year-old stomps, shaking the silence from the morning.
“Yeah, cheese pups! I want cheese pups, too,” my daughter joins in.
“I’m sorry. We don’t eat cheese puffs at
“Hey Babe, are we out of soap?” my husband calls from the shower upstairs.
I hand my son a bar of soap and send him on his way. Surely, he won’t remember wanting cheese puffs when he returns.
Wrong!
In a moment, he’s back wiping shaving cream from his nose.
“Dad says I can have cheese puffs,” he smiles.
At
My pace quickens. With white knuckles, we’re practically a blur as we speed past houses toward the local play land. Afterall, if I hear one more verse, I’ll lose it!
Finally, with her settled on the swings, and my son busy trying to climb his way up the “big” slide, I can enjoy my first real moment of relaxation.
I watch them from beneath the shade tree, finding it hard to imagine life before they came along.
My moment of awe and motherly wonderment is short lived, however when suddenly someone pulls up in the parking lot behind me. I’m hoping it’s someone I know, or better yet, a new friendly face. Gosh, I don’t care – I’d welcome anyone over three feet tall who didn’t demand apple juice every ten minutes or need help wiping their bottom.
I turn to see mothers in Ralph Lauren jogging suits and short, perky hair cuts piling out of SUVs. They all jog over to the jungle gym with their kids in a very determined, almost military fashion. That’s fine, I maintain, having walked my children to the park (not by choice, mind you, but because the old charmer in my driveway may or may not have started, depending on her mood). Besides, everyone needs exercise anyway, right?
They must work part time, I wonder. Maybe this is their day off, or maybe their lunch hour.
I used to be one of them; buying panty hose in bulk, and clicking down corporate hallways in high heels and an up-to-date wardrobe.
But now, I’m sitting on this park bench watching my children play. What’s wrong with that? I argue with myself. We all make choices in life, and this is mine.
One of the moms crosses over to me, slurping from a sports bottle.
“Is that the ‘Times’?” she barks.
“The time? It’s a little after-“
“No, no. Is that the ‘Times’?” she repeats.
In a moment I realize she’s referring to the heap of newspaper beside me on the bench.
Just then, we’re interrupted by a piercing squeal as a set of red-headed twin boys fight over a sand bucket. So, the woman grabs the newspaper from the bench and hurries over to break up the squabble.
I rest my chin in my hands, and my eyes drift back over to my children. With a smile, I realize how my life and priorities have changed over the years. Now, potty training, kindergarten and “quality time” have taken the place of working luncheons, emails and action items.
I watch my daughter, the sunlight drifting through her honey-colored curls and my son with the missing front tooth and a tiny pair of glasses on his nose, and I know the choice I made to stay home and make them my full-time priority was absolutely the right one for me.
And each night as we kneel beside their toddler beds to say “Dear God” in the soothing glow of the Barney night light I realize, with great satisfaction, I do indeed have it all.
Happy Mother's Day!
I hear the words, see the tears and feel that pull…again, and they stir unsettling shards through my spirit. Another heart in pain. Another defeated, “giving-her-all” kind of woman who’s dragging her self esteem around these days like broken shoelaces through mud puddles.
She trembles words of sadness, a hurting soul waving the white flag of surrender, tearing at my emotions. I listen through tears as my heart wants to reach through to hers to embrace and comfort, to remind her that it’s our God who gives rest to the weary, strengthens the weak. Only the armor of God can pierce through layers of rejection, denial, self doubt and depression.
My words meet hers in mid flight.
My hope battles her reality.
My God over her questioning of Him.
Something gives way from within when desperation wipes away a woman’s spark. That certain something special gifted to each one of us seems a fragile butterfly at times, especially when life finds us on our knees sifting through the rubble in search of purpose and reason.
But they’re there – His purpose and His reason, though sometimes hidden behind demands and the things that break us down. Seems all too often it’s the sweetest, gentlest of spirits expected to endure the ugly wringing out of the soul. Perhaps, it’s because they’re the biggest threat; capable of bringing the most glory to the darkest day – a vessel through which the light of the Lord shines the brightest.
“You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
(Matthew 5:14-16) NIV
There is no spot of ground, however arid, bare or ugly, that cannot be tamed into such a state as may give an impression of beauty and delight.
Gertrude Jekyll
photo © 2008 Marialuisa Wittlin | more info (via: Wylio)I love the gardens that draw me in to intimate settings, peaceful pathways that meander and lead the way to unexpected sanctuaries carved into quiet, shaded corners. I love venturing beneath rose-laden arbors and exploring hidden garden rooms breathing in both the fragrance and beauty offered.
I find that each garden bears the heart of the gardener; whether in whimsical fashion or
restricted to the confines of a well thought out design. She who creates such a space scatters bits and pieces of her heart throughout. Otherwise…why put forth the effort if the heart hasn’t been planted?
In the garden, it’s the overall ambiance and the feelings evoked that resonate well after the garden gate closes. I have to consider the same in everyday life…what resonates from me if I haven’t applied my heart?
What is the garden of your heart speaking to others today?
(2 Corinthians 9:6-7) NIV
