don't speak to me of sink dishes and punctutation marks
with a moon like this.
hanging high. held heavenly.
don't tell me about spaghetti stains or broken door hinges
with a moon like this.
white-washed and wooing.
don't say there is a kitchen spill or a faucet leak
with a moon like this.
silent and silver. a saturated solace.
don't bring me a sock to darn or a nail to trim or a phone to answer
with a moon like this.
bright and beckoning. beacon.
don't talk of the teeth to brush or the dog to feed
with a moon like this.
ephemeral. ethereal. effervescent.
don't hint at the apple to core or the crumbs to sweep
with a moon like this.
inspiring and illicit. indeed.
don't suggest there are clothes to fold or children to hush
with a moon like this.
diaphonous. delicate. delirious.
but sing to me of this hand i hold and this cheek to kiss
with a moon like this.
sing to me of this hair of silk and this eye to close
with a moon like this.
oh sing with me of the dreams to dream and the love to love
with a moon like this.
a moon like this.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
where is your treasure?
"for where your treasure is there also will be your heart." ~ matthew 6:21
and what about the things we shouldn't treasure? what about the things which distract us. detour us. derail us? what about the things which we would never put into the poetic category of love letters and mother's day gifts. i know there are things in my life i wouldn't care to admit publicly which take a lot of my time. my energy. my resources. i might pretend they are not too important. i might pretend myself to be not too attached. i might even deny them as acquaintances, let alone treasures. but if i'm honest, i will admit to you i have things which i value too highly and which therefore continue to compete for my heart.
really in this matthew 6 passage Jesus wants to know one thing: where is my heart? the easy and appropriate sunday school answer is: securely with Jesus. but Jesus wants to be real here. Jesus desires to get down to business with His audience and so He throws out that word treasure. where is your treasure? seriously, where is it? what fills my thoughts, my time, my days, my dreams? do i treasure my relationship with Him? do i treasure His word? do i treasure His cross? the thing about the heart is Jesus wants all of it. the rich young ruler attempted to persuade and impress Jesus with his ability to keep His commandments - well most of them. but Jesus knew it wasn't about keeping most of them, it was about keeping the difficult one. and when Jesus told him to, "sell all your possessions, give to the poor and follow me," the gig of good, rich, young ruler was up. his true colors, his true treasure and his true heart were truly exposed.
for where your treasure is there also will be your heart. this verse sounds more like a line of poetry than it does a method of evaluation. but Jesus wasn't wooing us with beautiful language He was asking us to take a real, close, and very careful look at what we value. He knew back then and He knows today we might very well have learned all the right answers, but he isn't concerned with our correct answers, He only wants for us the correct treasure and a right heart.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
wrinkles
today bella learned a new word: wrinkle. like any young child learning language, bella loves to point at all of the body parts and name them with confidence - sometimes with gusto! we have pretty much covered all of the basics. she's got the eyes, nose, teeth, ears, head, hair thing down pat. in quiet moments when i am holding her she loves to move her fingers across my face and identify each feature. she is so proud of herself. today as she was running her fingers from my cheek to my mouth she came across a little indentation. i'd like to repeat the adjective, little. i felt her fingers stop. she looked up at me with wide eyes and asked, "that mama?" i sighed and answered weakly, "umm...yeah, that. well, that is called a wrinkle, bella." her smart fingers moved to the other side of my mouth. she sort of gasped. how delightful, mommy had two of them...one on each side! brilliant! the deal with bella, though, is that when she gets something...she really gets it. it sticks. and just like those wrinkles are stuck on either side of my mouth...this word is now deeply implanted in her vocabulary. she has continued to impress me, over and over again, today with her new word. i have heard it a half a dozen times or so already. wrinkle. wrinkle. wrinkle. wrinkle. except really it sounds more like, winkle. winkle. winkle. winkle.
well, okay. yes, mommy has a wrinkle...or two. believe it or not, i've also noticed. i am not completely despondent over this realization. in fact, i am attempting to look on the bright side. these two wrinkles are merely a couple of laugh lines. they are not battle wounds, they are not worry lines, they are not traces of anxiety or evidence of a hard, harsh life. but nonetheless, i am not entirely pleased when i apply my make up each morning. i am not always thrilled at the end of the day when i scrub my face clean and scrutinize it in my mirror. i am completely aware these lines grow deeper by the day and i also know they will soon be joined by other similar friends already beginning to set up camp.
