Five Minute Friday: Tree

It's Friday. It's a great prompt. I'm going for it. I'm joining Lisa-Jo Baker for Five Minute Friday. You can too right here: Five Minute Friday


Here I go:


START! 

I glanced through my emails again. The one from the vice principal reminds me of the trials of middle school. My oldest daughter is forging her path. It doesn’t help that it’s her very first year in public school. She’s actually holding her own, in the classroom. But, I am finding my head shaking over and over. What is up with these boys? 

She tells me her daily account of the interactions she has with that strange species of preteen/newbie teen boy. It’s a running account that has no stop or pause button from the time she gets home until she slips into bed (unless she’s singing, of course). And I am flummoxed. (Isn’t that a great word. Sounds like it’s straight out of Dr. Seuss.)

Oh this boy asked me out. And this boy asked me out. This boy was too shy so his friend did it for him. That boy sent me a note in class. Another boy wanted me to wear his jersey, his friend didn’t have one, so he asked me to wear his hat. (Eeeewwww?)  We’ve had two contacts with the administration when two separate boys refused to respect her "no" for days on end.

And I want to know, what is going on? I ask her if she is being singled out and if so why. She said the boys are swarming because she’s the only one in her group that doesn’t have a boyfriend. This is middle school? Sigh.

We went to plant trees as a service project about a year and a half ago. They told us how you have to be careful not to place the stake too close to the tree or the trunk will not grow to its full strength. It will be susceptible to damage due to high winds and other stressers when it matures.

My daughter asked me about why we don’t want her to date. She figures it’d be so much easier on her social life if she just had a “boyfriend” to fight off the rest of the hungry wolves nipping her heels. And I reminded her of that service project. I shared with her that her identity is in a key growing stage.  Friendships offer great support and are extremely valuable. Romantic relationships, on the other hand, are like the stake that is too close to the trunk. Her identity would not grow in strength if she constantly looks to a boyfriend for affirmation and acceptance. 

I wish I was more convinced she got the lesson. But, I’m thankful the Lord offered us that experience in the his good timing so that I would feel confident when this trial crossed our path.  Now, we just have to wait and see if she’ll learn the lesson of the tree.

Letter to the fly on the wall

A letter to the fly on the wall,

I read the gospels with longing. The retellings stir things to life deep in the core of all that makes me a woman, and of all that was broken as a girl. I follow Jesus’ steps with every word. I find myself dancing around him at times, as if he’s still-framed and I examine his hands, his knees, his eyes. I wonder and ponder; What was it like to be loved by him?

If only I could have been you. A simple fly on the wall of the temple. What would you have seen on that day the ruckus started? Did it seem as suspicious to you as it does to me every time I read the account. If only I could have been there.

Dust would cover my knees as I dropped to her side. I would look up and try to see what she saw in the teacher's eyes when he uttered the words, “Where are your accusers. Go and sin no more.” I would watch her face slowly rise. I’d be riveted by his eyes fixed fast on her heart. I could imagine that recognition of grace spreading across her features, a softening coming to his gaze.

There’s that longing again.

There is another wall that you may have perched upon. Perhaps the air was a bit stuffy in that room as the afternoon gave way to evening. Perhaps refreshing desert breezes began to drift among the eager disciples as they listened intently to the Master.

Often I try to insert myself into that scene. Mary at the knee of her Lord with agitated banging and exaggerated exclamations coming from the kitchen. I would allow my knees to bend and settle, not too close. Perhaps beyond the intimate circle but not too far. I want to see his face. I want to experience the animation and fervor that might have filled the conversation. And to drink in the laughter, and thrill at the testimonies of all they had seen. The moments may have seemed ordinary until Martha entered and with all that energy pressed the point to the Lord. And then I would have leaned forward. I would have wanted to hear him affirm Mary, to hear him place a priority on her relationship with him, her seeking him, her intentional pursuit of him… I wish I had been there to soak in the meaning of it all. At that phrase, “But Mary,” the air must have thickened. Did his focus slide to Mary’s face in that slip of time? What expression passed from one heart to the next? And what did Martha see on his face through this whole exchange. There are those Martha moments when I could use a firm but beckoning exchange with the Lord to help me remember to whom I belong.

In reality, I want to be more than the fly on the wall. I know I’m to live by faith and I’m willing to do that. Many times the Lord speaks sweetly to my heart in much the same way that he most likely did while wandering this earth. But, I believe there is so much more that will not be satisfied this side of heaven, and the intense longing remains for that affirmation that can pass through the eyes, through the tender look, through the innocence of an intimate gesture. It’s the expression of a love that is already guaranteed, a love that is already sealed by a covenant that’s as solid as the vast heart of my King. It's a love I know in part. I await to know it in it's fullness.

Until that day. Until that unveiling of the eyes, I am content to wonder and ponder what it was like for you as a fly on the wall.

Today I'm linking up with Ruth Povey and Sabrina Fowles at their Letter To series. Come on over and join the fun!

I'm also linking up at Titus Tuesday!

