How Tradition Found Me

     It used to trouble me, those holidays, and what to do about them.  I would hear people speak of traditions and how important they were, especially to children.  Without intentional traditions in the home there could be a void, a hole not filled.  I remained uneasy about making traditions, or the lack thereof, for years.

     The major holidays of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter would loom large and daunting in front of me.  Large spans of time, days and weeks, to be filled with tradition.  And as everyone knows, it is the Momma, not the Poppa, who often guides the family through each holiday, ensuring that everyone experiences a healthy dose of tradition.

     We have celebrated these holidays in various ways over the years.  No two years were alike.  In fact, the year we were expecting Bella’s arrival, we didn’t even have a Christmas tree.  We stayed home on Christmas, without a tree, and without a new born baby.  We calculated that one wrong!  So we decided to party it up for New Years, and so did Bella, at around 4:30 in the afternoon on December 31^st.  We spent New Year’s Eve in the hospital that year. 

     As I heard prominent women speak of making traditions for your family and the importance of them, I felt the need to go and “make” these traditions as well.   It all sounded so wonderful.  I would get the Martha Stewart magazines and cookbooks out and plan my strategy for creating our family traditions.  Nothing stuck, nothing worked, and mostly, it just frustrated me. 

     Then a few years ago I just relaxed about the whole thing.  No plan, no agenda, whatever comes our way will be ok.  This worked for a little while, and then, we began to feel the need for more intentionality.

     I found that we didn’t have a regular pattern in our family life in order for traditions to stick.  We didn’t have those comfortable ceremonies and routines that helped to give us more purpose and meaning for those days on the calendar in which we stop and remember.  Then I realized that a tradition we participate in every week could help us with our holiday traditions.

     My husband began talking about the importance of liturgy in our church service well over a year ago.  I saw an excitement in him as he slowly began bringing meaningfully crafted liturgy to our Sunday morning services.  Week after week, month after month, word pictures from our Sunday services began piling up in my soul.  I would find myself taking away phrases and pictures not from the sermon alone, but from the entire service.  My spirit was learning to walk through paths of gospel remembrance each week.   They were familiar, they were hopeful, and they pointed me heavenward. 

     I began looking for things that resembled our Sunday morning liturgy in our everyday lives.  What did we do as a family that also painted these pictures of the grace and mercy of God and of Christ in our hearts and minds?  What if we endeavored to highlight those traditions in our family that do the same as the Sunday liturgy, orient us back to God?

John and Abigail Adams come to dinner.

    I began to see glimmers of gospel rich patterns in our home.  We gather in the living room three to four times a week to read Scripture and pray and look for Christ in the Bible.  We pray at meals and at bedtime.  We light candles and pray every December, counting down the days to Christmas.  We pray and give thanks over every birthday.  We read almost every night about who God is and what He has done. We never set out to do any of these traditions intentionally, they just found us. 

     Not all of our traditions are about God, nor do they have to be.  We like just having fun too!  But for us, we know that the traditions that are not centered on God will not last.  My children may make oatmeal like I do and love to read history books like their father, but the traditions that point them to Christ will make gospel paths in their souls for an eternity.  They will find themselves walking these roads in dark and happy times alike.  They will remember talking about the “Light of the World” come as a baby to take away the sin of the world by candlelight.  They will remember reading about the fire of God burning up the sacrifice of Elijah in their pajamas.  They will remember sitting on their Father’s lap as he reads about the God who died to save their souls. 

     One kind of tradition only deepens, grows, and remains over time.  The other kind of tradition, the patterns that are not so Christ centered, have a way of fading into the background. We find that we are in need of something that will make these old truths precious to us again.

     The advent season, in particular, reorients us as we enter the New Year. We find that we have been in the desert, wanting and wasting over the past year.  We are longing for a Savior.  How long oh Lord, how long?  It is a time of turning our faces to the moment when God the Father said, enough.  Emmanuel, God with us, has come. 

     These traditions we keep are a lifeline for us as we walk through the swirling waters of life.  We grab a hold of the hope that is reborn in each of us this time of year.  We watch the old pass and the new come.  Babies are born and life comes again.  “Long lay the world in sin and error pining… a thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.” 