i am not all that fond of wrinkles on my body or, for that matter, wrinkles anywhere. i don't much like them. i don't like them in my clothes, my pie crusts or in my plans. i definitely don't like them on my face. but wrinkles just happen to be something we get. they happen to come with the territory of living. there is no such thing as a wrinkle free life. trust me, i've tried...i've looked...i've imagined. i can get up on any given morning with the best intentions and the most fabulous plan for my day. but chances are, it will end up looking a little differently than my original blueprint and dreamt up ideal. why is this so hard for me to accept. at 42 years of age, i have lived long enough to see not only wrinkles near my mouth, but to see them daily in my doings. as much as i know this is how life works, i still seem to be thrown off. i still cock my head and wonder what in the world just happened. i wouldn't argue terribly with you if you accused me of having a few control issues. i am sure i have a bit of that in me. i don't have to control all things...but i definitely have my list of what i want to be in charge of. my mom, who never curses, does swear she knew this about me by 18 months of age when she was already having knock-down-drag-out battles with me over my clothes. 18 months. yes. believe it. i can remember one war over a pair of red corduroy pants at about age 10. it is amazing we both survived. i just wanted my way. that was it. that was all. was it so much to ask at age 10? we want that often, don't we. we just want our way - (insert emphatic stamp of foot)! my problem, or so i've been told, is that i usually think my way is the best way. and that is part of the reason why i have such a hard time with wrinkles. they are usually not part of my grand and (i'd like to think) most eloquent plan.
motherhood has taught me a lot about wrinkles. it has also, i might write, added a few. i didn't get that right from the start. it took me a while. when i was pregnant with our oldest, emily, i would sit in her nursery and rock in anticipation. anticipation of the Perfect Life we would have as parents. i dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. i dreamed about soft skin and warm baths and tiny fingers. i dreamed about tea parties and ballet slippers and bike rides. i imagined her happily cooing and merrily murmuring underneath the beatrix potter mobile hanging above her pillow. i pictured her sleeping soundly in the white, wooden crib awaiting her tiny self. and you know what happened: all of that. all of that has taken place at some point or another with emily or one of the other four children. there have been many wonderful mother~child moments. we have shared pages of life right out of a storybook. BUT we've also had our wrinkles. i had never thought to dream of those though. i didn't really imagine them or plan for them or even expect them. but they came, and boy, do they continue to come! we've spilled tea at the parties, lost many ballet slippers, and had a few bike rides end with skinned knees and bruised egos. emily didn't always sleep soundly. when i was trying to encourage her to sleep through the night, i can remember sitting in the hallway outside of her nursery while she cried and cried and cried. i sat in that hallway and cried and cried and cried too. somehow, i had never pictured a night spent like that. i remember putting emily under that sweet beatrix potter mobile only to have her whimper in fear of the spinning, pastel colored animals. sometimes things just don't go as planned. it was 15 years ago this month that i sat waiting in that rocker for the birth of our first child. she has been with us all these years and we've added a few others along the way. with each one i have learned, over and over again, to expect wrinkles. don't get me wrong. i still sit and dream for my children. i have grand dreams about their futures and big desires for their lives...but i am learning to embrace the wrinkles along the way. none of us escape. we are all prey to the pesky, unwanted, and often untimely occurrence of bumps in the road. truly, i am beginning to understand we are better for them. they teach us something we'd never get from wrinkle-free living. we learn how to persevere. we learn patience. we learn about the need to give and accept grace. wrinkles have taught me how to be resourceful and flexible and, sometimes, just how to be thankful.
sometimes it is easy to believe when you begin to follow Christ all of a sudden life becomes rosy and perfect and wrinkle-free. not so. when Christ promised New and Abundant Life He wasn't promising things to be easier...or smoother...or kinder. but He did promise them to be better. better in His terms, not ours. key point. those wrinkles which come along, well, He even uses those to shape us and grow us and refine us. honestly, think about it: what would we be like if everything just always went our way. what would be like if all we touched turned gold and all we sought we found? it sounds kind of lovely, i know. but let's face it, we'd be spoiled. we'd feel entitled. we'd probably be obnoxious. no, sometimes following Christ means hard stuff. it means alienation. it means rejection. it can even mean persecution. think back to the martyrs...talk about some major wrinkles. geezsh! and yet they were set before us to show God's amazing grace and constant faithfulness even in a Plan B world. many of them wouldn't have chosen the path they walked, except they were certain God was on it. He was ahead of them. behind them. alongside them. He even carried them. the path wasn't smooth or easy for them...it isn't always smooth and easy for us...but if the God of the universe walks with you, it is, indeed, the right path.
i don't know. i am pretty sure i would have been terrible at the martyr thing. my daughter runs her fingertips across a wrinkle on my face and i have to immediately dash to the closest mirror and check its size. has it grown deeper? more pronounced? more obvious? should i buy a cream? a gel? call a specialist? yikes - what's an aging woman to do! but when the panic has ceased and the calm returns (as much as it can), i am able to look back into that truth-telling mirror and know my life might not be wrinkle-free, but because of Him, i am free. my skin might not ever be perfect, but He loves me perfectly, wrinkles and all.
