That Kind of Boy - A Prayer for Our Children

I handed Gabe a hundred number chart. He was learning about odd and even numbers.

“Now take the marker,” I said. “And color the evens yellow.”

Gabe colored the numbers two, four, and six. Then he colored seven and eight and nine.

“Oops, Gabriel. You colored seven and nine. They’re odd numbers. Let’s count together by twos, even numbers.”

But Gabe wouldn’t count. His face colored deep crimson. His shoulders curled and his head dropped forward. Then he started to cry.

“Oh, Gabriel,” I said. “It’s no big deal. We’ll color over the yellow with blue. The odd numbers can be blue.”

More sobs.

I rubbed his little back. “Everyone makes mistakes, Gabe. Everyone.”

Gabe lifted his head and looked me straight in the eye.

“Well,” he said. “ I am not that kind of boy.”

Gabriel’s reaction was typical. He doesn’t like to make mistakes. He gets embarrassed easily. It’s hard for him to be wrong, and when he is, he’s hard on himself. Too hard.

In some ways, it’s tough for me to understand. Lonny and I have always encouraged our boys. We want them to learn and grow. To try new things. We know, expect, that there will be mistakes. And we're honest and open about our own. This is how we learn! Look at Peter. He made mistakes. Blurting words. Swiping the ear from a soldier. But Jesus taught through these mistakes – revealed Himself, His character, and His purpose through these blunders.

So this will be my prayer for my little son. That he would always want to do what is right, but he’ll learn from the times when he’s not. That he’ll have a teachable spirit, and that that He would always know that God is close. That he won’t hold on to his mistakes, because the Lord won’t do that. And that he'll walk in grace and always, always remember how much God loves him.

I know, that in time, Gabe will learn to see the value in his mistakes. That he’ll learn to rest in God’s good grace.

I know he has it in him.

To be that kind of boy.

Blessing of the Small Moments

“Let’s take the convertible for a ride,” Lonny says. “Top down.” We’re elbow deep in dishes because the dishwasher is out-of-order and the fix will have to wait for funds.

“Really?” I ask. “It’s winter.”

“I know,” he says. “Let’s go.”

I look at the mess in the kitchen and then at the sun streaming through the windows. It’s an unusual sixty-five degrees. I know I should be tending to the house, laundry, and chores, but I can’t resist the longing in Lonny’s eyes. I grab my jacket and we head for the garage.

 Isaiah and Gabriel are playing hockey on the drive. “Hey guys,” I say.  “We’re going for a ride. Top down. Want to come?”

“Top down?” they ask.

I nod and they rush to rest their sticks against the garage. Soon we’re buckled in, riding along the Mississippi, warm wind on our faces.

“Having fun?” Lonny asks. “The boys are.”

I look behind me and my small sons’ arms are waving in the air. Their mouths open wide and they’re singing. Loud. Together. Even with the wind in my ears, it’s a lovely sound. I look at my husband and his grin comes from his heart.

Thank you, Jesus.

In this moment, I’m filled. Filled with joy. Filled with peace. Filled with hope because the Lord is near. What-if worry is banished. Fear for the future flees. There’s no room. In this moment there’s the here and now and I’m thankful to the Lord for the beauty of this blessing and for the instruction He gave me to live this way.

When I’m willing to live in the moment, to live day by day, life can be so sweet.

We ride  for much of the afternoon and end up in a small town up the river. We stop when the sun dips low and the air grows cool. Main street sings of vintage charm in this sweet village, and soon we're out, admiring festive window displays. We walk slowly, unrushed, but I stop still when a sign in a shop window catches my attention.

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but my the number of moments that take our breath away.

I’m blessed by the truth of it. I’ve lived this today. Standing here, several boys by my side and Lonny holding tight to my hand, my heart's desire is affirmed.

This year, I will live moment by moment. Day by day.

I want to live and breathe and appreciate what the Lord brings.

I will not let worry steal or fear destroy.

I move closer to the glass and suddenly I see my own reflection. My men gather around. I see us there, standing on the sidewalk, as we do in life. We're side-by-side together.