John making me laugh.

     We look forward to marking our calendars with special tradition keeping days in which we can reflect upon and renew our vision of the past, present, and future.   Like the Pilgrims of Plymouth, we have many reasons to give thanks.  “Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come.”   And in the traditions that point us to Grace, we can be sure that “Grace will lead me home.”

~Your Fellow Sojourner

“To Thee, O Lord, Our Hearts We Raise”

To thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise
in hymns of adoration,
to thee bring sacrifice of praise
with shouts of exultation.
Bright robes of gold the fields adorn,
the hills with joy are ringing,
the valleys stand so thick with corn
that even they are singing.

And now, on this our festal day,
thy bounteous hand confessing,
Upon thine altar, Lord, we lay
the first fruits of thy blessing.
By thee the souls of men are fed
with gifts of grace supernal;
thou, who dost give us earthly bread,
give us the bread eternal.

We bear the burden of the day,
and often toil seems dreary;
but labor ends with sunset ray,
and rest comes for the weary.
May we, the angel reaping over,
stand at the last accepted,
Christ's golden sheaves, forevermore
to garners bright elected.

O blessèd is that land of God
where saints abide forever,
where golden fields spread fair and broad,
where flows the crystal river;
the strains of all its holy throng
with ours today are blending;
thrice blessèd is that harvest song
which never hath an ending.

By William C. Dix

Captain of the Storm

     “That didn’t really happen.  I mean, He can’t stop a storm, right?”  I heard as I walked into the room. “Yes, he can.  He’s God.” The twins were in theological deadlock.  One was being a realist and the other a believer in the impossible. I felt a need to direct them a little.  “Well, God can do whatever he wants, he is God.”   Then Winston continued in his incredulity. “How did he do that? “  “Just listen,” I said as the cd began to tell the story of “The Captain of the Storm.”

     Later in the day, the “believer” needed some correction.  We had met in this place of correction many times before for the same infraction.  Liam needed a breakthrough, a fresh perspective.   I reminded him of the story he had just heard.   “You know how you feel all that anger and sadness and frustration?  It’s like a storm isn’t it?  Jesus can still that storm in you, Liam.  You need to ask Him to do that.  I need it too.  He can still the storm in your heart.”  And do you know, his shoulders softened and his eyes got big, and I knew that something was happening to him.  He was coming to the point of understanding that the only place he could go for any real hope of change was to God.  And as I was talking with him, I saw myself.   

     I had been feeling the monster storm of anger and the overwhelming waves of frustration too.  It stopped me in mid stride to hear my son think that God could not possibly have stilled a storm.  But, I don’t believe it either.  I let the storm of life swirl around me and I let it carry me away.  I get caught up in the riptide of my emotions.  I know that giving myself over to emotions only leads me to a dangerous uncontrollable place.  A place where I forget who God is, that He not only created the seas, but He can part them too.  The test comes for all of us.  Who will take control?

      I know that I can no more captain my own soul than the kayak I stepped into last month.  It looked easy.  I mean, kids were doing this, right?  And so, throwing caution and common sense to the wind, I lowered myself into the kayak.  After pushing the kayak into the water it didn’t seem that bad.  The sky was beautiful and sunny and we were surrounded by fellow kayakers who were smiling as they rowed.  Then the spinning began.   I knew this directionlessness would not get better.  I didn’t know what I was doing. What looked easy was misleading.  All I prayed for now was that we could somehow row ourselves back to shore. My worst fear was that a rescue party would have to come three yards from the shore to help one directionless mother and two children.   I knew I would be secure on the shore.  I could trust the land.  I knew how to navigate that.  Thankfully we spun our way back to the sandy bank and a kind soul pulled us out.  Boat captaining is not in my future.

     In battle the Captain is the one who leads his troops into danger.  A good Captain knows where his men stand.  How much have they slept?  What have they eaten this morning?  Is anything weighing on their minds?  Who has wounds that need time to heal?  Are they thirsty?  He must know what his men will face when he leads them into the fray.  He knows he holds their lives in his hands. 