well, okay. yes, mommy has a wrinkle...or two. believe it or not, i've also noticed. i am not completely despondent over this realization. in fact, i am attempting to look on the bright side. these two wrinkles are merely a couple of laugh lines. they are not battle wounds, they are not worry lines, they are not traces of anxiety or evidence of a hard, harsh life. but nonetheless, i am not entirely pleased when i apply my make up each morning. i am not always thrilled at the end of the day when i scrub my face clean and scrutinize it in my mirror. i am completely aware these lines grow deeper by the day and i also know they will soon be joined by other similar friends already beginning to set up camp.
i am not all that fond of wrinkles on my body or, for that matter, wrinkles anywhere. i don't much like them. i don't like them in my clothes, my pie crusts or in my plans. i definitely don't like them on my face. but wrinkles just happen to be something we get. they happen to come with the territory of living. there is no such thing as a wrinkle free life. trust me, i've tried...i've looked...i've imagined. i can get up on any given morning with the best intentions and the most fabulous plan for my day. but chances are, it will end up looking a little differently than my original blueprint and dreamt up ideal. why is this so hard for me to accept. at 42 years of age, i have lived long enough to see not only wrinkles near my mouth, but to see them daily in my doings. as much as i know this is how life works, i still seem to be thrown off. i still cock my head and wonder what in the world just happened. i wouldn't argue terribly with you if you accused me of having a few control issues. i am sure i have a bit of that in me. i don't have to control all things...but i definitely have my list of what i want to be in charge of. my mom, who never curses, does swear she knew this about me by 18 months of age when she was already having knock-down-drag-out battles with me over my clothes. 18 months. yes. believe it. i can remember one war over a pair of red corduroy pants at about age 10. it is amazing we both survived. i just wanted my way. that was it. that was all. was it so much to ask at age 10? we want that often, don't we. we just want our way - (insert emphatic stamp of foot)! my problem, or so i've been told, is that i usually think my way is the best way. and that is part of the reason why i have such a hard time with wrinkles. they are usually not part of my grand and (i'd like to think) most eloquent plan.
motherhood has taught me a lot about wrinkles. it has also, i might write, added a few. i didn't get that right from the start. it took me a while. when i was pregnant with our oldest, emily, i would sit in her nursery and rock in anticipation. anticipation of the Perfect Life we would have as parents. i dreamed and dreamed and dreamed. i dreamed about soft skin and warm baths and tiny fingers. i dreamed about tea parties and ballet slippers and bike rides. i imagined her happily cooing and merrily murmuring underneath the beatrix potter mobile hanging above her pillow. i pictured her sleeping soundly in the white, wooden crib awaiting her tiny self. and you know what happened: all of that. all of that has taken place at some point or another with emily or one of the other four children. there have been many wonderful mother~child moments. we have shared pages of life right out of a storybook. BUT we've also had our wrinkles. i had never thought to dream of those though. i didn't really imagine them or plan for them or even expect them. but they came, and boy, do they continue to come! we've spilled tea at the parties, lost many ballet slippers, and had a few bike rides end with skinned knees and bruised egos. emily didn't always sleep soundly. when i was trying to encourage her to sleep through the night, i can remember sitting in the hallway outside of her nursery while she cried and cried and cried. i sat in that hallway and cried and cried and cried too. somehow, i had never pictured a night spent like that. i remember putting emily under that sweet beatrix potter mobile only to have her whimper in fear of the spinning, pastel colored animals. sometimes things just don't go as planned. it was 15 years ago this month that i sat waiting in that rocker for the birth of our first child. she has been with us all these years and we've added a few others along the way. with each one i have learned, over and over again, to expect wrinkles. don't get me wrong. i still sit and dream for my children. i have grand dreams about their futures and big desires for their lives...but i am learning to embrace the wrinkles along the way. none of us escape. we are all prey to the pesky, unwanted, and often untimely occurrence of bumps in the road. truly, i am beginning to understand we are better for them. they teach us something we'd never get from wrinkle-free living. we learn how to persevere. we learn patience. we learn about the need to give and accept grace. wrinkles have taught me how to be resourceful and flexible and, sometimes, just how to be thankful.
sometimes it is easy to believe when you begin to follow Christ all of a sudden life becomes rosy and perfect and wrinkle-free. not so. when Christ promised New and Abundant Life He wasn't promising things to be easier...or smoother...or kinder. but He did promise them to be better. better in His terms, not ours. key point. those wrinkles which come along, well, He even uses those to shape us and grow us and refine us. honestly, think about it: what would we be like if everything just always went our way. what would be like if all we touched turned gold and all we sought we found? it sounds kind of lovely, i know. but let's face it, we'd be spoiled. we'd feel entitled. we'd probably be obnoxious. no, sometimes following Christ means hard stuff. it means alienation. it means rejection. it can even mean persecution. think back to the martyrs...talk about some major wrinkles. geezsh! and yet they were set before us to show God's amazing grace and constant faithfulness even in a Plan B world. many of them wouldn't have chosen the path they walked, except they were certain God was on it. He was ahead of them. behind them. alongside them. He even carried them. the path wasn't smooth or easy for them...it isn't always smooth and easy for us...but if the God of the universe walks with you, it is, indeed, the right path.
