Breath of Heaven

The Christmas music started on December 1. The kids have become experts in this musical genre and I'd say this daily dose of Christmas music has been refreshing... One song always stands out as a favorite...

It has been a tough year. The news rarely has anything good going on: fires, floods, and madmen. I know for some people this year has brought great sadness and challenge. One of many things for me was the passing of Grammom Rosie. I have felt her loss almost every day. On any given day, I would call her when I felt loneliness creep in or when I had a cooking question. She was always there.

As I lay pondering this season I have been in and wishing for something a little better… I thought of the baby Jesus and of the universal question when we come upon a newborn. "Can I hold him?"

Like any other new baby, whether it’s your own or someone else’s you know that when you are holding them – their sweet, dewy, peach fuzz faces. Their alert eyes looking up at you. You are holding someone’s precious and perfect baby. There is nothing sweeter.

I remember when Rose was tiny after she nursed and was sleeping on my shoulder I could smell her sweet breath. It was an intoxicating smell. A breath of heaven.

The thought occurred to me that this might be a way to start fresh. Focus on that sweet newborn baby Jesus. Imagine him in my own arms. Babies don’t know what wrong we have done or in what ways we have failed or what sadness we’re holding on to. That baby just knows he is safe in our arms. That you have his attention.

And so I ask, "Can I hold him?" Can I hold the newborn King? Can I hold my Savior and look into eyes? Can I get lost in the irony that though I hold Him. He is really holding me. He arrived to save me. His sweet breath of heaven will hold me together and make me holy. He is a helpless human yet saving humanity.

Sweet, precious peach fuzz baby Jesus...

Like this song goes :

Breath of heaven,

Hold me together,

Be forever near me,

Breath of heaven.

Breath of heaven,

Lighten my darkness,

Pour over me your holiness,

For you are holy.

Consuming Fire

Third Day is a band I knew well and I can remember the first time I played their debut album. I played it loud because that is just the way it ought to be played. I knew that almost immediately.

I always play it loud and sing it loud.
I always play the drums hard against the steering wheel.
I am sure other drivers think I am nuts. I don't care.

It takes me back. Back to when I was on fire.

This time Consuming Fire meant more than usual.

Because I was reminded that His Consuming Fire is in me and will always be in me.

"And yes our God, he is a consuming fire
And the flames burn down deep in my soul"

The ember will always be there, it can never fully go out.

So I sang it loud and could feel the fire in my belly warming up.

Flourish

From summer not so long ago...


The monarchs are here early this year. We saw the first one on the first day of summer.
We have continued to see them.

6 danced in the skies.

A lovely sight.

Their flitting makes me flourish.

It is nourishment for my soul.

BOOM

And, fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord. Ephesian 6:4

BOOM

Pretty sure that includes moms too.
Pretty sure I did some provoking and definitely saw some anger -today.
Honestly, never included myself in this verse until - BOOM.
I'll take that spark.

Dinner

Dinner.

I just hate it.

No one is ever satisfied.

Syrian children - they would appreciate it.  Not mine.  There is wailing and gnashing of teeth like I am trying to feed them shoe leather or cats brains.

So here it is 5:50 pm I don't know what I will make.

I will drag my feet until I admit if I don't feed them soon I can't make them go to bed.
Of course I feel guilty about this. Because it is part of my job requirement.

Stay at home moms should cook for their family.
Everyone else is doing what their job requires of them. Right? But I am a slacker.
An uninspired slacking cook and I know it.
Maybe fresh zucchini will fix it but there is none yet and I am pretty sure it will only last for about 2 of them.

I think once upon a time I liked cooking. I don't know what happened. The Everyday Food magazine stopped publication. The fatigue of trying to get little people to eat mere morsels of anything new.

The work, the expense, the time, the clean-up, the dis-gratitude.

All the cooking shows in the world and I don't think I can be motivated to salt my chicken the night before. Or even figure out what we will eat the day before.

Perhaps this is just indicative to the pervasiveness of slow rot in every area of my life.

Maybe if I could root out the rot the inspiration would come back.

And I wouldn't hate...

Dinner.

Confession

(Drafted in June)

I use to read the Bible everyday.  Everyday, even if just a few verses. I didn't always feel moved by what I read but I felt that the habit was valuable to continue. I did it for decades not just years.

Then, I just didn't do it one night, then another, then another.

I read the kids Bible stories all the time. I tell myself that's enough. But it is not. I know because I am living with my soul.  My soul is thirsty. My soul is dry. My soul is longing. My soul is not feed.

It's been 3 years since I had a Bible study. No group of women I could dig deep with. No group of people to be insightful with.

No feasting. No spark. No refreshing.

I am the field of dry bones.

Breath new life into me.
Give me fresh eyes to see.