     I know no better captain than the One who has faced every hell that life can throw at a person.  He has known hunger and thirst, he has known insult and desertion, and he has known homelessness and a longing for home.  He bore it all to lead me through every fiery trial.  My God has captained every storm perfectly.  He even shows me how to close my eyes and rest a while.  He shepherds me through the valley of the shadow of death where I fear no evil.  With His rod and His staff, He comforts me.                                                        

     I spoke these words from the 23^rd Psalm to Ms. Flo last week.  She can’t seem to stay out of the hospital or the rehab center these days.  She doesn’t know what lies ahead.  “I wish I could just know, just know that I am with Him.”  And my heart leapt to tell her yes.  You can know that He is with you.  He is the Good Shepherd who cares for His sheep.  He will come to all who call on the name of the Lord.  He will safely to His haven guide, until the storms of life have passed.

~ Your Fellow Sojourner

                “Jesus Lover of My Soul”

                  Jesus, lover of my soul,

               let me to thy bosom fly,

               while the nearer waters roll,

               while the tempest still is high.

               Hide me, O my Savior, hide,

               till the storm of life is past;

               safe into the haven guide;

               O receive my soul at last.

               Other refuge have I none,

               hangs my helpless soul on thee;

               leave, ah! leave me not alone,

               still support and comfort me.

               All my trust on thee is stayed,

               all my help from thee I bring;

               cover my defenseless head

               with the shadow of thy wing.

               Thou, O Christ, art all I want,

               more than all in thee I find;

               raise the fallen, cheer the faint,

               heal the sick, and lead the blind.

               Just and holy is thy name,

               I am all unrighteousness;

               false and full of sin I am;

               thou art full of truth and grace.

               Plenteous grace with thee is found,

               grace to cover all my sin;

               let the healing streams abound,

               make and keep me pure within.

               Thou of life the fountain art,

               freely let me take of thee;

               spring thou up within my heart;

               rise to all eternity.

                 By Charles Wesley

So What's Your Story?

     Everyone’s got a story.  If you are with someone for any length of time you begin to touch on their story.  Sometimes it just comes out, and then there are times you have to “read between the lines”.  Other times you can easily see a person’s story peek out, like my daughter’s tale.

      Little children will often ask Bella what happened to her eye.  A four year old girl at the park approached my daughter and requested her immediate friendship last week.  Bella willingly became the little girl’s playmate as they began climbing on the play equipment together.  Every now and then the little girl would ask her what happened to her eye.  My daughter is always ready for this question and sometimes she has fun with her answer.  “It was a freak spitball accident.”  “Oh, wow”, the little girl said, and then ran off to play somewhere else.  The little girl would play and laugh for a bit until she was overcome with curiosity and would ask Bella what happened to her eye again.  Bella declared her one of the cutest girls she had ever met.  I was reminded again that Bella wears her story for others to see.  But I know that most of our stories are not so obvious.

     The playground at A.I. DuPont Children’s Hospital is fast becoming one of my favorite places to sit and think.   One can see children and families from all over the world; European, Asian, Middle Eastern, African, and American walk through the hospital playground.  This multicultural parade is so beautiful to me.  This is truly a unique place.  It is a place where everyone has a story to tell.

      A child doesn’t come to a place where there are world renowned specialists unless they have some sort of difficulty.  Some children walk with canes or braces, some cannot walk at all, others have casts, and still others are frail and thin.  But many of the children look just fine on the outside.  Their story is hidden, like little Gracie’s sister.

     A beautiful young family sat down with me at one of the picnic tables on the playground.  The mother sat with her 10 month old daughter while her husband ran after their three year old Gracie.  After a few questions like how many children do you have? and what do you think of the hospital?, their story began to unfold. Their youngest daughter was born with a hip displacement condition and so they sought out the best help they could find.  Their search led them to Dr. Bowen, who wrote a book on the little girl’s deformity.  Dr. Bowen is also Jackson’s doctor.  The little girl is looking great and her future is looking good. It was after meeting this little girl who shared Jackson’s doctor that the words to one of Jackson’s favorite songs came to my mind.