i don't know. i am pretty sure i would have been terrible at the martyr thing. my daughter runs her fingertips across a wrinkle on my face and i have to immediately dash to the closest mirror and check its size. has it grown deeper? more pronounced? more obvious? should i buy a cream? a gel? call a specialist? yikes - what's an aging woman to do! but when the panic has ceased and the calm returns (as much as it can), i am able to look back into that truth-telling mirror and know my life might not be wrinkle-free, but because of Him, i am free. my skin might not ever be perfect, but He loves me perfectly, wrinkles and all.
Friday, January 7, 2011
happy things...
pink sunrises on cold mornings. rope swings. hot coffee. fields of gold. peppermint sticks. country roads. brave people. sunroofs. turquoise rings. fingerprints. summer cottages. glazed pottery. october. lemon thyme. sunny corners. tender hearts. quiet days. forget-me-nots. blue mugs. fireplaces. bare feet. flowers for no reason. stacks of books. english ivy. fireworks. paint colors. birch trees. ball gowns. old movies. snow days. barnyards. classical piano. love poems. sunflowers. bubbles. green apples. weekend getaways. rain puddles. picnics. surprises. freshly showered children. silver boxes. glass knobs. new places. country churches. the bath tub. tiny islands. birds. evening walks. lupine. bamboo knitting needles. bedtime books. daffodil bulbs. leaf piles. words. golden retrievers. black and white photos. hard work. porch swings. christmas lights. roller skates. taking chances. card games. empty beaches. shades of blue. newborn babies. guitar strumming. handwritten letters. sandals. lockets. sun burnt shoulders. lazy days. a still lake. elderly couples holding hands. sweet pea. canoes. new shoes. giraffes. black soil. flannel sheets. the deep woods. art museums. soft words. starry skies. my bible. snowflakes. bookstores. boardwalks. hoola-hoops. peach ice cream. fairy tales. log cabins. hot showers. ambitious goals. birthday parties. red wagons. the ocean's edge. brown sugar. laughter. winding staircases. crayon boxes. clay pots. grandma's recipes. topiaries. window seats. letters in the mailbox. big dreams. rare snow. afternoon naps. spring mornings. mittens. cowboy boots. icicles. honey comb. tent sleeping. good fitting blue jeans. brick paths heavy with moss. weddings. sunset walks. mountain tops. crunchy peanut butter. summer camp. christmas carolers. lemon trees. tulle. cheese grits. the sound of wind. being still. climbing roses. river rock. back to school. velveteen. cookies baking. leather bound journals. a glass of wine. a cup of coffee. sea grass woven baskets. bluegrass music. campfires. sloppy kisses. spring planting. chai tea. warm sand. backyard laughter. libraries. white flowers on a summer's night. burlap. staying up late. fragrant candles. weeping willows. outdoor seating. lavender. sandcastles. sunshine. moonshine. old friends. sprinklers. small towns. big cities. coffee shops. sleeping children. hope chests. window boxes. pennies in a fountain. dinner guests. garden gates. crossword puzzles. swing sets. a horse's muzzle. deep snow. garden tools. aquamarine. wild strawberries. bike rides. skipping stones. baby showers. homemade valentines. paint pots. flip flops. lightning bugs. easter baskets. days off. cuddling. copper cookware. yarn. bike paths. open air markets. wild flowers. wooden doors. tree stumps. winter fires. the ocean at dusk. sing-a-longs. lamb's ear. hardwood floors. bible study. tin pails. black eyed susans. seashells. holding hands. butterflies. ink pens. old hymns. hay lofts. the forest floor. mud pies. bullfrogs singing. pumpkins. laugh lines. spools of ribbon. holly bushes. colored beads.white sheets. leather handbags. maps. jigsaw puzzles. flaky pastries. family photos. a bird's nest. the midnight hour. sheet music. new york pizza. labels. sleeping in. short cuts. scenic routes. dancing. starfish. candlelight. rainbows. rosemary. quilts soft with age. feather pillows. happy endings. bright eyes. painted furniture. sunday mornings. witty people. shutters. tin roofs. the crunch of leaves. crescent moons. old clocks. straw hats. footbridges. robin's eggs. vintage lace. corn on the cob. blue hydrangeas. i love yous. weathered wood. woolen socks. split rail fences. the violin. kentucky horse farms. cinnamon rolls. gazebos. the highway. cashmere throws. water colors. afternoon light. riverbanks. fresh pine. roasted peppers. sparklers. creme brulee. wicker bike baskets. antique tables. convertibles. christmas trees. my blue desk. crisp linen. blueberry picking. park benches. tousled hair. sleigh rides. teapots. french bread. fur lined boots. the rosy cheeks of a two year old. boxes of chocolate. watermelon. raindrops. christmas pageants. a river's edge. silver hoops. foreign lands. time to dream.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
the handbag aisle
New Stuff. let's face it, we are all somewhat attracted, aren't we? there is just something about The New which lures us in...waves us on...beckons us forward. we can hardly resist its shiny appeal. we become weak with want and heavy with desire as we oggle The New Thing - whatever it may be. we are so quickly sucked into the aura of potential, the hint of promise and the taste of possibility surrounding Something New. we are so easily entranced. it can be something simple and lovely, like a freshly fallen snow or the pink blush of sunrise. it can be something necessary and noble, like the turning over of a new leaf or the start of a new exercise program. it can also be something shallow and material, like a new pair of shoes or another CD. some of us long for an exotic island or the thrill of a mountain top. some of us simply desire another trip to target.
