Sacred Mundane: The Blog

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 …

—– 

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. 

Falling boys: Well, I am not a mom who overreacts when Dutch gets a little bump or bruise.  He’s already had his share of trips, bumps, and scrapes.  To date he’s fallen off the bed three times, all occuring under (of course) my watch.  Each were in a split second, a quick look away, and whoop! there he went off the bed.  Of course as a mom you feel horrible, but seasoned mothers reasurre that every baby falls off the bed at some point.   In May we were at Lake Shasta and Dutch fell over off the little seat where he was propped and landed on his head on the linoleum.  I wanted to die and I think I was more upset than he was, but thankfully Darcy was there, a mom of two who immediately began telling me when she accidently dropped her son on the tile floor in their home and cut his head open.  Somehow this story made me feel better and less like a negligent mom. 

Well, now that Dutch can crawl around and handle himself just fine, I thought maybe the days of falling down off things were over.  Wrong.  Today, he crawled out of his crib.  Yes.  He crawled up over the edge of his crib and landed on the floor.  We had the edge down just slightly (it was still up to his armpits!) and somehow he managed to get up over the top.  I had friends over and all of a sudden I hear this super loud cry and it sounds like Dutch’s door is open because I can hear him so clearly.  I ran upstairs and I could hear the clicking off the little wooden letters of his name on his door, as if the door was open.  Since I knew I’d shut it I couldn’t figure out why it’d be open unless Jeff was in there, but he wasn’t.  As I got closer, my jaw dropped as I saw that our little boy had apparently gotten out of his crib (by falling!) then crawled over to the door, pushed on it (it doesn’t latch well so it pops open easily) and opened the door and was trying to get out of the door while still crying from his fall.  As I realized what had happened I could not even believe what he had done–and of course I scooped him up and comforted his little sobs and wiped the tears from his face. 

Amazingly enough, there was no damage.  Minutes later he was laughing.  Falling this far for an adult would be like falling off the roof.  But he is just fine, thank You Lord, and we put some wooden wedges in the side so that the side-rail stays up farther.  Goodness gracious. 

Besides that I am just savoring the fact that we have a weekend at home.  Did you hear that?  Home.  Yes, I am at home.  It isn’t my home, but it is home all the same and I’m so happy to be here.  Today there was the tiniest bit of snow fluttering outside, and I watched it fall above the icy cold white water of the river.  This morning Jeff and I took our long walk with Dutch, breathing deeply the fresh country air and thanking God for the beauty of the country.  Tonight I’m making a yummy dinner and maybe even cookies–a Friday night at home deserves a treat!  I’m thankful for a warm house and a fireplace a curious and adventurous little boy who can climb anything.  He must take after his uncle Kris, the rock climber. 

Enjoy your evening too, wherever and whoever you are.  Remember to breathe, laugh, and thank God for life.