     Jackson heard a song when he was 7 years old that really impacted him.  “Give me your eyes for just one second, give me your eyes so I can see.”  I remember asking him why he liked the song, and he told me that he wanted to see people that way, the way God sees them.  God was giving him a tender heart toward others.  We had no idea that just a week following his baptism, at 7 years old, just how greatly our family would be impacted by pain.  It was the week that Bella lost her sight in her left eye.  Jackson’s song took on a whole new meaning.  We were all drawn right into my son's own prayer to see people in a whole new way. 

     I have been learning to slow down when I meet people, to look and listen to people more intently.  I am learning to walk a little of their own path with them.  It is in our weaknesses that many of us find strength.  None of us are fit enough.  We are all flawed.  Our flaws are a part of our stories.  Each life has value because of the precious story that it tells.  Even a newborn baby has a story – like my nephew, who came into this world just fine, beating all the odds of surviving an umbilical chord that was knotted 4 times.  Levi’s life tells a story even now, as an infant.  We all stop and take notice because his story causes us to marvel at the gift of life.

     Affirming another’s worth can be as simple as listening to their story.  Or like one child wrote at the A. I. DuPont Hospital, “Just smiling at someone can make a person’s day.”  By looking for other people’s stories we can learn how to care more deeply for people.  Many stories translate to prayer for me.  How can I pray for this person?  Where is God working here?  And as I look for more stories, I find myself praying for more people.  It is becoming a natural overflow.  I am taking their stories to Jesus. 

     As I am praying for people, it humbles me. I am reminded to never assume that I have a person all figured out.  Little Gracie’s sister looked just fine, but as her Momma carefully placed her x-ray on top of the stroller, the little girl’s story became more real to me.  This Christmas she will celebrate her first birthday, and maybe, just maybe, she will walk on Christmas Day. 

     Our stories make us who we are; the good, the hard, the painful, and even those things we don’t want to remember, they are a part of the stories we are living.  And living is what we were meant to do.

~Your Fellow Sojourner

“Give Me Your Eyes”
Looked down from a broken sky
Traced out by the city lights
My world from a mile high
Best seat in the house tonight
Touched down on the cold black top
Hold on for the sudden stop
Breath in the familiar shock
Of confusion and chaos
All those people going somewhere, 
Why have I never cared?

Chorus:
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
Ones that are far beyond my reach.
Give me your heart for the ones forgotten
Give me your eyes so I can see

Step out on a busy street
See a girl and our eyes meet
Does her best to smile at me
To hide what's underneath
There's a man just to her right
Black suit and a bright red tie
Too ashamed to tell his wife
He's out of work
He's buying time
All those people going somewhere
Why have I never cared?

I've Been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
Just moving past me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all along

by Brandon Heath

Studio Performance of Brandon Heath singing "Give Me Your Eyes"

 

                                         What is going on here?!  

For Everyone Who Climbs

     These rocks of affliction seem to never leave the skyline.  They tower over us with their shadows cold and grey.  We awake each day with the impassioned thought to climb; climb, ever higher until we reach the top.  We begin but soon our bodies are pushed to the limit.  We look up.  The distance is just too far.  And we must look down again to begin the decent. 

     At the end of the day, after our attempted climb, we sit.  We sit and close our eyes and dream.  We set our hearts and minds on the hope of the shadow moving and the warmth of the sun pouring over us, thawing out our cold and weary souls.  But mountains do not move.

     And then, one day another climber comes along.  He doesn’t look too pretty.  The cuts and bruises tell of a similar tale; we know the marks well.  But he has a confidence about him, a steady look in the eye, and a patient hand.  He says, “Let’s ascend this rock face together.  I have stood at the base of a wall of rock such as this, and I have come down on the other side.  I am ready to climb.”  And in blind faith or desperate hope, we agree to go along.  The struggle is still there and the obstacles the same, but when we are too weak and our hope has waned, our fellow climber bids us to go on.  We push through the most difficult and dangerous parts of the climb and the summit comes closer. Our hands and feet find holds we did not see before.  We are helped and our weakened souls become stronger.  We begin to breathe the air of hope.