share a cup of coffee with any woman over any kitchen counter in america, i bet she has a list. go ahead and ask her. is there something new you'd like for your home? is there someplace foreign you'd like to go? walk into her closet bulging with clothes. i bet she has a list posted there as well, mentally hanging between blouses and blazers. men and children, don't think for one minute you are immune. i have both of you in my life and i know you, too, come with lists. i may not desire the motorbikes, electronic doo-dads, super heroes and bags of cotton candy which you desire, but i know your lists are often long.
sometimes it is just stuff: flat screens and ski trips. new drapes and croissants. handbags and heels. sometimes it deals with messier, more complicated things like careers and scenery and spouses and resolutions. what is this thing which tricks us into believing ourselves better with a new purchase? improved with another accomplishment? happier with a fresher set of circumstances? i am guilty. recently i found myself in the aisle of TJ MAXX fingering a soft-italian-leather-perfect-shade-of-gray-handbag. it was amazing. the stitching, exquisite. i knew complete and lasting happiness lay just inside the deep and silk-lined pockets of this enchanting bag dangling before me. i eased this loveliness up onto my eager arm and gazed into the full length mirror nearby. a perfect fit. i imagined the possibilities. if only i could walk out of the store with this beautiful accessory slung stylishly across my shoulder it would solve all my problems. i would be organized. i would be on time. i would be thinner. i would finally be fashionable. the truth is, if i brought this bag home, i would be in trouble. it wasn't needed. and though TJ MAXX can have great deals, this wasn't one of them. i slowly put the bag down and woozily made my way out of the store into the atlanta sunshine. my head began to clear. what had i been thinking? what in the world was wrong with me? i hadn't even been shopping for a new purse. i had gone into this pit of designer desire in search of new towels for the guest room and had ended up in the accessory section attempting to justify a purchase which would have easily been a utitlity payment. perhaps there is a subliminal message in the music they play. perhaps a drug is quietly released when we walk through the automatic doors. certainly it must be smoke and mirrors and magic. it surely cannot be my own sense of discontent. it absolutely cannot be my own selfish desires. i refuse to believe i am so shallow as to be swayed by fashion and image and soft, italian leather.
the truth is, God sort of created us this way. i mean He certainly isn't pleased to have us drooling over unnecessary handbags, but He did create us with a sense of desire for The New. He wired us with a crazy combination which lures us in search of treasure. He carefully and creatively designed us with a drive to fill holes. He made us in a way which moves us in the direction of more. there is a hole to fill. there is more to pursue. there, most certainly, is a treasure to be found. but i have to tell you, though i have, in the course of my shopping years, brought home countless bags from TJ MAXX, not one of them has held the real treasure. regardless of how great the find and no matter how thrilling the purchase, nothing has come close.
these things which fill our homes and clutter our minds can feel good. really good. we all know the luxurious feeling of the perfect purchase. we also probably know the fleeting quality of this incredible find. we have all experienced how fabulous it feels to slip a new outfit over our head or slide into a new vehicle - at least for a little while. we either, have been children or have children, who pined for christmas toys and gadgets only to discard them by new year's day. just this week my teenage daughter received a brand new camera which was top on her wish list, only to have it break within a few days. that coveted camera is now somewhere between atlanta and minnesota. how disappointing if this is where we store up our treasure. how devastating if this is all the treasure we seek: new cameras and new places and new people. we will search forever. we will spend forever searching. i know this, and yet i often find myself standing in aisles coveting handbags and hairstyles and even exotic islands.
