home fires

One of the things that has made me smile today was waking up to the clatter of dishes, the shuffle of feet and daddy singing "Count Your Blessings" in a bearish growl, all by himself in the kitchen. Daddy cooks breakfast during the week, most times, and he and I are breakfast buddies. He does a bang up job of doing it all just so.  He fries bacon first, in the large skillet and turns them only once.  Then, when the bacon is perfectly brown and crispy, but not too crispy, he forks it onto a plate lined with a paper towel so that it soaks up the extra grease. When the skillet has cooled a little, Daddy cracks an egg on the counter with one hand and eases it into the pan with the remaining bacon grease.  The edges of the egg crackle a little and bubble, and when daddy flips them, he does so gently.
"A leedle crahhcks tooo de ehgg ahhnd theen intoo deh pahn, mahn, ahnd eez' een' thehhre' mahn," he says and hums and sings to the stove.
 We sit at his end of the table to the predictable goodness and, depending on who's up, there will sometimes be a third or fifth to join, but however many are present, we join hands and daddy prays over the food and the day.

This week I've been thinking about the blessing of having parents who love God and me. They love all their children, but I have personally tested their love - sometimes sorely - and have found it true and enduring.  I was not a nice child. I was temperamental and moody and pitched fits about anything I didn't like.  There seemed to be an anger that had a grip on me and as I became a teenager, this only grew worse.  Though I didn't pitch tantrums in the same fashion I had, that rebellion knew how to manifest itself in hurtful ways. Mama would put an arm around me, or ask how I was, or do any number of things she could to show that she was interested in my life and that she cared about me. I'd say terrible, mean things to her and as soon as I said it I could see in her eyes that my arrows had struck their target.  It's a horrible and wretched thing to see your mother's eyes full of pain that you've just inflicted. And yet, she has always reacted in a calm, quiet way, still reassuring me that she loves me more than I could ever know.  I can still be moody.  Can still pitch fits inside and deal with that dreaded Old Man.  But by God's grace I've seen love in action in a consistent way and it has done much to shape the person I've grown into. Thank goodness, I am still learning from the example of parents God has given me.

I think perhaps one of the saddest losses of character we have experienced society at large, over the past several years, is that of Shame. Shame is an agent of that Noble and Blessed thing we call Conscience, I think. It is a tool of sorts that picks at the Dam of Pride and helps us realize we're wrong. It is the thing that gnaws at my thoughts as I lie in bed, knowing I've not acted right or kind to someone and it prods me to get up and set things right, not letting the sun go down on my wrath.  I've done that before, by the way - gone to bed having said words in anger to someone I love and while lying there, I've known that if I didn't get up and apologize and ask forgiveness, that it would trouble me all night. But being stubborn, I'd not get up. I'd lie back down and go to sleep.  Not only have I been troubled by dreams, but by the way I felt on waking.  It's a sense of tension, embarrassment, then pride - not wanting any of that to show.  Often, the fact that I hadn't made things right the night before would carry over into the whole of the day and I'd go about sulking and moody, smoldering like coals doused with water. How silly! Pride hurts to step on, but it's always on the other side of pride that we'll find a sense of peace and resolve, even if we have to make a fool out of ourselves to do it.

Mama says "Family is worth 'It.' .  Whatever that 'It' is in your life, it's worth it. It's worth the hurt you feel when raising your kids. It's worth the nights of caring for sick children and exhaustion and homesickness you will feel; it's worth the work it takes to feed and love and make a home for your family. You'll never regret the love you put into your them. But Satan hates the family, so of course it won't be easy to have one, or to be consistent or to be loving all the time. But the thing that counts is that you keep trying, and you keep doing and you get back up again when you feel like a failure. There will be days that you know all of your time and work, blood, sweat and tears have been Worth It."

on words

They're just consonants and vowels.  Just sounds organized into frameworks we call words.
What do they matter? But so much of our world is affected by words. Words from the President to the Nation, from Preachers to congregations, from Daddies and Mamas to children, from children to friends and siblings.   Words everywhere.  We couldn't live a normal day without them.
Perhaps I am more affected by them than others. But I think not.  If they are gentle, curious and encouraging, I want to do better and feel loved and am inspired by them. If they are hard, edgy, and said thinly and with annoyance or anger, it's hard to think of anything else.
Words are huge. Strange things, and powerful. There are some thing in the every day carrying out of things that can take little or no extra time, but that can affect the surroundings and people considerably.
Kind words are one of them and will never be regretted.
How much Words Reflect, too. It's as if they hold that magic mirror of the Beast's that says "Show Me Gabrielle," as soon as I open my mouth…That's kindly disturbing.
I hope I can grow in speaking well, and speaking gently.  Speaking so that instead of someone feeling discouraged, shoved away or inadequate, they might feel like they've just had a conversation consisting of 'Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver'.

