Sacred Mundane: The Blog

…Not sure what to write tonight, but just need to say that saying goodbye is hard. Tonight we packed up my brother–he is moving to Salt Lake City, UT with his wife and newborn baby daughter. His wife and baby left earlier this week, so my parents, Jeff, Dutch and I spent the evening over at his home, cleaning and loading the U-Haul and eating deli Chinese food off paper plates. We turned up the Christmas worship music and I strapped Dutch onto my back in his carrier (he is SO heavy now!) and we sang Christmas songs and mopped and swept while Mom vacuumed and the boys loaded the truck. It was sweet. Family is sweet. Then Mom and Dad left and Kris and I made a quick trip to Fred Meyer together to get a padlock. Then said goodbye. As I turned to go, there were a million things I could have said, and there are a million things I can write right now. I’ve said them all before. He’s my hero. I love his wisdom, his humility, his quiet confidence. I love fun memories I have of college days eating Melorine 99cent non-dairy frozen dessert from Cub Foods (known to youngsters as Winco). I love fun memories of pre-marriage days, staying over at his house, eating his home-cooked dinner of meat, meat, and more meat. No veggies, no sides, no salad, no bread. Just meat. Those days were fun, but these days are better. I’m a million times happier and he’s a trillion times happier now that he’s got a beautiful wife to take care of him. But I’m still going to miss him because he’s my big brother and I love him. I’m going to miss him so much it makes my stomach get all knotted up and ache all the way up into my chest. And now I’m going to stop writing because I’m done crying and I don’t want to wake up with a migraine and eyes swollen shut, so I’m signing off. Saying goodbye is hard and I love my brother. That’s all. Goodnight.

At church our pastor is teaching a series called Restoring Christmas.  We’ve only received the first message, but I’m already challenged and spurred on to see this season reflect the one whom we’re celebrating: Jesus!  I wanted to include here, on my blog, some of the thoughts and reflections both from these messages and just from embracing this season fully. 

 Last year, as I prepared for Christmas, I was also preparing to give birth to our firstborn, a son.  I felt so incredibly blessed to be able to feel what Mary must have felt as the days approached her due date.  (Ok, I know Jesus wasn’t born on Christmas day, but it represents when he was born.)  The emotions, the impatience, the discomfort, the joy at times, and sorrow at times, the preparation and anxiety about the birth, the myriad of feelings that every mom experiences in the final weeks and days of pregnancy. 

During those final days and weeks, I was also in seminary full-time (!) which meant driving 1.5 hours each day several days a week for class.  Jeff bought me Mercy Me’s Christmas CD, so I filled my drive time with Christmas tunes redone by one of my favorite bands.  One particular song will stick with me forever: Joseph’s Lullaby.  I would play that song, over and over and over, singing and crying.  I know that Dutch is not the Son of God, so of course the words don’t directly apply to Him, but He is a son of God, and I sensed, throughout my whole pregnancy that this little boy was somehow destined for greatness, that God already had His hand on Him for a special use, to spread the gospel and further God’s Kingdom. 

The song is sung by Joseph, and the power of the Words reflect a feeling every parent who desires their child to be used of God, can relate to.  I can only imagine what both Mary and Joseph must have felt, and the joy and the anguish, the honor and the sacrifice.  I taste only a tiny portion of it, and still feel engulfed by that same feeling.  The song goes like this …

 Go to sleep my Son
This manger for your bed
You have a long road before You
Rest Your little head

Can You feel the weight of Your glory?
Do You understand the price?
Does the Father guard Your heart for now
So You can sleep tonight?

Go to sleep my Son
Go and chase Your dreams
This world can wait for one more moment
Go and sleep in peace

I believe the glory of Heaven
Is lying in my arms tonight
Lord, I ask that He for just this moment
Simply be my child

Go to sleep my Son
Baby, close Your eyes
Soon enough You’ll save the day
But for now, dear Child of mine
Oh my Jesus, Sleep tight

This past weekend Jeff pulled out the Mercy Me CD.  Now, my precious son is hardly a baby anymore, and certainly doesn’t want to be cuddled and held still.  But as this song played, I held him close to me and danced with him, singing the song that same way I sang it to him as a newborn, the same way I sang it to him before he was born.  I do know that the glory of Heaven lies in my arms–my son.  I do know that our children have a destiny, a calling, from God, and we as parents are to shepherd, train, and nurture our children to discover that destiny and fulfull that calling.  Even as I consider the shootings over the weekend, it’s scary to know that our precious children will be the ones standing up for Christ in a hostile world tomorrow.  Can we feel the weight of the glory of God?  Do we understand the price?  We must consider these questions.  But for today I’m so thankful that he’s just my child, my blond-haired blue-eyed baby boy who points and claps and dances whenever music comes on.  I’m so thankful for his round cheeks and pundgy feet and the way his thick lashes look laying down against his cheeks when he sleeps.  For now, dear child, sleep tight. 