most of us would agree that true treasure is not to be found in spring getaways and bigger backyards and smoother hair - though these are all perfectly lovely things. we probably all know that filling the great hole with More New Stuff doesn't really work. but it is hard. i know not to "store up treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal." but knowing this and doing this are two very different things. i would also like to note that when matthew recorded this inspired passage of scripture Target had yet to be invented. i am firmly on board with the need to "store up treasures in heaven..." but these treasures are sometimes harder to desire. they are not quite as shiny and, at first glance, not near as lovely. they take more than a swipe of plastic. they require hard things from me. things like discipline and sacrifice and commitment. but these are the things which show true evidence of The New. i can put on a fresh pair of shoes and carry a different purse every day of my life, but these additions will not transform me. not one bit. real transformation is not the work of TJ MAXX, but the work of Jesus Christ. He is the transformer of all things. He, alone, is the Maker of All Things New. it is His desire to take my heart of stone and replace it with a heart of flesh. all the fashionable accessories in the mall will do nothing more than make that stone heart a little prettier...but a stone heart it will remain without His touch.
there is much to be said for The New. we are all desperately in need of it. on this new morning, of a new day, in a new year, my prayer for you...for me...is to take our eyes off the glittering gadgets and empty guarantees of this world and to keep these eyes focused on Christ alone. He will be our treasure....He will transform us...He will make All Things New. and This New is better than any handbag, italian leather, or not. but if, someday, you happen to come across an entranced woman in TJ MAXX gazing lustfully at leather shoulder bags, would you be so kind as to pinch her arm and whisper in her ear..."treasures in heaven, jody, treasures in heaven."
share a cup of coffee with any woman over any kitchen counter in america, i bet she has a list. go ahead and ask her. is there something new you'd like for your home? is there someplace foreign you'd like to go? walk into her closet bulging with clothes. i bet she has a list posted there as well, mentally hanging between blouses and blazers. men and children, don't think for one minute you are immune. i have both of you in my life and i know you, too, come with lists. i may not desire the motorbikes, electronic doo-dads, super heroes and bags of cotton candy which you desire, but i know your lists are often long.
sometimes it is just stuff: flat screens and ski trips. new drapes and croissants. handbags and heels. sometimes it deals with messier, more complicated things like careers and scenery and spouses and resolutions. what is this thing which tricks us into believing ourselves better with a new purchase? improved with another accomplishment? happier with a fresher set of circumstances? i am guilty. recently i found myself in the aisle of TJ MAXX fingering a soft-italian-leather-perfect-shade-of-gray-handbag. it was amazing. the stitching, exquisite. i knew complete and lasting happiness lay just inside the deep and silk-lined pockets of this enchanting bag dangling before me. i eased this loveliness up onto my eager arm and gazed into the full length mirror nearby. a perfect fit. i imagined the possibilities. if only i could walk out of the store with this beautiful accessory slung stylishly across my shoulder it would solve all my problems. i would be organized. i would be on time. i would be thinner. i would finally be fashionable. the truth is, if i brought this bag home, i would be in trouble. it wasn't needed. and though TJ MAXX can have great deals, this wasn't one of them. i slowly put the bag down and woozily made my way out of the store into the atlanta sunshine. my head began to clear. what had i been thinking? what in the world was wrong with me? i hadn't even been shopping for a new purse. i had gone into this pit of designer desire in search of new towels for the guest room and had ended up in the accessory section attempting to justify a purchase which would have easily been a utitlity payment. perhaps there is a subliminal message in the music they play. perhaps a drug is quietly released when we walk through the automatic doors. certainly it must be smoke and mirrors and magic. it surely cannot be my own sense of discontent. it absolutely cannot be my own selfish desires. i refuse to believe i am so shallow as to be swayed by fashion and image and soft, italian leather.
the truth is, God sort of created us this way. i mean He certainly isn't pleased to have us drooling over unnecessary handbags, but He did create us with a sense of desire for The New. He wired us with a crazy combination which lures us in search of treasure. He carefully and creatively designed us with a drive to fill holes. He made us in a way which moves us in the direction of more. there is a hole to fill. there is more to pursue. there, most certainly, is a treasure to be found. but i have to tell you, though i have, in the course of my shopping years, brought home countless bags from TJ MAXX, not one of them has held the real treasure. regardless of how great the find and no matter how thrilling the purchase, nothing has come close.
these things which fill our homes and clutter our minds can feel good. really good. we all know the luxurious feeling of the perfect purchase. we also probably know the fleeting quality of this incredible find. we have all experienced how fabulous it feels to slip a new outfit over our head or slide into a new vehicle - at least for a little while. we either, have been children or have children, who pined for christmas toys and gadgets only to discard them by new year's day. just this week my teenage daughter received a brand new camera which was top on her wish list, only to have it break within a few days. that coveted camera is now somewhere between atlanta and minnesota. how disappointing if this is where we store up our treasure. how devastating if this is all the treasure we seek: new cameras and new places and new people. we will search forever. we will spend forever searching. i know this, and yet i often find myself standing in aisles coveting handbags and hairstyles and even exotic islands.