:: just a few of the many things proverbs has to say on the matter  :: 

'There is that speaketh like the piercings of a sword: but the tongue of the wise is health.' 12.18 

'The lips of the righteous feed many: but fools die for want of wisdom.'  10.19-21

'A wholesome tongue is a tree of life: but perverseness therein is a breech in the spirit.' 15.4

'Pleasant words are as an honeycomb, sweet to the soul, and health to the bones.' 16.24 

life of a thought

almost i am persuaded that a thought has no form, no breath, no life, 

until it lives on paper. 

of my little dawn

Isaiah 40 has been a beautiful passage to me this week, presenting itself more boldly than ever I remembered it before.  I've read it over and over…again, it's that force of God that is forever protecting His little ones from those who would destroy them, and showing Himself a bold, fierce and gentle Father.  Some of my favorites…

40/10 − 11 

'Behold, the Lord God will come with strong hand, and his arm shall rule for Him: behold, his reward is with Him, and His work before Him.  He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom and shall gently lead those that are with young.'

This passage was applied to my mind today in a sweet way.  I was looking through old photos/documents {i wish i could say "in my attic, among some old leather cases and thick, dusty trunks…" but alas! it was all this villain-ish, virtual age} and found this picture of Dawn.  

It's a fine photo. Pretty clear. Kind of childishly sweet. But the thing that got me was remembering taking it, and realizing that the reason it was waist up was because at that time she was sitting in a wheel chair.  That seems so distant, most times, yet, during that dark season no one had the comfort of knowing she'd ever be healed.  The question of her ever walking, playing, sitting cross-legged to play a game or getting in bed by herself was besides the point.  We were simply trying to face the fact that she couldn't walk, that the pain she dealt with on a daily basis was unimaginable and the cause was as vague and unknown as the cure.  How gently God has gathered His children to Himself, though…He is merciful, gracious, kind.  He would have been the same, had He seen fit not to heal Moriah, but, oh His kindness in doing so!  We found out a month or so that the virus she'd been attacked with, also affected thousands of other people. 1/3 of those people recovered fully, 1/3 have relapses and chronic back trouble and 1/3 of the people affected never recover.

  Surely, He is gracious in mercy.  How can I deny that, when I see Dawn, healthy, strong {as an ox, I might add - she has the fortitude of a native}, full of vigor, life, bright imagination, a will so strong as to impress and even at times embarrass her piers and elders to shame?  

Thankful to this great God, this Mighty One who has 'renewed strength like the eagles' so that my sweet Dawn can 'run and not be weary...' and 'walk and not faint.'

tuesday thoughts.

How quickly humanity turns on itself when confronted with distress, difficulty, disappointment, to search for what it can find only in the Great God who made us. 

 i would that i might trust more

in His goodness,

rest in His 

providence,

thirst for His presence,

abide in His will, 

that peace and sunshine of His face.

"And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited for Him, and He will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for Him, we will be glad and rejoice in His salvation." 

                                                  - Isaiah 25.9

summer grass and thoughts...

     Are our minds not incredible things?  We live with them for decades and become accustomed to the unruffled method of thinking.  We take it for granted that we've settled into the State of Being in that thought place, which we'll be forever. But then a passage in a book, an unexpected conversation, a scene of particularly blended, light, texture, pattern and we're spirited away, as it were, to tunnels of thought we never knew existed. Nor would we have ever thought to ask if they existed as the natures of these thought tunnels are so wholly unimaginable.  And so then, from those mind caverns which we find ourselves in, we concoct experiments, we imagine theories, and connect potential dots to puzzlements of life in general.  Could there be a whole part of our minds that is simply bursting with brilliance and new thoughts??? How many times have we dreamed of beautiful compositions - music we've never heard, places we've never seen and poems we've never read, yet when we wake up it's fresh, almost vivid and just beyond our grasp? …  How masterfully crafted, how intricately designed!  We live in them and are them, and yet, we learn from them, in a way, discovering and exploring their unknown wilderness.

   Today was grass cutting and I do believe cutting grass is not only therapeutic but inspirational. I made two important discoveries today, namely:

* the combination of a hint of sweet grass, crushed {aged} pine cones, a pinch of summer dust and a little dab of lawnmower engine scent, would make an excellent cologne.
* i can pressure wash the dirt from my nails much more easily, quickly and comfortably than I can attempt to remove all such matter with jabby metal points.