     As we pull our bodies up to the top, we stop to look for our friend.  The climb was long and the work was hard, but we were not alone.  We had someone there to help us up when we had fallen; we had someone there to show us that we did have strength, when we thought we had none.   With aching legs and muscles taught, we stand upon the precipice.  We close our eyes and feel the breeze.  In our hearts we hear a new refrain, “It was worth the pain.  It was worth all of the pain.”  

     And we stand there, in awe of what we have just ascended.  As we think back to where we have come from we feel a twinge of doubt, but we push the thoughts aside.  We are standing on the majestic point of a mountain and we feel a surge of pride roll over us like a wave.  But to take any credit for coming this far would be foolish.  We know we only kept going because someone had gone before us who knew the way.  We had a trailblazer to follow.  And now we see that we too know the way that others must take. 

     We make our plans to go down the rock.  We know we cannot stay here.  We know we need to go back to the lower, more level ground.  And as much as we want to rest in the valley for a little while, we know the next climb will come soon and we must be ready for it.  There are other climbers down below.  Our knowledge and our pain are precious now.  These experiences and things we have learned could become stagnant if they are hidden away and never shared with another.  We are a people of the Way, the Truth, and the Life. We even know the One who made the mountains.  We know that He has led us to these rocks that have been so full of trouble.  But it has been a trouble shared, not wasted.  It will be like precious oil that has been spilled out to heal another troubled soul.  This affliction turned to healing, He has called good. The rocks that had once afflicted us will be like smooth stones we can hold in our hands, to remember. We have stood on top of the massive rock that would have crushed us.  But we were not crushed. We have become more than conquerors.  ~Your Fellow Sojourner

Mt. Hood in Oregon

Little Red Hen Gets Wise

           It’s day three of “no toys”.  I am still sane, in my right mind, and most importantly, alive.  There have been no attempts at mutiny and no death threats.  So far, so good.  This “Little Red Hen” may have stumbled upon some wisdom. She is not going to do it all by herself, anymore.

            Each morning, I have been greeted by a different toy grouping that has been dumped out onto the floor.  My days began with a mess made mostly of small unnecessary plastic objects, and ended with a mess of small unnecessary plastic objects.  It drove me to drink some strong coffee and to do some deep breathing exercises.  The toys were taking over.

            So, two weeks ago, I sent a warning shot across the bow of my children’s Toys R Us Carnival Cruise Ship.  The toys were going to go for a long walk, somewhere far away.  Their life aboard “The Good Ship Lollipop” was going to change.  It was either the toys or me.  I decided that no three foot by three foot blob of toy Legos, army men, and plastic blocks was going to get one over on me.  I knew that the toys themselves were innocent.  The toys had just become a casualty of war; my war against “Lazy Butt Entitlement Syndrome”. 

            My final solution: organize the toys one last time in their bins, clear room for them in the attic, and store every last one of the toys in the attic.  My only compromise: when I saw change of heart, one bin might, might come out each week and then be exchanged for another bin, but no more than one bin per week.  After my declaration had been broadcast to the family, my husband stood up and applauded, the children were frozen in silence.  Then, the fight began.

            I was prepared.  I made myself mentally and emotionally ready for anything.  I anticipated a great resistance and I got one.  It began early in the morning on the day of “The Big Sort”. 

            Fits of shaking, tears, fists shaken at the heavens, and many great speeches on the benefits of toys came my way.  I was a wall, unmoved, undeterred.  Then the bargaining began.

            “Mom, can I just keep this one car out, this one hat, this one plastic army man…”  I stood my ground, “No”.  The psychological warfare was not working.  Then they began their final assault.  The weeping and deep guttural groans erupted from them like a choir of dying hyenas as the sorted toy bins went up the attic stairs. 

            When the final toy was put away, the children became very still and peaceful.  I think it surprised them that they were ok, even after the toys were all put away.  They accepted the reality of what had just taken place and fought no more. 