most of us would agree that true treasure is not to be found in spring getaways and bigger backyards and smoother hair - though these are all perfectly lovely things. we probably all know that filling the great hole with More New Stuff doesn't really work. but it is hard. i know not to "store up treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal." but knowing this and doing this are two very different things. i would also like to note that when matthew recorded this inspired passage of scripture Target had yet to be invented. i am firmly on board with the need to "store up treasures in heaven..." but these treasures are sometimes harder to desire. they are not quite as shiny and, at first glance, not near as lovely. they take more than a swipe of plastic. they require hard things from me. things like discipline and sacrifice and commitment. but these are the things which show true evidence of The New. i can put on a fresh pair of shoes and carry a different purse every day of my life, but these additions will not transform me. not one bit. real transformation is not the work of TJ MAXX, but the work of Jesus Christ. He is the transformer of all things. He, alone, is the Maker of All Things New. it is His desire to take my heart of stone and replace it with a heart of flesh. all the fashionable accessories in the mall will do nothing more than make that stone heart a little prettier...but a stone heart it will remain without His touch.
there is much to be said for The New. we are all desperately in need of it. on this new morning, of a new day, in a new year, my prayer for you...for me...is to take our eyes off the glittering gadgets and empty guarantees of this world and to keep these eyes focused on Christ alone. He will be our treasure....He will transform us...He will make All Things New. and This New is better than any handbag, italian leather, or not. but if, someday, you happen to come across an entranced woman in TJ MAXX gazing lustfully at leather shoulder bags, would you be so kind as to pinch her arm and whisper in her ear..."treasures in heaven, jody, treasures in heaven."
"therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a NEW creation...the old things
have passed away. behold, I make all things NEW!" ~ 2 corinthians 5:17
have passed away. behold, I make all things NEW!" ~ 2 corinthians 5:17
Thursday, December 2, 2010
the perfect christmas photo
as i sit down to compose this year’s Christmas letter i am not sure we will have a picture to include. WHAT? is that possible? is that even permissible? at this point in early december one hasn’t been taken and i can’t see one being orchestrated in the near future. mind you, i had plans. my photo genius brother-in-law was coming to georgia for thanksgiving last week and i had pictured all seven of us in coordinated outfits with a backdrop of gorgeous fall leaves. except, we got the flu. and then it rained. even if i could have propped us all up indoors, bella was so sick she had wiped a patch raw from her nose to cheek. i couldn’t very well include our newest family member with a red nose and a redder slash across her face. so i set my sights on this next weekend. but alas, that is now out of the question as well. last night after climbing into my bed in the wee hours of morning, bella promptly fell right back out, smacking the nightstand on her way down. she woke with an impressive shiner. nope, can’t photograph that one either! oh good grief! i spent this morning sad about bella's eye and arguing a bit with God. “but this is a BIG year God. this is the year we adopted. this is the year of bringing home bella. this is the year we went from six to seven. i was planning on the perfect photo declaring all of this to our friends and family. i had a vision. i had a dream. i had outfits already selected!” perhaps you are not quite so extreme. i, however, have come to terms with the fact that i am a complete sucker for those norman-rockwellian-scenes. i will go to great lengths for the Picture Perfect...great lengths to recreate charming vignettes of idealism. but, let’s face it, this is not life. none of us live this way. even those of us who might pretend, we still get the flu, have runny noses, and wake up on rainy days with shiners. there is something about Christmas though which evokes in us a stronger than normal desire to capture beauty and comfort and joy. i have always loved the song Silent Night. i used it over and over again as a lullaby for my children. and when i nursed newborn babies at 3am it was silent and it certainly seemed at times even holy. but now with five children running amuck there is absolutely nothing silent about our home….and it goes without saying, we are quite far from holy. i head to bed most nights stepping over someone’s dirty underwear or for that matter, clean, makes no difference. from my own bed, i often find it necessary to scrape off a few crumbs from the children and a lot of laundry - dumped there in hopes it would magically make it to drawers. i grew up on daily doses of The Brady Bunch and always liked the part at the end of the show when Carol and Mike would sit in bed – he always in a clean robe and she in a lovely blue gown – and they would lightly discuss the day’s events and their silly, six children. now i realize rick and i have one less child, but regardless, this is just not Reality TV my friends. i don't believe i ever saw a pile of mismatched socks on the corner of their well appointed bedding. i believe that even back at the age of nine, i was set up for grave disappointment. we know this isn’t how it really works. i don’t wear lovely gowns and we are often too tired to prattle on about our five darling mischief makers. our pillows are not plumped and pristine…they are often, in fact, missing – absconded and used somewhere in the house for a fort or something. our sheets are not smooth or heavily starched and folded. oftentimes i find buried in them some little person’s random sock or a candy wrapper. (just for the record, we don’t actually allow our children to climb in our bed and eat candy - i have no idea how this all happens). anyway, i know you get what i am saying. our lives are messy and full of all