Oh, the big blessings of small moments...

Lord, let me be wise enough to see.

Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes. Matthew 6:34 (MSG)


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WRITING NEWS:

I'm humbled and thankful to have contributed to Daily Guideposts 2016, and I'm excited to share that my son Logan contributed too - his devotion debut! It's a beautiful book. The theme for the 2016 devotional is "Abide in Me". What a precious thing, to read of the real-life, heart-deep,  meaningful moments of others and to let them help me abide daily in God's love.

 

Some Enchanted Evening (Not) And One Blessing After Another

This one is from a few years ago...but this sweet memory reminds to today that there is blessing all around...

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours...

Lovingly,

Shawnelle

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"Better get going," I say. "Time's tickin'."

Lonny looks at me and smiles. He's taking the boys to spend the night with grandparents. Then he and I are having a date.

"Love you, Mama," Zay says. He hugs me hard and pushes through the porch door with two backpacks and Mine-O-Mine, his special blanket.

Grant will drive over after work, but Gabe and Samuel go with Lonny now. There are hugs and I'll miss yous. There are kisses thrown over shoulders. There are waves. There are see-you-in-the-mornings and don't-forget-to-prays and an Oops! I forgot my toothbrush.

At last they're loaded and I walk outside and stand by the fence as the van moves down our drive. It's vehicle full of precious. I wrap my hands around wrought iron and whisper a prayer for their safety. For their grandparents.

I love these boys like wild.

But I'm excited to see them go.

I trudge through gold leaves (they'll just have to wait) and head back into the house. Lonny will be back in an hour.

There's just enough time to get ready.

Just enough time to fall flat with the flu.

It hits hard and fast and anything romantic is gone before Lonny returns. But when he gets home, he loves me with that caregiver kind of love. He rubs my back. He holds me close. He loves me well when I'm well past lovely.


And the next afternoon he returns for the boys.

They come in a burst of excitement and life and I'm still camped on the couch. They've heard that I've been sick and they come full force.

Grant bends low and wraps his arms around me. Zay rushes in with a cupcake saved from lunch. Samuel asks if I'd like some music. He finds his guitar and the room is filled with song. Gabe comes last. He's snipped the final pink rose from the bush by the walk. It's floating in a drinking glass. He walks slowly. Eyes on the glass. Eyes on me.

I settle into my blankets. The aches aren't so bad because the room has grown so full.

Lonny walks in. He's got an armload. There are backpacks and blankets and pillows and more.

The boys are home. Things hadn't gone as planned.

But there's an enchanted evening after all.


From the fullness of His grace we all receive one blessing after another. John 1:16

A Prayer for Mamas Like Me

I'm running morning-mad again, eyes shifting from the road to the green digits on the dash. My teenage son is almost late for his job. He sits beside me, quiet, and I look down to see that I'm still wearing my oven mitt. My hand is wrapped around the wheel, wrapped in a worn, ragged mitt. Frosty the snowman. One merry eye plucked off clean.

It's worn from muffin mornings.

Worn from hours before the sun comes up and before boys come down.

It's a little tired and a little frayed.

A little bit like me.

I turn the corner and my thoughts shift, too. In that moment, I remember Gabriel's prayer from the night before. He'd closed his eyes and bent his knees. And as his brother knelt too, pure and sweet in flannel pants, he'd said, "Thank you, God, for mamas like mine."

It comes to my heart, this prayer from my son, as I pull to the curb for my nearly-grown boy. Grant gets out and turns to wave. He smiles a wide smile, and I'm washed over with love. This tired - it's precious. It's serving soul-deep. It comes with blessing and honor and giving and glory. Suddenly I want to  pray for mamas. I need to pray for Mamas. Mamas who give. Mamas who love. Mamas who cherish and hold and give roots and give wings.

Mamas whose passions come in baby bundles and stretch a whole life through.

I think of my own dear mama, my Mamo, and Grandma too... rocking and teaching and loving a dozen babes. Ages of mamas, serving in silence, giving what we have, growing the hearts that came to life right under our own.