Sorry! My site has been down for 4-5 days … but we got the problems all fixed and I’m back in action.  This was written last week but never got to post it so here goes.  More to come later …

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No, don’t worry.  I am NOT writing about Billy Ray Cyrus OR his millionaire 14-year-old daughter.  But I do want to write about hearts, and how they do ache.  Do you know the feeling where you long for something so much it aches inside you?  I don’t just mean you want a new car or you want a better job or something, I mean a longing that just feels like it’s boring a hole in your soul?  Yeah, I thought you did. 

I think the thing I battle with is feeling like I’m never quite sure what to do with that ache.  In the past, usually when I’ve had that sort of intense longing, it’s been for something that God does indeed want to do.  We are told in Proverbs that when we delight ourselves in God He will give us the desires of our heart.  However, I think that that speaks more of implanting His desires into our heart (gives us) rather than just giving us the things we want.  So, my prayer is constantly that God would implant His desires into my heart, so that my thoughts and motives and desires are in line with His.  Sometimes it’s easy to know whether things are from Him or not.  An aching to see a loved one saved is obviously a desire from God, we know that God desires that everyone would come to faith in Him.  On the other hand, sinful desires are obviously not from God and we can be safe in refuting those thoughts and desires and setting our minds on things above.  But what about the rest—the world of gray area in the middle?  That’s where we acknowledge that ache, and turn it to God.

That’s how I feel right now.  Jeff and I had a crazy week.  Basically I’ve had a dream in my heart, one of those that aches so bad.  And this week we unexpectedly experienced a glimmer of hope that this might come to pass.  But now is the scary part.  Do I hope in this possibility?  Do I tell myself it’ll never happen so that I guard my heart and don’t get disappointed?  Do I “have faith” and believe that God will do this thing, but then at the same time risk having my heart break in half (or so it feels) if He doesn’t.  What do I do with my emotions?  It keeps me from sleeping.  The possibility of things gets me so excited I can see how God could possibly work some miraculous thing.  But I am so afraid of getting kicked in the gut, that it makes me fearful, especially because of our experience in San Jose (See The Road to Santa Clara under Featured Posts).  So much of what happened there has made me so scared and leery.

Ok, so there are my honest heart questions.  The answer?  I know it in my head.  Surrender my desires to God and say not my will but yours be done, Lord.  Surrender my emotions and thoughts to God, acknowledging them as valid but not letting them carry me away.  Surrender our future to God—He is God and He is good. Have faith in GOD, not in the hope of some certain event happening or event coming true.  Wait on GOD, not on a person or something specific happening. And then pray, being honest with God about my desires and longings and achings, while recognizing that He alone is the best and greatest desire of my life.  It looks so easy on paper, huh?

Oh our hearts are such remarkable things!  So complicated and easily swayed, so powerful and yet so tender.  What I take from this whole discussion is that I long for my heart to ache for God.  I pray that His aches would be our aches.  I pray that we would ache for His glory, for His gospel to be spread, for reconciliation and peace in families, for nations to be saved.  God, help us know how to handle the aches in our hearts, and let us ache for the things of You.  Amen.

Here’s a sneak peak into a side of me that might surprise you and/or you might think is cheesy:  I love the movie Sweet Home Alabama.  As a whole I’m not a huge “chick flick” fan, and I don’t like to cry so watching tear-jerkers is not my idea of a good time.  I think perhaps growing up in Podunkville I rebelled by distancing myself from anything that had to do with twangy country music, rodeos, and Wrangler jeans.  But, there is some mysterious place in my heart that comes alive when I watch Sweet Home Alabama or when I listen to certain country music, or when I daydream about raising my kids in the country and teaching them to catch crawdads and skip rocks.  And what moving back to Molalla has taught me about myself is that I’ve just been plain old prideful.  Somehow I thought that I was too good for this place and that real success meant living in a city and having fashionable things.  Coming back here meant I’d somehow failed. 