            Now the fighting, yelling, and hours of picking up toys became almost nonexistent.  It was a moment of grace. I think the Little Red Hen finally got wise and decided to stop making and baking the bread for her ungrateful friends.  She has too many other things to do in a day.  She was tired of watching her housemates play all day while she worked for them. Sometimes Mommas have to make hard calls to protect their little ones.The change in toy policy brought us a peace we desperately needed.

            My youngest son, Elias, was observing a mother cat and her kittens outside of a friend’s house today and said,” That Mommy kitty is protecting the baby kittens because the baby kittens like to play in the trash.  And that trash is yucky.”  Yes, my son, just like that mommy cat, I too want to protect my little “kittens” because they too like to play with the “trash”. 

            A seasoned mother once said, “Little children exude little plastic toys and bits of trash.”  It is so true.  A small child cannot care for the large inventory of toys most of us have collected over the years.  Children can become overwhelmed by so many things to see and do, let alone pick up and put back just the way they find it.  It can be a full time job just keeping all of the toys put away and organized.  Frankly, I have too many jobs and it was time for me to retire from “toy manager”. 

            John Rosemond, well known parenting columnist, likes to say that children cannot handle any more toys to care for than their numerical age, and the child’s toy inventory should never exceed ten.  That is a hard line you may say.  Well, it is all in what one may want.

            I was becoming the shoe salesman at Sears.  “What size do you wear, how does it fit, don’t like that?, I think I may have that in brown, let me go check.”  I was going to the stock room exchanging box after box of unnecessary plastic objects and I was beginning to get the look of the shoe salesman at the end of the day.  It was not pretty.

            When what my children and I thought they needed in order to get through the day to be happy was taken away, it exposed some interesting things.  What would we do with our time now?  How can I keep myself occupied now?  Will I be ok without the toys?  So far, we are all fine.  And you know what, not once, not for even one minute, have the children asked me to get their toys out for them.  They play outside longer, they imagine all kinds of things, they tell stories and act them out, they build things in the woods, they draw, and put puzzles together.  My children play the way their grandparents played, with less. 

            I have been on a journey to simplify our lives for a while now and my courage is building.  I am gaining the strength to follow through on what some may think is a life of Spartan minimalness.  But I am seeing us come alive to a life freed up from “stuff” and I am seeing what was once dull begin to sparkle. 

            Today, we picked up some trash, did some laundry, and put some dishes away before we went to the park.  There were no visions of block puddles upon the floor or mounds of plastic animals in the back of my mind.  I was not distracted.  I was focusing on my children who were being children. I was able to see my children gain courage too.

            My daughter was able to take part in a ropes course along with some friends, including zip line and rock wall.  I watched her being pulled way up into the air in her harness and then swing back and forth in the air with a smile on her face.  “I had to be pretty brave today, Mom.  It was hard, but I did it.   You should do it too, Mom.  If I can do it, you can too.” 

           Yes, Bella, if you can do it, then so can I.  I can be your Mom and protect you and your brothers from all of that ”trash” you like to play in sometimes.  I love you and you inspire me to go higher too.    Less stuff and more people, more time with the people that I love.  More time to watch them soar higher and higher with smiles on their faces.

~Your Fellow Sojourner

Bella and her friends at the ropes course.

Article by John Rosemond on Toys

It's Natural

Caring for a younger little person is second nature for my children, but I never saw it coming.  I had heard that in bigger families this kind of caring for one another can happen naturally.  I looked for this phenomenon years ago in my children, but did not see it materialize. Then, we had twins.

When the twins arrived we were thrown into a world of stepping slower and bending lower, out of necessity.  It was “all hands on deck” and we have kept that motto ever since. 

Sono Harris used to say that the youngest child should set the pace of the family, not the oldest.  Even Jacob from the book of Genesis knew this truth.  He knew what hard travel would do to the young ones in his care.  “Then Esau said, “Let us journey on our way, and I will go ahead of you.”  But Jacob said to him, “My lord knows that the children are frail, and that the nursing flocks and herds are a care to me. If they are driven hard for one day, all the flocks will die.  Let my lord pass on ahead of his servant, and I will lead on slowly, at the pace of the livestock that are ahead of me and at the pace of the children, until I come to my lord in Seir.” It was a season of slowing down for Jacob.