So, dear friends, this prayer is for you. This prayer is for me. This prayer is for hearts that give and give again...


Dear Father,

Thank you for children. Thank you for family. Thank you for this first, beautiful way to give and receive love.

Thank you for mamas. Mamas who hold. Mamas who grow. Those who give without hesitation from an endless sea of love. Thank you for mamas who teach. Mamas who listen. Mamas who hold hands and hearts and hopes and dreams.

Help us to be patient. Fill us to the brim. Flood us with Your Spirit so Your love can flow straight through. Give us deep wisdom. Keen discernment. Hearts that are hungry for Your life-giving Word.

Build us strong...heart, soul, body, and mind. Give us the portions we need, pressed down, measured out, to spill into the hearts You've given us to love.

Allow us to persevere, to encourage one another, to lean into Your strength, and to see the blessings that fall from Your hands.

And may You have the glory, for this love and these days...

Amen

Filled With the Spirit - Part of a Team

It’s Sunday afternoon. The maples outside the kitchen window are yellow-gold and sunshine hits the counter top in wide, gold bars. Isaiah and I are baking cookies. The weekend has been full, and this together time is a gentle reprieve.

“How much brown sugar, Mom?” he asks.

“One cup,” I say.

He roots and rattles through the baking drawer while I fish egg shells from the batter in Mamo’s mixing bowl.

“Got it,” he says. He spoons brown sugar from the canister and pats it solid with ever-growing hands.

“White sugar?” asks.

We work side-by-side. All my boys have enjoyed being in the kitchen with me, but today I’m tender inside. Isaiah is the youngest son. These opportunities are treasure.

We measure.

And sift.

And scoop.

And bake.

Later we sit at the dining room table. He sweet scent of oatmeal-chocolate-chip has drawn a couple more boys. Sam has joined us. Grant, too.

Isaiah takes a bite of cookie and grins.

“Well,” I ask. "What do you think?”

Isaiah swallows and sips from his Scooby-Doo mug. When he looks up, he wears a milk mustache.

“I think," he says. "That we make a great team."

I nod and place a cookie on my own plate. I agree. He and I do make a great team. And while I’m still soul-smiling, I remember something I’d read earlier in the day.

When we are born again, the Holy Spirit begins to work His new creation in us, and there will come a time when there is not a bit of the old order left, the old solemnity goes, the old attitude to things goes, and "all things are of God."  - Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest

 

As a believer in Christ, as one soul-saved by His gift of grace, I’m filled with the Holy Spirit. I’m tender to the center to think of it. God’s holiness in me! That He would take residence in my human heart! Cleansing me. Transforming me. Empowering me. Giving me new life. And because of His Presence, I can share His love in gentle boldness. I can do the work He's prepared in advance for me to do. I can work through tough circumstances and see hope in dark places. I can push worry to the wayside and choose to walk a path of peace, leaning hard into Him and trading insecurities for trust. I can grow, stretch, change.

My focus can shift from the temporal to the eternal, and I can learn to walk in resurrection joy.

Oh, the sweet glory in a life transformed!

The boys talk and dishes clank and clatter and soon the plate of cookies is a thing of the past. Isaiah has a servant’s soul, and he helps me gather plates and clean crumbs.

And when we run water from the tap and roll up our sleeves, I’m washed over with love.

There's deep and everlasting beauty in being part of the Lord's team.

Eyes Open to God's Glory

I'm reading a devotion aloud, and I'm frustrated.

The boys are not listening.

We're on the back patio. The sun is warm. October colors the trees. It's the perfect place to study. Why can't they pay attention?

I read another paragraph. They fidget. Shift in their chairs. One boy whispers. I throw a question.

"Who can tell me what I just read?" I ask.

No one answers. Their faces are blank as fresh paper.

I clear my throat and read a few more lines. From the corner of my eye I can see they are now leaning in their chairs, eyes focused on something I cannot see.

"I think, guys, that this is worth your time," I say.