Flash of Scarlet

(Drafted in June)

The hummingbird has become an almost daily visitor. We catch a glimpse. He slips away.

He sips the coral bells and zips off into the maple tree.  Raising the question does he have a nest there?  What kind of nests to hummingbirds have?

This day he lingered and investigated the running sprinkler as well as the coral bells. 

He seemed to drink the drops in the air. A feat only a hummingbird could manage?

He flashed his scarlet throat; its vibrancy like a fire of color. An other worldly color, something more akin to a burning bush and Holy Ground.

A fire I have felt fading.

That blessed flashy throat, that longer than usual linger of a tiny bird was like a fresh needed air.

With your quick wings fan the fire.

Why I love Being Your Mother 2018

My yearly tradition thwarted because I was sick in bed on Mother's Day.

I could try to do it today on a day when you both have worked hard at my sanctification.

For some reason, I am having a hard time with this. Partly, because I feel woefully inadequate as your mother. I am desperately afraid of screwing you up. Of you not being successful and it all coming squarely back to my shoulders. Because you are with me all day and I am your teacher as well as your mom. I am afraid some day you will grow up and not call me for weeks at a time. I am afraid you won't remember the good. But will instead act out every bad habit you learned from me.

Moms are human. We struggle with self control and being kind too. Some days our tone is harsh and you don't understand what hormones are yet.

I won't stop trying though.

Because at the end of the day, I want you to be better than me.

I want you to inspire people to stronger faith.
I want you to be the one who is kind to the ones others are mean too.
I want you to go into the world and make it better.

You are 2 of the most creative kids I know and you could fill the world with your invention ideas, songs and stories. Your chatter makes my head swirl some times but you are full of spirit and sparkle.

I am believing that one day all good stuff that brews in your brains and is contained in your hearts will combine with the hopes I have for you... to God be the Glory.

When a Memory Smells

There are certain smells that can take me back in time.

If I go into a local hardware store, I am transported to Moffa's Hardware Store. Joe or Frank is at the counter, "What can I do for you?" The black and green check floor is worn. I am 10 year old getting nails with dad or 20 years old and watching with amazement as one of the Moffa brothers mixes paint.

My Grandparent's house has its own smell. A mixture of Wisk, Cedar and stubborn love. I noticed it every time I walked in.

Things are being cleared out of their house now.  Although the house will stay in the family, they will make it their own -as they should. That unique smell that has always been a welcoming sensation will probably fade away. The dismantling of a home has been hard on this heart of mine. I think it has been hard on most of us. It was a home away from home for so many of us. The photos on the walls, every grandchild's senior photo up in a matching frames, old photos of great great grandmothers... The empty Meletti Anisette bottle in the back room of the basement, precious moments and Precious Moments in the 100s. They are all so apart of the fibers of my soul. They are the things you could always count on seeing and never changing. Until now. Left only in our memories and the few things we took to remind us of the lifetime we lived with them.

Sometimes, I will drink in those few articles of clothes I took from her closet and smell Gram.

For a moment, I am in the back room with her. Jeopardy is on. She will be keeping track of the Phillies game later. I will clip the coupons she saved for me. Her soft crooked fingers are holding mine...

The Vacuum

Facebook Timeline reminded me that 7 years ago Grandpop went to the hospital. 
It was the beginning of the end.

Two days before it had been Father's Day and Pop had been down on the floor with little Walter crawling around. I was impressed that a man weeks from turning 90 could still get on the floor like that. He had been out in the yard working, his pants hiked up around his skinny waist.

Soon he would be gone. There would be a vacuum.
A vacuum that still exists 7 years without him.

I miss his stories.
I miss his smell.
I miss his squishy hands.

Honestly, it still baffles me that after 7 years the missing him hasn't really faded.

February 20

There are 46 years between February 20, 1972 and February 20, 2018.

On these dates, I lost both my grandmoms. One I never knew, who died 3 months before my parents got married. And the one I always knew and have had to figure out how to live without.

No more dinner prep phone calls to ask a question.
No more "I am out taking a walk" phone calls to catch up on the days.
No more sitting together to watch a Hallmark movie.
No more cards in the mail.

But also no more pain.
No more feeling useless or bored.

But why the same day?
Why did my mom lose both her mom and her mother-in-law on the same date?
Why did I lose both of my Grams on the same date?

Just irony?
A bittersweet comfort?
A keen way to remember them both?

It's a date I won't forget.


Today, it has been 6 months since February 20, 2018 and the urge to pick up a phone is still there.

Floodgates

It's been so long since I wrote anything I kind of feel like the floodgates may break open and wash out everything in it path.  I am not sure if that will be a good thing or a bad.

I guess it depends on who or what is in the way.

But I have to do something.

I have to write something.

Because I am loosing myself,

I feel myself fading away like a fire left unattended.