"He hates you".....

....said the young soul, looking up at me through black rimmed glasses, thoroughly convinced of the lie.  His eyes were wide and his mouth was set firm with the harsh words he'd just heard.  He believed them.  And he was astonished.

"No.  He doesn't."

"YES.  He DOES.  He TOLD me.  I wasn't supposed to tell you.  But....I ...."  He faltered at what to say next.  He was wrestling with the guilt of exposing a secret he was incapable of helping to fix.  But he loves his friend.

I knew it was a heartbeat moment.  A time to speak words back that wouldn't make sense until the some day.......a time to guide a young man who is sitting in the bleachers wanting to make right what he doesn't understand.  Knowing that to help hide was only making it worse.

"No.  He hates what he's reminded of.  He hates what's happened.  He hates what he fears.  He hates what he feels.  He hates what he thinks he'll lose; what he's lost already that cost him so much.  But that's a lot to hate with no name on it, no face on it, nowhere to carry it.  And God seems a little too scary to hate.  It's fear.  He's afraid.  I got too close.  And it scared him."

"Oh."

"Pray."

"I will.  I love you."

He left for the weekend and I locked up the store.

Love does what it can.

Digging Potatoes

"So. We're not giving up.  How could we!  Even though, on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without His unfolding grace.  These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us.  There's far more here than meets the eye.  The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow.  But (there's that "But God" thing again).....But the things we can't see now?  Will last forever."  2 Corinthians 4, The Message

I grabbed my Comfort this morning and started reading and stopped right here.  He'd put Himself right in the middle of my potato field.  His finger lay on the pulse of my life.  This.... this was what was breathing in and out of me the past several days.  This was the "loss" I'd been feeling.  This was the perspective that I'd gotten stuck in....the "giving up" part, the "things we see now" stuff.  I was gathering up the pieces I'd planted these past several months as the owner of the field slipped reckless on the peelings to run away,  the explosion of little potato bits sticking to my heart and the ground in front of me, and leaving the grace on the floor.  His grace.

I thrive in the eternal, the business of breathing new Life into people's hearts and lungs.  I can cut and paste with a three year old happy, I can wrestle silly with a teenage boy, I can drink three cups of coffee with a friend of long years and laugh over nothing content when I know that the gardening is eternal.  When it matters.  And, these past several months?  I'm in a choppy field that I walked head first into without flinching.  Because it mattered.  It matters still.

But this morning.  The Maker of potatoes (as an aside, I always think of Dan Quayle when I type that word) and the Harvester of seeds planted, reminds me not to give up.  That He has purpose that I don't see coming.  That He is making new life where, from where I stand in the field, now pushed back to the side, seems like an empty wind blowing.

There's far more here than meets the eye.  I'm trusting the Eternal unseen is still working.  And not giving up in my heart.

It Is Well

It is.  Well.  With my soul.  We sang that acapella tonight at the concert I went to with my girl.  Audience voices quiet and reverent...swelling there at the end.  There was a time recent when it wasn't well.  So I quiet listened to the voices and didn't join in.  I just wanted to savor the truth of it and let it speak to me.  It is truly well with my soul.  

My girl and I, we drove home tired.  She talked nonstop of school.  Then she got still.  "Thank you, Mama.  For this tonight."  In the beginning, she and I weren't the ones going but that changed abruptly today and she saw liquid disappointment spill down my face all the way home from school.  She felt me struggle with no details given and meet the gaze head on and try to figure out how to wave and smile where once I would have ridden away with.  It felt odd fitting on us both.  "It's "stupid", she spit out.  "How this happened."  I could feel her frustration at not being able to make it okay.  At having to let go of something she'd begun to trust.

So tonight, my girl and I, we left out in the glaze of an orange sun setting big on the horizon and headed to the concert alone.  We hugged friends we hadn't seen in months and smiled for our selfie and let the words and the truth of the songs wash over our spirits.  We chose joy.  In spite of things threatening to stab it in the heart.  

Behold the Lamb has become our Christmas gift to ourselves; it sets our gaze and our season  And today we needed an extra portion to remind us He is steadfast, that He wraps us up in His arms and doesn't let go, that we need not lean on our own understanding, or lack of it.

We don't always feel it?  But tonight....it is well with our soul and we are safe in His watch.  

Merry Christmas to us

Joshua 1:9 and oranges.....

I had time to kill after school.  My girl had an activity that would keep her for longer than I had activities to fill it.  I left the grocery store and felt lost as soon as I got in the car.  "I don't know what to do, God.  Where to go."  

"Nancy."  Clear as a bell.  I knew to go to her house.  I hadn't seen her in awhile.  Life.  Busy.  Not taking time.  I called her to see if she was home.  "Sure.  C'mon over, sweetheart."  She met me at the front door with two pieces of my favorite chocolate that she keeps in her freezer.  "I took these out earlier and laid them on my counter.  I knew you'd come here tonight."  I started to cry and she hugged me tight.  "Come sit down.  I'll get the kleenex."  She brought me an orange to eat.  "You need to eat."

Nancy has seen me through my darkest days.  She's celebrated when she's seen God show His father heart on my behalf.  She's prayed when I didn't have words.  She's stood me up and looked me in the eye and charged me to move forward when my compass had stopped working.  She has been my "mama" when I could not go to my own.  