"Do you see his face?" Gabe asks. "It's a pentagon. And his eyes are crazy green. He's looking right at me."

I wonder what he's talking about. I lean toward Gabe. I notice the distraction. It's a bug. He's close to two inches long, bright green, and is perched on the arm of Gabe's patio chair.

"Cool," I say. "Maybe he'd like to listen."

I read on.

"He's walking," Zay whispers. "He has a map on his wings."

I stop reading. I watch as the boys' necks crane. The bug moves and the boys' eyes are pulled like magnets.

"His wings are like leaves," Sam says. "God made them that way. Look at the veins. If he'd fly to the bush behind us, we'd never find him."

The guys are right. This guy's wings are a road map of creation. And his color is spectacular. The exact shade of the still-green bushes that fringe our patio.

"I want get my magnifying glass," Zay speaks in hushed tone. "I want to see his up-close face."

I watch my boys' faces. They're captivated. Captivated by this creation of the Living Lord.

The boys whisper. The bug moves. Then, as if pulled by invisible strings, the boys crowd around him. This visitor's details, this small wonder in a two-inch space, sings of God's glory.

I set my book down.

"Go get your magnifying glass, Zay," I say.

Sometimes even when my motive is good, I need to slow down. Drop my own agenda.

Open my eyes.

And see what the Lord has brought to the table.

How many are your works, O LORD! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures. Psalm 104:24


God, thank you for revealing yourself to us in exciting ways. Give me the eyes to see. Amen.

Parenting - A Building Plan

Gabriel is at the dining room table. He looks downward. He’s working a tiny screwdriver with his hands. The worn oak in front of him holds a scatter of paper instruction, shiny nuts and bolts, pieces and parts of something that, in time, will be wonderful.

Gabe is our builder. His mind is patterned after his dad’s.

“What are you working on?” I ask.

“A crane,” he says.

“How is it coming?”

 

Gabe's face tilts upward. Dimples, from my dad, punctuate his smile. “Well,” he says. “It’s going to take a while.”

I expect so. But Gabe will get 'er done. He’s not afraid to put in the time. He knows that good things come slow. He knows that sometimes he’ll connect the wrong pieces and he’ll have to back up and try his best to make things right. He knows that sometimes he’ll want to give up.

But he also knows, that if he presses forward, the nuts and bolts and bars and pieces and parts will eventually take shape. The structure will be solid. The product, the result of the effort, will stand firm.

Watching Gabe, seeing his perseverance and push-forward way, encourages my own heart.

 His building seems like parenting to me.

It's been a tough week.  We're working through a struggle, years long, that has suddenly churned hard. The younger boys have worn thin on one another and my rant was fuel to the fire. We've been running fast and slipping behind.  Parenting. It's the sweetest blessing, but it can be darn hard work. There are days that I'd like to throw my hands up. Stomp off for a bit. Take a long, far break when discouragement is the color of the day. But I can't do those things. Because, like Gabe, I need to push through the pieces in hope of a wonderful thing.

I’m building men.

So, when life seems a scattered mess and the week has made me weary, I’ll continue to build standards that I believe are pleasing to the Lord, to develop my sons' moral compasses, even if it’s counter culture. I’ll build my prayer life with time set aside, daily, to speak with and listen to God. And I’ll ask the Lord to help me build a storehouse of wisdom  - straight from His Word to the tender places of my heart.

Because building requires a plan.

And when my parenting plan is centered on the Lord, I can trust that He's at the center.

I stand for just a moment and watch my young son. He chooses a small piece. Rolls it between his fingers. Squints and looks real close. Then he fits it into place, twists the screwdriver, and adds it to his crane.

The structure is growing. One tiny piece at a time.

The outcome is still far.

But there’s hope along the way.

So let us not get tired of doing what good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don't give up. Galatians 6:9 NLT

A Tough Day and The Secret to Rising Above

It's one of those days.

The boys are surly. I'm not sure why, but the unraveling began shortly after sunrise and my high noon we're shot.

There is grumbling.