Think what would happen if we insisted that our three year old do all that our fourteen year old does. If we brought our three year old along for the ride whenever Jackson does his all day and into the night grass cutting at his Grandmother’s,  or we allowed Elias to run in the pitch black for hours to play late night flash light tag.  Not only are these allowances not healthy for a three year old, neither are they safe. 

We have had to say “no” to certain events and invitations due to our young children.  The alternative to always saying “yes” has resulted in a slower more home bound life.  I have found that our older children order their days around the knowledge that they will be needed to help care for their younger siblings.  We don’t tell them to do this, they just know.

Some may say, “That is not fair to require that of your older children.  Just think of the burden you are placing on them and all of the things they are missing.”  But our two older children, and even our six year old twins, do not see what they “miss” because they have each other.  When we do have days that are faster and filled to the brim, or when my oldest children do more apart from their younger siblings, they will often regret their time away to some degree or need to recharge by being at home with family. 

It is like the grandmother I met last summer who grew up in Queenstown, Maryland.  She had told me that several years ago she moved to “busier” Kent Island.  We were both pushing two year olds on the swing set in Queenstown, and she began to reminisce.  “You know, I loved it here.  I spent my whole life here. “I asked her what she thought of the way things had changed since her childhood.   She told me she was glad for her childhood, the way she was raised.  “We didn’t know we were missing anything.  We never went to a mall.   We were happy because we didn’t know what we were missing.”  She spoke about family and friends rather than experiences.

That struck me.  It calmed some of the questions and thoughts that come to my mind in this fast paced world.  What if… what if my children don’t ever do…or get to experience…  This woman had no regrets and no bitterness from her smaller, slower world as a child.  It made me smile inside. 

I have seen empathy and nurturing increase in our lives because there is always someone who needs care.  And yes, we complain and we dream of servants who can work for us and hours of free time, but we do not dwell on these thoughts.  We move on because we are needed.  And when we give, we find that it is more blessed than to receive.

My oldest is very close to my youngest.  There is a 10 ½ year difference between the two.  My daughter, almost 12, longs for more babies to care for, or to “mold into her own little minions.”  I am content with whatever God intends for the number of children in our family.  I can see that no matter how many children we have, the hearts of the children we have now will only grow in compassion and care for others.  And I pray that by the grace of God, they will look to slow down their adult lives in order to walk along side others. I hope they love people, no matter what the cost. 

Today, as my children ran out into the back yard and disappeared into the woods, I heard one after the other call to their youngest brother. “Elias!  Where are you?  Come here.  Don’t go there, be careful.”  My little son was surrounded by his brothers and sister as he stepped into a wood that seemed to swallow him up.  I stood in the backdoor smiling, sipping my coffee.  One day he may need to call on his siblings to contend with him as he faces the enemies in his life.  I do not think he has anything to fear.  I can see them come to his aid and it will be a day of reckoning.  As one man, they will fight for one another and for their God.  It’s natural; they know nothing else.

~Your Fellow Sojourner

Our own home grown militia. 

Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord,

the fruit of the womb a reward.

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior

are the children of one's youth.

Blessed is the man

who fills his quiver with them!

He shall not be put to shame

when he speaks with his enemies in the gate.

Psalm 127

Jackson and Bella explore the cannon.

Winston, poised and ready. 

Dirty Jobs

              Our porch was approaching disgusting and the beautiful fall weather was around the corner.  I wanted my porch back.  So, after years of neglect, the power washer came out.

            Because we have limited time for yard work and because I am more of a detail person when it comes to cleaning, I offered to do the power washing.  After twenty minutes of plugging things in and hooking things up, I realized this was not going to be a “quick” job.  After using the power washer for the first ten minutes, I also knew that this would be a “dirty” job. 

            The front of the house was the toughest to clean.  It had just taken a beating with years of hard weather conditions.  Hurricanes, blizzards, tornado winds, sun, and dirt, lots of dirt.  And the bugs!  However, as I moved inward, toward the house itself, it was not as dirty. 