She sat and rubbed my hand until I could figure out what to say.  "I had to walk by the boy today and not stop, not talk, not act like I loved him. Because he didn't want me to.  And it hurt like ignoring my own kid.  I love somebody who doesn't love me back and I feel nine years old all over again."  Hot tears ran down ashamed.  I felt stupid and childish.  I don't understand.  I don't understand.  I don't understand.  

It's been five years now.  Nancy lost her man to cancer.  They'd been married through a lot of thick and thin and had weathered many a hard storm but they came out standing and ended strong.  Now she walks alone, at least to the natural eye.  She has learned a thing or two about God.  "Do I Trust Him?", she sang to me tonight.  "That's what I've sung many times these past five years."  I've never known a stronger woman.  But, I know Where it comes from.   "Pray for him, Tamara.  Pray for the dark to be uncovered.  For the evil intent of the enemy to be defeated."  I couldn't find the words.  So she did.

I had to go.  She followed me to the door and looked me square in the eye.  "Don't make this about you, sweetheart.  Be strong, vigorous, and very courageous.  Be not afraid, neither be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you.....wherever you go."  She quoted Joshua 1:9 from memory.  

"Pray for him.  God wants to bless you.  Be patient.  Trust Him."  And she stood smiling out in her yard until I drove away.

Chicken Marsala

I've had the ingredients in my fridge for a week now.  I just couldn't bring myself to use them.  They'd been all packed up and ready to make for someone we loved.  I didn't want to make it and eat it ourselves.  It'd taste like something broken.  The girl and I, we put on our comfy cozies and I taught her how, savoring the times with her.  She's not a kid now.  She looks me in the eye and asks good questions and cleans up after the mess we make.  She has become a companion that challenges me, comes alongside, makes me laugh.  I'm extra glad she's beside me for this one.  She tells me to make it anyway.

We chopped and stirred and added this and that and mashed the potatoes all lumpy and buttery.

We set the table and the glow of the sunlight sat on the air and colored it a misty yellow.  "STOP.  Don't eat yet.  I want to take your picture."  She's gotten used to that.  The camera snapped and froze the feeling in the air.  This meal wasn't supposed to be like this.  There was a certain jagged feeling.  We both felt it but we didn't say it.

"Marsala wine comes from a seaport town in Sicily with a name that literally means Port of God," I read from google, trying to find meaning deeper than a meal that hurt to eat it.  I smile a little to myself.  Leave it to Him, to put Himself in the middle of it.  I'm comforted by it without making an analogy.  Port of God is good enough for me.  I nestle there and take cover.  We finished the meal and washed up the dishes, putting the leftovers in their cold place.  I'm irritated that there's some left.  I wanted it to be over with.  

Chicken Marsala will never be the same meal again for me.  It's love free of charge, even if it's prepared from a distance.  

Being Soft in the Hard.....

A few years back, I looked in the mirror and saw pain.  It was raw and I fought to not pick up something, anything to protect myself.  I was tired of bleeding out from the heart.  But I looked again at my reflection.  I did not want to lose this thing; this living life.  I made a choice one particular day.  And I had it inked over my heart so the next time, and the time after that and the time after that I would see it in the mirror.  Azar.  Hebrew.  God is my defender.  God is.  I decided to believe that.

Seven years have come and gone.  That ink still stands out on my skin and reminds me.  Life has seen some really good days, days of promise, since then.  But life is not a straight line.  In that life?  That same life where weddings happened and money came in unexpected and I trumped some odds I didn't expect to?  My dad, a man who always seemed to know what to do, who was insatiably positive and curious about life, became confused and received a diagnosis we did not see coming and went to heaven way sooner than I'd have chosen.  My kids moved farther than my money could take me and I had to let go.  It hurt so much I could feel it in my bones.

Tonight I find myself curled up on my couch, thinking back.  Looking ahead.  It's hard, this living thing.  Surprises aren't always good ones.  People don't always do what they're supposed to.  Words aren't always gifts.  Joy, seeing it around you when you don't feel it, seems violent to the heart.  Amongst unbelievable goodness, there are jolts that rock your world and cause your teeth to chatter.  This I've found though.  That choice I made?  It was to stay soft, to choose to be soft, in the middle of the hard.  To not let rough, crusty patches form where I bleed.

Because of that?  The soft has become a welcome mat for others.  And that is the unexpected gift.

Cabin Socks

I miss them.  I miss how they squeezed my feet like little hugs and I could slide on the wooden floor.  I miss how soft they were and the fact that I had another pair just as wonderful in a different pattern and I would trade off wearing them so they wouldn't get their feelings hurt.  I try and watch a movie now but it's not the same.  My feet feel cold and lonely and dissatisfied.   Even the popcorn doesn't taste as good.  I liked the way they met me at the door and made me feel home, like I belonged.  I'd put them on first thing and head to my big jar of nutella.  It made me happy.

My cabin socks were more than just for my feet.  They covered my heart.

 I'd get woolied practically to death and those socks clung for dear life.  I'd grab the dogs' face with both socked feet when she sloppy licked me right on the face and wrestle her back.  I'd crawl out from under the Christmasy blanket and make my way to the warm bathroom and back again to find my place on the couch.   I'd point them like hands during the "you know what YOU are" game and the kids made me curl them up in a ball laughing.  I hated taking them off until I absolutely had to so sometimes I'd sneak outside when I forgot something in the car, trying hard to barely touch the ground so they wouldn't get too dirty.

Yeah.  I miss my socks.