Poking.

Picking.

And as usual, when the boys are frayed like this, I climb right aboard.

I snip.

I snarl.

And in this house today there's no goodness to be found.

So how do I rise above? How do teach to hearts and minister to souls and direct wayward wills when my own mood moves dark and deep?

I'm standing at the sink when I understand. It falls on my spirit like a strong ray of sun.

The rising above comes from bending low.

I've tried today in my own strength. I've disciplined. I've threatened. I've cajoled. Then I lost my temper and spewed steam.

And we only fell to a darker place.

So I go to my knees, and I ask for filling that is strong and sweet.

Right there by the kitchen sink.

Lord, I can't do this alone. Forgive me for trying. Give me wisdom. Grant me strength. Fill me with Your Spirit, cover me with patience and your rich, sustaining grace.

I go back to the dishes and we go about our day. The boys are still surly, but something in me has changed.

 I'm anchored.

 I'm empowered.

And the difficulties of the day aren't so daunting after all.

It's not the best day, but I can manage this mess.

Rising above means bending low.


Look to the LORD and his strength; seek his face always. I Chronicles 16:11

Nourishment of Time

"Will you play darts with me, Mom?" Gabe asks. "When we get home?"

We're taking a family walk along the river. The sun is sinking low. The streets are quiet. All is still.
But this simple question makes me a little anxious inside.

"I'd love to, Gabe," I say.

And I would. But there's a scroll of "to do's" running through my mind. I feel pressed tight. I don't like to feel this way. I feel guilty. But chores and needs and a houseful of busy cages my heart.

We finish our walk and I shimmy a game of darts between the unwashed dinner dishes and the bedtime routine.

It doesn't take me long to be happy that I did.

"You're good at darts, Mom!" Gabe says. His bangs are falling to the side and I can see that his eyes are gleaming joy. We're in the room behind the garage. Just Gabe, June heat, and me.

"I'm not very good," I say. "But I like this. And love I our time together."

Gabe smiles and plucks my darts from the outer ring of the dartboard (and one from the wall).

I feel satisfied. Fulfilled. Glad that I took the time to nourish this relationship that is precious to me.

It makes me think of my relationship with God. I love Him. I need Him. My relationship with Him is the most important in my life. But I fear that so often in the "busy", time with Him gets pushed aside. Or even  pushed away.

Jesus took time away to spend time with the Father. He went to quiet places to pray. He separated out. Went alone. Like before he called his disciples. And when he heard about John. In the garden of Gethsemane, too. Jesus spent his limited hours to connect with Father God.

Relationships need the nourishment of time.

They need set-apart, focused attention.

When we pull away from the pressure,   precious things unfold.

And I want to follow Jesus' example.

Gabe squints an eye, curls his fingers around the dart, and lines it even with his ear.

Then he stretches his arm and lets the dart fly.

I watch it swish through the air and smack on the board.

Twenty points.

Double.

Not bad.

I think about this time set-apart time to grow my relationship with my little boy.  I've definitely scored here.

But tomorrow morning's set-aside time with my Father?

That will be a bull's-eye for sure.
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Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Mark 1:35

One of those days Jesus went out to a mountainside to pray, and spent the night praying to God.
Luke 6:12

Then Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to them, "Sit here while I go over there and pray." Matthew 26:36

Mama Sets the Tone

I sat across the table from my friend Amy. She had the worn, tired look of I- have-little-kids-and-Daddy’s-out-of-town. Her husband was a DNR officer and had gotten a new job. While he worked through six months of school and training in another state, Amy stayed behind to keep the kids anchored. They’d move, as a family, when the training was complete.

“Are you holding up okay?” I asked. I noticed the large calendar on the wall behind her. Not many squares held the dark, heavy X of days-gone-by.

“I’m exhausted,” she said. “The kids aren’t sleeping well and their behaviors are off.”

“That must be hard.”

“It is,” she said. “But I’m the mom and I set the tone. The kids see me first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I try to keep things peaceful. Positive. They look to me for that.”

