Thursday, May 22, 2014

In Grasses Green

These gifts.  These boys with imaginations and strong wills, running through grassy fields and spilling milk at dinner.  They bring me dried worms and honor roll certificates.  They make an abundance of noise and dirty laundry.  They devour popcorn and bedtime stories.  They wear bare spots in the lawn from playing, and I am often catching them tugging on the willow tree.  They water the garden and themselves, clean their plates at dinner, and steal pillows for fort building.

These boys, brothers, little reds... are an upheaval of happiness and joy.  They belly-laugh and cry fierce tears at times.  They struggle to settle for sleep, and they destroy tubes of toothpaste.  
The weight of mothering them is gloriously heavy.  It is fraught with fears, triumphs, frustration, entertainment, and deepest love.   Their daddy and I attempt to make a life for them that is loving, balanced, and God-honoring.  They unknowingly teach us how far we still have to go.  

My storage files are full of their images.  My books are scribbled with their memories.  My heart is burdened with the responsibility attached to their life in my care.  

Sometimes, I blow it big time.  I hear my own voice in frustration saying things to them I wish I could retract.  My face reddens with anger when I am faced with disappointment in their choices.  The tight-rope walk of discipline and love is a tricky, tricky endeavor.  I often feel unbalanced and have to stop and readjust. I need grace, they need grace.  I need direction...and they must get it from me.  We hug and cry, and pick up our balance poles and go further down the rope.

Then sometimes, I walk on to the back porch and I catch a six year old reading his new Bible unprovoked by a parent.  I hear the whispered words as he struggles to comprehend the print on page.  I hear his self instructed attempts at memorization....and I breathe a deep, long sigh. 

Sometimes, despite all things, we get some things right.  

The little one tugs on hand and reminds me he will always be mommy's baby.  He smiles and says "I love my brudder."  I scoop him up in giggles and kisses.  

"I do to, I love your brudder and my baby boy."

These gifts...they keep on giving.  

What grace is this.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014


The piano sings beautifully into the air.  I sit thinking how easily I am undone.  The pulse of the music reminds me that I go along, melodic almost, in my own journey.  The high notes, the deep dark notes, the pounding rhythm of the life-song that never ends.  Undone....feeling that fall from beauty.  Feeling that escape from the quiet of the garden and the closeness of God's very breath.  Knowing I turned, not Him, from the perfect presence of His grace.

Knowing my head understands the concept of grace, but battling my heart's feelings of grace-rejection. Knowing His promises, yet feeling ruined.  Moments lost that could have glowed with His beauty.  Moments forsaken that He invited me to commune with Him.  Moments I turned away and sought after empty, selfish gain.  

Undone. Ruined moments.  Soiled heart.   

Yet, He whispers.  He tilts.  He presses my soul close back to His.  He paints my weathered heart with His grace.  He leads me by still waters.  He restores my soul.  He binds the loose pieces and holds tight my very worth.  Knowing all the while, that there will be more moments to bind.  More days that I will be undone.  More grace to give me, more love to shed abroad on my weary heart.  

I see Him on the horizon.  Just beyond the peaks of the blue mountains, and in the lone tree in the field.  I see Him binding and stitching my bruised heart.  The rolling hills and the battered barn, a picture of weathered souls and a loving God.  

Were it not for grace, I surely would be utterly undone.
With Grace.....words cannot pen the feeling.
I am wrapped with Grace.

~The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.  He makes me lie down in green pastures.  He leads me beside still waters.  He restores my soul.~
He restores.  Always restores. 

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Love Gifts

It is a beautiful grey, rain-soaked afternoon.  I am sitting on the back porch just soaking in the sounds of wet on Earth.  The creek is quite high, and even from my rocker I can hear it rushing down stream.  The weeping willow is gracefully swaying heavy under the weight of paused rain drops on it's cascading branches.  Drip, drop, drip...the music of damp days. There are birds.  They sing a brighter song in the wetness of a late Spring afternoon.  All around me I feel the beauty of this world.

I walked a bit in the yard while the drops were merely mist-flakes of rain.  The wet mud underfoot felt strangely nice.  With denim folded shin-high and feet bared to the ground, I inspected the garden.  The rows of green looked to be stretching long arms absorbing the goodness of Spring rain.

I can feel Him here.  I feel God breathing on my shoulders and lifting my eyes to see glimpses of Him.  I feel him in the breeze on my cheek and the wetness between my toes.  I hear Him in the birds laughing in the branches.  I see Him stretching the leaves in the garden rows.  I smell Him on the breeze heavy with honeysuckle.  He is here.  Always here.

He is pulling and tugging at my heart to notice.  Almost audibly I hear Him whisper my name...
~Leah.  Find Me here.  See Me offering you love-gifts.  

He is speaking so tenderly to my heart these days.  I think I have finally wearied myself long enough in listening to other noises.  I have finally began to close off those sounds so I can hear the only Sound my soul needs to hear.

I feel a river-surge of thought and feeling.  I can sense the God-current in my life rushing me towards something deeper, bigger than I have been living.  Not that I am to be bigger or deeper, rather it is quite the opposite.  I need the pace of a garden snail and the sight-lines of a tiny-winged butterfly intensely searching for nectar.  Suddenly, I ache to be slow and methodical.  I desire to linger and see....really see the beauty that is always there.  To be hyper-focused on the way a blade of grass feels between my fingers, or the shape of that curl that rebels on my baby's forehead.  I want to dive in the blueness of my oldest's eyes and dance on the freckles spread across his nose.  I want to memorize the feeling of my hand intertwined with my husband's.  The shape of his jaw and the warmth of his laugh.

God is freckles and mud puddles.  He is smiling underneath the ivy leaf and giggling in the croak of the creek frog.  I want to pause time and remember the sound of Him. I want to notice His image in the mirror.  I want to hear Him in the soft breaths of sleeping children.  I want to feel Him in the warm breeze; catch His scent in the golden blooms.  He is here...this Creator God, inviting me to notice.  He tilts my chin sky-ward to soak in the grey mist.
~Leah.  Find Me here.  See Me offering you love-gifts.

He has never left.  He has never stopped.  He has never lost any love.  He shows up quietly in the curve of sun beams spilling through a kitchen window.  He comes unannounced in the corners of the smile that the smallest in our family wears.  He surprises in blooms from seeds once pressed beneath the Earth.  I feel Him when my hands dance across the piano keys.  He shines green in the vase of buds on the table.  I hear Him in the laughter of little boys.  He is here....always here.

Always loving.

~Leah.  Find Me Here.  See Me offering you love-gifts.     

Love gifts dripping all around....grateful for the eyes to notice.  Love.

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