sorts of unholy things. we can’t always capture The Perfect because the truth is we are living knee deep in The Imperfect. I have right now on my refrigerator door the verse, "every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows." (~ james 1:17). i am not, for one minute, going to suggest altering any of God’s wording in the Bible. i am only saying i believe we might need to rethink the word “perfect.” i am the one who messes up this verse. my version of perfect often gets in the way of the truly good gifts. the noses which run and the sheets with the crumbs….well THESE are good and perfect gifts. They Are! i don’t always see them as such. but that’s my issue. well, actually, i’d still like to blame it on the Brady Family. i know, however, it is my imperfect and unholy heart which isn’t always able to grasp the goodness of the mess around me. as a mother and as a wife and and as a woman i have hopes to improve on my own heart’s imperfections. and trust me, my hope has little to do with myself. i, alone, am utterly hopeless. i know it is a process. there is a refinement needed…which is sometimes painful and hot, but all the time necessary. and so today i look ahead to this season of beauty and though we have no beautiful photo and no card ordered and no immediate plans of accomplishing this task….we have hope. we have Great Hope that in all our imperfections we have a God who loves us enough to give us Great Gifts. gifts which might not make it to the glossy pages of Better Homes and Gardens, but which He brings to the tables and hallways and bedrooms of our own dirty homes. and so tonight, though i will not climb into bed wearing a lovely blue gown, i will climb into it wearing a heart closer to Him and holding a hope which is beautiful because of Him. the mcnatt family may or may not be photographed this year. but Christmas has nothing to do with our family photo. the only picture needed is of that perfect babe in bethlehem lying in an imperfect manger.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
listening to a hero
after a morning of rushing around, 9:30 came and the lights were dimmed and the bugle began to blow and i was still only focused on how the show looked and sounded. i hadn't really taken any time to stop and think about how it felt. i clearly hadn't stopped long enough to remember what it meant. so i guess i was a bit unprepared as i sat listening to our speaker, marine corporal, edgar harrell. i half listened for the first few minutes and without knowing it i found myself quickly drawn in. and for a short time i stopped looking ahead in my script and i started digesting his words. word by word. image by image. on the stage before me stood a man who had gone to serve our country in war times. he had gone to serve on a ship and had ended up floating in an ocean for four days watching his friends and fellow solidiers die of dehydration, despair and horrific shark attacks. edgar harrell was one of only a small handful of solidiers to survive the torpedo bombing and sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis in WWII. and he was with us today to share his story. to share his story with community members, with fellow veterans and with a bunch of school aged children dressed in their school uniform best. he relayed the story piece by piece...there was a matter-of-factness to his telling, but underneath his calm words it was easy to sense the deep emotion. we could only sit there and imagine as he described losing man after man, day after day, shark attack after shark attack. just the thought of it stole my breath. but even 65 years later edgar harrell spoke of this event with specific pictures rolling across his memory...pictures which, i am sure, will never fade. he spoke of the little things which buoyed him up during these four days adrift: a rain cloud, a lifeboat, a few rotten potatoes, a friend's words. i removed my headset and closed my script for a few minutes and i sat and i listened. i had no choice. if we missed every cue and messed up every remaining part of the program it would still be okay. we would survive. this program wasn't about cues and scripts, it was about truth and honor. this man standing before me was a survivor and how dare i not give him my full and undivided attention as he relayed his story. why is it so easy to get caught up in the drama of directing life that we easily miss the opportunities of great blessing. we lose the chance to honor true heroes. we don't take the time to listen to real survivors. i often pat myself on the back at the end of the day and declare myself a survivor. i've even used that phrase recently when asked, "how's it going now that you have five children?" i casually replied, "oh, we're surviving." surviving. really? how shameful for me to flippantly toss around such a word. as i sat absorbing this veteran's dramatic story i realized i don't know the first thing about surviving.
edgar harrell came today to share not only his story of survival, but to share his faith in his Great Rescuer. he spoke candidly about the time these men had to pray before abandoning ship. the time to pray while floating lost at sea. the time to pray as they prepared for their own imminent death. at one point in his talk he said, "there are times to pray and then there are times to pray....and there IS a difference." this man knows the difference. he stared into the face of his own mortality and he watched as God spared his life. what a blessing for our school, for our veterans, for our children to hear these words from a hero. from a real survivor.
before leaving the building i marched my two youngest up to edgar harrell's book signing table. i wanted them to shake this man's hand. i wanted them to tell him, "thank you." bella hardly speaks english, but she sputtered out her version of gratitude. connor shook mr. harrell's hand firmly. he was honored. my son was proud. as we drove home, i asked connor what he thought. he was quick to tell me he had listened carefully and then he went on to say, "mom, his story was amazing. he is a hero." and i thought...yes, connor, he is. and i was so glad i had listened.
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