Five Minute Friday: Last

Every Friday for nearly three years writers have gathered here for a kind of free write flash mob. We all spend five minutes writing on the same topic for just five minutes. And then we link up at Lisa-Jo Baker's site to share our thoughts.  Today's prompt is Last. Here we go:

The forks sang out as they were passed around the table and little bodies fidgeted in the chairs too big for them as we ate our last dinner together before school started and I had to share my children with too many people and allow them to have adventures where I wouldn’t be there to feel their playful hands slip into mine from time to time. It was the end of our last day of summer. We indulged in too much t.v. and a lot of free time with our friends. It was the last day of freedom before homework and bedtimes would for the first time, strangle our days and add hurry to them that we have never known. It was my last chance to tell them to remember who they are. I told them that no matter what happened to remember where the belong, remember what they were called to. They don’t have to look too far. I reminded them of why they bear the names that they do. We described the meanings and how each name we handed them was purposeful. We laughed and smiled and enjoyed. Then that hurry caught up to us and I rushed my daughter, budding with so much maturity and beauty, off to her 7th grade open house. I enjoyed the last bedtime routine with them. And closed my eyes that night, knowing that in the morning I would open them to so many firsts.

Ready to Go!!

Walking to the Bus

First Day of Preschool

Letter's to Tuck in Your Pocket

Photo Credit

Today I link up with Ruth Povey and Sabrina Fowles for their Letter's To series.

Well, my excited, giddy and somewhat anxious children, your first day of walking the school halls is upon us. Tomorrow I will walk you to the bus or drop you off at your new preschool and you will begin a new adventure with new friends and sadly, new foes. You will find your mind opened, stretched and bombarded too. So here is a little note, a blessing, a talisman that I wish for you to tuck in your pocket and in your heart. And when you come home, know that you have stepped again into that world where no matter what went on at school, you belong.

Dear child,

You enter a world where you will be told you can be anything you want and where many competing voices will attempt to define who you are. My prayer is not that you will become the anything offered by those who do not know you well, but instead you will strive towards the one thing you are called to become by the One who fashioned every fiber of your being and who has counted every hair on your head. My prayer is not that you become the labels that others are so willing to slap on your chest. My core hope is that you become the name we gave you and told you about since you were a baby. Your life, though not yet lived, is already recorded in God’s book. He has already seen your failures, and He loves you still. Dear child, walk the halls of that school with your head high, because you are called, you are named and you are loved. And when you return home each afternoon, I will be here, having prepared throughout the day while you were away to remind you of your call, your name and that you are deeply cherished and loved for who you already are.

Love Mom

Five Minute Friday: Small

I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker for Five Minute Friday. The prompt is Small and though I can't say I stayed strictly in the time limit, I found there was a lot to be said.

Photo Credit

There is a part of me that feels small.

She’s the messy me that I’ve never had the courage to face. She shrinks away and tucks herself in corners of my heart because her story is painful and she carries much of what is too terrible to experience and yet stay sane for the day to day.

Now I live in safety, but she still lives back there in uncertainty and fear. The past bleeds forward so often that numb is my favorite state and though the highway won’t carry me there, my crazy coping methods will.

I keep the small where she was told to stay with my anger and self-hate so big and scary that no one dares mess when Mom goes there. Every uncomfortable moment in the present drags those old feelings of shame, rejection, helplessness, longing and fear forward like a child’s soiled blankie that never leaves her side. Before I even know what that feeling is, the anger is flying at it hard, slamming it back down and the rage is attempting to silence whatever it was that opened the door for the messy me to be seen.  I don’t feel like I even know what hit me. I’m flooded with shock when I survey the blast zone that I create in those out of control moments.But most of all, I feel numb.

I have worked hard for years to get to the bottom of all the destruction caused by my rage. I think, now, I see it.

I’ll find freedom by seeing it. By seeing the messy me.

By letting the small become big.

By taking the safety of the present and offering it as a gift to the past.

The discomfort of memory and emotion must be something I am willing to stay in for long enough to bring Christ to that moment. Yes. The discomfort of embracing the messy me is what I must be willing to endure, so that her finding comfort may finally make way for her finding love.

Today, I had an argument with an overemotional preteen whose anger often blasts away like her mommy’s. I felt my value taking a hit, and it was a familiar agony from my teen years. My anger marched in, took position and lowered its weapons. Then, I backed away. I fled. In retreat I asked myself, what am I uncomfortable with? Then I saw her disappointment and frustration. I was not comfortable empathizing with those powerful emotions. So that’s exactly what I did. I returned. I showed empathy. Peace settled and there was no blast zone to gaze over tonight.

There is a part of me that feels small, but hope looms large that she’ll finally be free.

photo credit: muffinbasket via photopin cc

Five Minute Friday: Lonely

It's Friday and I'm linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker at Five Minute Friday. The prompt is Lonely and we get 5 minutes to share our unedited thoughts. So here it goes.

5 full backpacks stand smartly against the wall and piles of new clothes have rotated through the laundry routine. Shoes still wait in the store, but soon we will venture out and pick several pair to bring home and wear the life out of. My kids are going to school. Big deal, I imagine people may say. The ads have been telling us that for the last month. But my house is not used to this August frenzy. We have home schooled for 7 years. I’ve been a stay at home mom since #2 was 6 months. That was 10 years ago. Starting in a week and a half (12 days my son would tell you), my kids will walk through the halls of the local schools, and meet new friends, and bring home schoolwork and fund raisers. And I will soon acquire 3 days a week of time alone. Necessary time. Cleaning time. Healing time. Resting time. And I know that lonely time will sneak in there too. It always has in these seasons when I find myself home more. It’s been so long and I fear the lonely. I pretend it won’t come. I imagine the things I’ll do. But the lonely will sneak up on me in all those silent hours. And my heart, like a slate will stand empty before the Lord, and it’s in the quiet I imagine he will write the most. It is when I’m at rest or doing chores that he will begin to script out a new direction for me, a new plan, a new identity. So I pray I can endure the lonely. For life will get its start there.

 photo credit: redagainPatti via photopin cc