            It took muscle and patience and being ok with getting wet and dirty in order to stick with the job.  And after a couple of hours I had managed to power wash only a third of our porch. 

            Chris asked me what I thought after I was done.  I told him that I could come out here and wash this porch every day – there would always be dirt and bugs and debris.  Our porch and lower floor of the house was the first defense against the elements, so it made sense that it would need to be washed regularly.

            It made me think of another dirty job, washing feet.  Four boys, three under the age of seven…   They have some nasty feet.  Their feet are so gross, that we have a scrub brush in their bathtub just for their feet.  As soon as they say “I’m going outside, Mom,” I know their feet will be dirty.

            We get dirt on us just from walking around in the world.  The dust and dirt and heat and wind can beat a body up!  We all need to regularly wash off the refuse of life. 

            When Jesus took a bowl and a towel and told his disciples to let Him wash their feet, He was doing a pretty dirty job.  He was the “power washer” they all needed.  Peter of course didn’t see how dirty he really was, and neither do we.  We don’t see the poo on the bottom of our shoes or the leaves in our hair or the toilet paper hanging out the back of our pants.  We think because we may go to church, read the Bible, pray, or stay pretty moral that we can’t be all that dirty and we certainly don’t need a power washing!  I mean, come on, I stay home and cook and clean all day – how can I get stained by the world?  But I do. Watchman Nee puts it this way,

”Let us suppose a young mother is preparing dinner and has something

 cooking on the stove.  All at once the baby cries, the door bell rings,

the milk boils over – everything comes upon her together in a rush. 

She runs to one and missed the other!  After everything is eventually

 settled she sits down, and it seems as if she needs a power

 to lift her up to God again.  She is conscious of something there –

not sin, but as it were a deposit of dust over everything. 

It clings like a film, coming between her and her Lord,

and she feels tarnished, soiled.  There is not that clear way

which takes her through to God at once.  This I think illustrates for us

 the need of feet-washing.”

            The dirt and dust will come, it is inevitable, and so we need to be washed.  Now, we are not made of wood and trex and vinyl siding.  We are flesh and bone, heart and soul.  We need a more gentle washing.  The touch of a hand, the smile on a face, the twinkle in an eye, a bear hug, prayer with a friend, and the pure water of the Words of Life.  Renewal and cleansing come from encountering another who is reflecting the heart of God.  “The Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, ESV)

            This washing of one another is like that feeling you have after you have had a long day and you take a nice hot shower.  I think of my grandmother’s summer shower ritual.  In the summers, she would wait until the end of the day to take her shower and then come out into the living room before she said good night.  She would be in her nightgown and robe, with her Noxema in hand.  She would rub that Noxema into her skin and that cool clean aroma would travel across the room.  When she was done, she would say good night and she would go to sleep.  I always thought now that is a woman who knows how to work hard and wash up well.

            The smell of Noxema still stops me in my tracks today.  I associate the smell with a good deep clean.  My hope is that I will stop and get my own container of comforting “Noxema” out when I see another soul in need of some good clean washing.  And I intend to stop if anyone ever comes along with his/her cleaning salve for my soul.  We have the promise of blessing in refreshing and being refreshed by one another.  So, strap on your towel, grab your Noxema, and let’s go walking around this world together. 

~Your Fellow Sojourner

“Now before the Feast of the Passover, when Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart out of this world to the Father, having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.  During supper, when the devil had already put it into the heart of Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, to betray him, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going back to God,  rose from supper. He laid aside his outer garments, and taking a towel, tied it around his waist.  Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was wrapped around him.  He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, do you wash my feet?”  Jesus answered him, “What I am doing you do not understand now, but afterward you will understand.”  Peter said to him, “You shall never wash my feet.” Jesus answered him, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” … When he had washed their feet and put on his outer garments and resumed his place, he said to them, “Do you understand what I have done to you?  You call me Teacher and Lord, and you are right, for so I am.  If I then, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.  For I have given you an example, that you also should do just as I have done to you.  Truly, truly, I say to you, no servant is not greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him.  If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them.” John 13:1-17 esv