 Oh goodness!!! the preacher was right when he said "Vaniy and vexation of spirit"!…That's all this world is! But thanks be to God our Father for His unspeakable gift and that He's begotten us unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.

 Heaven is going to be so good. 

So. good.

if i were a rabbit i would run here.

...daddy's tomatoes…

please note the dirt line. one of the dirtiest mowings yet, for some reason.

quiet place

"And then there are days," she admitted in a whisper, "that I find a storm quite and completely irresistible."

~~~~~~~~~~

 So many times in my life I feel as if God has kept me in the eye of a hurricane...that quiet place He reserves for His children when all things are a swirling confusion outside and around us, yet, in that place He keeps us sheltered, protected. I'm so thankful for this Strongtower, this Shield, my King, my Captain, my God who leads me beside the still waters, restores my soul, and hides me under the shadow of His wing.

~~~~~~~~~~

 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 

 Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; 
 Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. 

There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High.

Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.
The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah. 

thoughts upon my bed before drifting into oblivion.

i hope this isn't terribly wicked of me, but i sometimes put on a recorded sermon to go to sleep by.  i have sometimes thought of telling this to some of my favorites as an encouraging bit of information, but even as the words would be about to slip away from my mouth into the air, i'd realize how rude that could sound.  of course, in the way i mean it, it is actually a complement. the fact that i enjoy going to sleep by their preaching as opposed to a favorite artist would - i'd think - be nice to hear. perhaps this is one of those things about being a pk. odd enough to create strange habits, normal enough to cope somewhat with society.  we have cleaned since 10.00 this morning, but here, at 10.30 tonight i put my foot down and have taken a shower and am going to bed. cleaning is good. gives satisfaction, especially when doing it because people you love will be reaping the benefit of it...in just a few days, Lord willing, this house will be buzzing. if we don't all completely evaporate, that is.  this swelteringly hot days, broiling sun, sweltering heat...all i can say is, praise God for sweat and air conditioning.
   camp was wonderful, by the way. so much about camp has shaped my life - so many of the people and traditions and sermons and experiences. so thankful for that place. goodnight.

kathryn and kathryn.

derr man.

Came across some thoughts on  The True Man . It made me thankful and proud - in the good way - that I could say I know this True Man in several of my guy friends.  You probably can too, but it's a good reminder.  

sunday

Heart of Life 

is Good

I don't really have something specific to write tonight.  I'm just happy, mostly.  I think you would be too if you were here right now...there's not really any way not to be happy. Or at least content.
 Michael is here.  So my windows are open and he's playing to all of us girls in the room.  Dawn is wearing a straw hat, asking me if the weight on my renewed driver's license is the same as the first one.  'Is it better or worse, gabe?'
  Anne to Melody,
 'New Hampshire?'
 'Concord.'
But they insist on pronouncing 'Des Moines'  (derh-m'ohns) because it was settled 'by the Frinch.' ...At least the river was named after something French.  Merry is lying on the bed propping her feet on Dawn's back and reading some secret book.  Mama sticks her head in the door and says 'whoosh! y'all need the air on back here...Michael, I'll play your cd in my kitchen if you'll make one for me,'  and Anne keeps smiling at something.  Crickets and guitar playing.  It's just right.  And so is the world tonight at the Grey Submarine.  Disappointment is a part of life.  I guess pain is too.  But beauty is also a part that is only intensified through both of those once we can see it again.  Some how - in some good way - all that is bitter and hard and saddening will be beautiful one day.   Days like this remind me of that.

Patrick

Patrick has dark brown hair and dark brown eyes and is 24. I saw him in the first aisle, with all the licorice and bagels and for some reason really wanted to talk to him.  So I did.  His Mom was wheeling him in his chair and said, 'He can't talk, but he loves people to talk to him.' I asked him questions, which is silly I guess when they might be frustrated that they can't answer back but I talked to him about Mother's day and books and summer.  She said he has a type of syndrome which hinders his movement or capability to care for himself or even express himself with coordinated movements.  She had told me that when I reached to shake his hand.  Of course, as I discovered, his hands wouldn't to do that so I held it instead and the way he turned his face and head, even though his eyes didn't focus...I don't know.  It was if he was stimulated just to have someone touch him and talk to him, as if he was eager for it.  It made me sad.  Who knows what his mind is like?  He probably thinks and comprehends more than people generally give him credit.  It made me thankful for what a rich life God has blessed me with and thankful too, that I met Patrick.