Our conversation was several years ago, but I haven’t forgotten Amy’s words. They're powerful . They ring true, whether Daddy’s home or not. We’ve all heard the saying, “If Mama aint happy, no one’s happy.” But Amy, in God’s strength, put this one in reverse. Applied a positive spin. In their lives and in their home.

As Mamas and keepers of hearts and homes, we do carry this responsibility. Some days I like it. Some days I don’t. It doesn’t really matter. The responsibility is mine, just the same. It’s sort of like when one of my little guys takes a fall. He stops, examines the damage, and looks to me to see if he should cry. If I say “Shake it off, Buddy”, he’s usually fine. If I fret and fuss and make a major deal over a minor spill, there’s bawling to beat the band.

Mama lays it down.

Of course there are days, those days, when we need rest and grace and the Lord offers both in sweet abundance (that's another post). But in general, this honorable responsibility holds true: If I want my home to be a place of encouragement, growth, and joyful service, a rich place where God’s sweet love flows fresh and free, in His strength I need be walking the walk. Talking the talk.

Setting the tone for others in my home.

Father, only in your grace and strength can I set the tone for a healthy, strong, God-honoring home. Empower me. Fill me. Let your Spirit flow!

I Love You Because...

I saw the idea on Facebook. The idea of writing love notes, one for each day of the month, to the one ones we love.
 

It’s February.

Almost Valentine’s Day.

The day that warms winter with expressions of love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sit at the pool, camped on a top bleacher, while my sons swim. There are paper hearts splayed across my lap. I'd cut them from construction paper and stuffed them into a Ziploc bag. Some hearts are big. Some are small. All are irregular because I'm not good with details and I'm not patient enough to trace.

 

They’re all blank. Waiting for words.

Five sons and a husband.

I love you because…

 

 

Emotion comes fast. I see my little one and the way he makes us lighter, green eyes shining, joy bubbling from his soul. I love you because bring laughter. I think of another son teaching his brothers about the strength in gentleness. I love you because you reach those around you. Another boy comes to mind -  how he thinks and builds and creates. I love you because you help with the work of your hands. Another son’s warm, easy hugs are frequent and firm, even now when his arms are lanky-long. I love you because you’re not afraid of affection. I think of a son and how he strives to overcome. I love you because you push when life pulls and you know to persevere. And my husband. He lives silent servanthood. I love you because you give.

I smile while I scribble.

Affirming others, building and encouraging and speaking love, is salve for one’s soul.

And as paper hearts rest on my lap and the air is thick and the rhythm of the pool is loud, my mind shifts from thoughts of my family to thoughts of the Lord. My Spirit swells. I love Him because He loved me first. Because He gave me life. Because He saved me and promised heaven and brought blessing on earth. But today, the one that is strongest on my spirit, the one that's my pulse and my breath and my reason for peace...

 I love you, Lord, because You'll never leave.

The Lord is present in every circumstance. He is present in the blessing and the goodness. He's present in the trouble and trauma. He's with me when tears flow from joy and gratitude or grief. He's ever-present with an abundance of mercy and compassion that He's offered as a grace-gift...to me. 

And the promise of His Presence brings peace.

I sit for a bit, the power of His love changing me again, renewing me, bringing refreshment and thanksgiving and tenderness. But it isn’t long before a son emerges from the pool. He climbs the stairs, leaving footprints, water dripping, white-blond hair in short, wet spikes. He reaches the top, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and treks town the stairs toward the locker room.

But midway down he stops.
 

Turns around.
 

Climbs back up.

“I love you, Mom,” he says.

And he smiles. 

Then he’s gone again.

Love.

 His Presence is everything.

I love you, Lord, because…



But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring your remembrance all that I have said to you. John 14:26 ESV

Connecting Heart Deep

“Want to take a walk?” I ask. The winter weather is mild. Lonny and a couple of the older boys are away and Zay and I have the afternoon alone.

“Sure,” he says. My fifth child. My easy-to-please.

We pull on boots. Mine are for snow but his are cowboy boots. As we walk down the drive, they clickety-clack. 