I think that’s why I love watching Sweet Home Alabama. Now obviously I am not Melanie Carmichael.  I didn’t go and become a fashion designer and I certainly did not come back home to my high school boyfriend.  I’ve got the man of my dreams right next to me, and wonder of wonders, he loves Molalla too.  What I love about it is that it reminds me that there are some really precious things about living in a small town where everybody knows everybody and you have a history together.  That is so rare these days because we are such a mobile society.  We move so often that nobody has a history with anybody.  But as I look back, I cherish the fact that I lived in the same town my whole life.  Some of my best friends have been my best friends longer than I can remember.  And that history is irreplacable.  Since Jeff and I have moved seven times since we’ve been married (!) I think that longing to stay is extra strong in my heart.  As I contemplate Dutch’s growing up years, I desire that he would have that continuity, that security, that consistency.  In the movie Jake tells Melanie, “You can have roots and wings.”  I pray that Dutch would have both.

I also learned to appreciate the people here.  As we attend and minister at Foothills, our home church, and get to know people, sometimes I feel like our world’s clash.  At times I’ve felt conspicuous, at times awkward, but as I’ve been slow to speak and quick to listen (not always) I’ve come to cherish these precious people.  We may have different educational experiences, different views on certain issues, and different dreams for our life, but we love Jesus all the same and we can learn from each other’s perspectives.  In fact, one of the reasons why I’m thrilled that we’re here is that I feel like the church has so much to offer us and we might, perhaps, hopefully, have something to offer them as well.  We’re certainly not in a sea of clones–but that is what makes it special. 

Lastly, I love watching Sweet Home Alabama because what Melanie discovers is that home is where the man of her dreams is.  Today I was having a rough day, just feeling like that ache for wanting a place of our own, to actually call home, was so strong it burned in my gut.  For whatever reason it just made me so sad today.  On top of that, something else happened that caused me to feel like perhaps our stay here, without a home of our own, would be longer than we’d realized.  At any rate, I felt discouraged.  Mom and Dad were gone, so Jeff and I were just sitting playing with Dutch, and Jeff went over and turned on the stereo and stuck in a CD we’d gottten from a friend’s wedding.   The first song was one he loves to dance with Dutch to, so they danced around the living room while I sat and watched, soaking up the sweetness of the sight.  Then came on the song, You’re Like Comin’ Home by Lonestar, a good ‘ole twangy country song that goes:

Ridin’ restless under broken sky,
Weary traveller, somethin’ missin’ inside,
Always lookin’ for a reason to turn around.
Desperate for a little peace of mind.
Just a little piece of what I left behind:
Well, I found it now: you’re like coming home.

Go head an’ let your hair fall down.
This wanderlust: it’s gone now.
I’m here in your arms; I’m safe from the road again.
These are the days that can’t be erased:
Baby, there isn’t a better place;
You’re like heaven: you’re like coming home.

You’re like a Sunday mornin’, pleasin’ my eyes;
You’re a midsummer’s dream under a star-soaked sky.
That peaceful easy feelin’ at the end of a long, long road.
You’re like coming home;
You’re like coming home, all right.
As the song played, Dutch was happily busying himself with toys, and I went over and curled up on Jeff’s lap, eveloped by his arms, with my head resting on his chest, my face in his neck.  His familiar smell, the sound of his heart, prickle of his face stubble–it all was like coming home.  I just inhaled and lost myself and forgot my silly self-pitying over wanting a place of our own.  He is my home.  Where Jeff and Dutch are–they are my home.  When Dutch was first born, I used to play the Dawson’s Creek song, It feels like Home to Me and sing along while I slow-danced with Dutch in my arms.  I loved singing that song to him while I changed his diaper or got him ready for bed.  Somehow it just seemed right–having Dutch was like home, so perfect and right that it just set my heart at rest.   So yes, it might be cheesy–gleaning life insights from Reese Witherspoon movies and country western songs, but you go ahead and laugh.  I’m going to savor the sound of the river, the cool, clean, country air, the peals of delighted laughter from my son as he plays, and the warmth of Jeff’s arms around me as I sleep tonight.  It’s like comin’ home.