Parable of the Faucet

He calls me Incorporation and this was Abe's advice to me tonight. 

'It's like this, Incorporation.  Hear the Parable of the Faucet.  You can either drink the city water where you have crazy rednecks in the high tower, skinny dippin' at night - which water then comes through that big faucet over there; or you can get a major filter system which filters the water even a thousand times and comes out that other little faucet right there.  In the end it comes down to a question of quality: What do you want to settle for? Or do you?'

chasing the light

there are some things in life that are beautiful and intriguing and curious and strong.  i sometimes wish i were not so quick to endear these things and people.  they pass from the scope of tangible too soon and often leave me feeling more empty than when i met them. it's like going to the moon, i guess and coming back from that dynamic experience with maybe a rock.  some of these things leave a good memory. or at least a good imprint of a firm handshake.

  this is a good reminder for me to chase after Light - the thing that will keep on being there and leading no matter what.

now when you find it

you keep it

in a permanent state.

that He would wash me over

again

with that realization of His 

incredible sacrifice

and the love which prompted Him to do it,

the power which sustained him as He hung in agony on the cross.

i desire to know. 

Him.

that He would grow my heart to be that flourishing garden

where the warmth, comfort, strength, constancy of His presence

is ever known. 

this world is empty, empty. and wasted breath on everything we care about in it. 

God help me to be 

immersed 

in Yourself, lost to the world, won over to you

completely.

on this side of the house

someone's in the shower. someone's always in the shower, which means no pressure and no hot water on my end of the house. but that's ok! life is good! i got a sunburn, a raise, got to say hey to GrandPatty and this evening i had a conversation with a wise man which was one of the best conversations i've had in a long time.
                    think my hair may be getting just a little longer. maybe. oh goodness. good night.

of tweet and retweet

Tweet

and Retweet 

were sitting on a boat. 

Tweet fell of and who was left? 

twitter.

Retweet's imaginary friend. 

You see, Retweet and Twitter have almost the 

same amount of letters, which means they are almost identical in strength.

and if Retweet was silly enough to create an imaginary friend 

nearly as strong as himself, this suggests to me that

Twitter would soon grow into an irreplaceable

 presence in the mind of Retweet, so that one day Retweet

would eventually give in to the strength of his friend.

And what better time for Twitter to take 

advantage of this weakness than 

when  Retweet had his back

turned, busy with

pushing off 

Tweet?

Easter

  Today was the best Easter I remember. I got up early and read the 20th chapter of John.  Mary was the first one at the grave...I wondered how much sorrow she must have felt, been bowed down with as she went there that morning.  Then getting there and thinking someone had taken his body...But when we he said her name...'Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him, Rabboni; which is to say, Master.'
    I like how John never speaks of himself in the first person, but refers to himself most of the time throughout his account as 'that other disciple whom Jesus loved', or 'the other disciple'.  The urgency he and Peter had in reaching the sepulchre 'So they ran both together: and the other disciple did outrun Peter, and came first to the sepulchre...'  Makes me want to be more that way in my relationship with Christ.

  Daddy was blessed this morning to preach an incredible message on our victorious Savior.  Then we had 35 people over to our house and we all ate lunch together.  Caleb Apollo caught bugs and told us about the first time he held a baby and how he thought the kid's head had snapped.  Ahh!! And the weather today was perfect. Absolutely.  Sweet, light air.  Honeysuckles in thick vines by the house and garden.  It's just been one of those incredible days, tailored just so in all the right ways to make it sublime.

hard

go hard after Christ,
  don't look back and don't let luggage weigh you down.  don't let friends who are wearing the race tag, but are merely lounging on the sidelines, draw you in to sit down or to sway your ambition. go hard! push to the limit - where your lungs are burning, your breath short, your legs weak - keep running. and don't think the people on the sides who are taking this easy have anything better to offer you. they don't.
  our goal is beyond this place- keep focused.  the more we run, the more we sweat, the less we care about our material worth and all that is noble, lasting, worthwhile is ever before our eyes becoming our most beautiful desire. that quenching well away from this heat, that cool forest away from this desert. keep pushing, pressing, looking further. keep running.

challenge to self

let your forgiveness be won 

as easily as your love;

the wrong done

against you be

forgotten 

as easily as the good
done to you was
remembered.

reminder.

'Contentment comes from communing with God.
It is the product of resting in Him.'
                         
                                             - mama