 

And we walk.

We walk down the road that runs from our house to the country. We walk until we see open space and fields and farms.

And while we walk, the sun is on our backs.

And while we walk, my son’s heart opens.

At first, we talk about the weather and the want of snow. We chat about the runner sled that waits in the garage and the hill that's a weak green. Conversation skims the surface. But as we move along, things change. Isaiah begins to share from the soul. He speaks little-boy life and childhood dreams. He speaks of things hidden deep.

I ask questions. I respond to the beat of his heart. By now we’re away from the crazy. We’ve taken reprieve from the wild. Though we’re only a quarter- of-a-mile down the road, we’re far enough from fast living that I can hear my son. I can hear his heart.

 

These moments, this undivided, unshared sliver of time is gold to me. It’s worth more than anything  I could hold with my hands.

And I wonder, is this how it is with the Lord?

Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before him; God is a refuge for us. Psalm 62:8 ESV

Pour out your heart.

Oh, the grace in this. The sweet amazing grace. That the Lord would want me to share from the heart.

Heart-pouring, soul-sharing, takes effort and time.

I think about this, as we walk along. As my son has grown quiet. As his soul has been shared and there’s peace.

This time of reaching past the superficial into the things that matter, into the things that make a person, into the precious-intimate things, was the result of an effort.  A separation. An intentional, purposeful act.

Lord, give me the wisdom, the desire, to walk alone with You.

As I’ve delighted in the soul-sharing of my son, I understand how the Lord must delight in the times that I share with Him. In the times that my spirit opens wide. In the times when there is no distraction, no barrier, and I’m like a child, wanting to be known.

While we walk along, our shadows fall and Isaiah reaches for my hand. We move down the hill, toward our home. The winter sun begins to slip but the two of us are settled and still.

There is value in quiet moments.

Quiet moments shared with the One we love.

 

FAITH - LOVING THE LORD AND LOVING OTHERS (LIVING ON TARGET)

The bitter has broken. We’ve had below-zero temps but today it’s 40 degrees and the sun shines bright. I leave Samuel in charge during lunch break from school and I go for a run. When I return, the younger boys are waiting, slingshots in hand.

“We’re ready,” a son says. “We have the ammo from Mr. Roger. Can we have a few more minutes of lunch break?”

I look into their green eyes – these two youngest sons. They’re full of hope. Yesterday, a friend from church gave them a bag of white marbles. “Be careful,” he said. “Don’t shoot at one another. Set your target in an open space and be wise.”

I think about our afternoon home school subjects. It’s a weighty load. Then I look at the sunshine that stretches over the living room rug in wide, gold bars and I have to give in.

“Careful,” I say.

The boys are off.

And as I watch these sons, standing together and slinging marbles at a pizza box they’ve fashioned to a bulls-eye, I wonder….

Am I living on target? How close am I to hitting the mark?

I think of Jesus and his reply when asked which command in God’s law is most important.

Jesus said, “’Love the Lord your God will all your passion and prayer and intelligence.’ This is the most important, the first on any list. But there is a second to set alongside it: ‘Love others as well as you love yourself.’ These two commands are pegs; everything in God’s Law and the Prophets hangs from them.” Matthew 22:34-36 MSG

I watch from the window as my boys shoot and bolt into the marshy yard to retrieve their marbles. I watch until my breath fogs the glass.

Lord, let me live on target.

When I think about it, when I pare it all back and look at time and talents and what I’ve done with what the Lord gives, I worry that I fall short. Busyness robs my intention and sets me off track.

Lord, let me be wise and obedient. Let me love you first and others next.

I stand there a few minutes longer, watching my boys play under the unusually warm January sun. When one boy hits the target, the bulls-eye center, there’s a celebration.  A loud, heartfelt cheer.

I smile and clap and tap on the glass. I give a thumbs-up and the boys do a thumbs-up back. Their joy is bright as the day.

Hitting the target is precious.

Lord, empower me. With Your Spirit and direction, I can live well for You.