My Moments Of Inappropriateness

Oh, I make everyone mad in my family. 

It does't happen often. 

But when it does. 

I can't stop. 

I call it holy laughter because there really is nothing funny that has happened. 

And it's usually at prayer time at the table. When I need to be modeling appropriate behavior. 

It's just before we are about to say grace. 

And it's really an inappropriate time to giggle. 

But I do anyway. 

And then everyone else does. 

Except for Gary and Elijah. 

Oh, Elijah would get so mad at me. 

I couldn't stop. 

It happened again yesterday. 

I even got up from the table and went outside. 

I came back and I still couldn't stop.

We had a guest at the table. 

But I couldn't stop. 

I giggled right through the singing of our grace. 

And I rejoiced that I could laugh. 

I am not sure what my children will remember when they are older. 

Maybe their mother was crazy? 

Or maybe, just maybe, they will remember that in the face of great adversity and deepest pain, there is a place where laughter remains. 

A hope that rises from the strength rooted deeply in the grace of God. 

While I may not be the poster child for the best mom in the world, I cling to hope that laughter remains in the midst of anguish. 

That God meets us right in the thick of the turmoil and yuck. 

Job 8:21

He will yet fill your mouth with laughter
    and your lips with shouts of joy.

Elijah would constantly show us videos. This is one we love so much. 

Hope you enjoy. 

Pushing Through The Gloom. . . Day #20 of Thankfulness

The gloomy feeling wouldn't leave.
No matter how I tried.
It had set up residence in my heart.
Even though the scans are clear, even though we're dealing with a localized cancer;
I couldn't shake the gloom.I praised God for the things I had, I read the Word.
I spent some quiet time with God.
But to no avail. 

The darkness was here to stay.
In moments like this, it takes all one has to push through.
To plod one foot in front of the other.
The ache in my heart for that which I can not have,
 radiation, chemo, trips to Burlington, mounting chores, bills; the list goes on and on.
The enormity of it all staggering.
And the weight heavy upon my shoulders.
The same cavern threatens to take us all.
I move, hoping to overcome this unwanted companion.

We head off to cello lessons for Ella.
I pull out the Word.
And while I listen to Ella learn the fundamentals of  music,
 I slip back to the fundamentals of the only way through a gloomy time.

In John 9, Jesus is asked of a blind man,
"Who sinned this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" 
It is Jesus' response that I ponder; 
"Neither this man nor his parents sinned, 
but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. . ."

I can not pretend to understand God's ways, or what He is doing in our lives.
But I hope that what has happened is so that the "work of God might be displayed in our lives."
In the midst of this reading, and listening to a Master and her student. . .
I receive a text message.
It is a single picture.

It takes a moment for me to understand the enormity of the picture.
My floor.  Lilah's blanket. Her beautiful mommy.
My floor.
I swallow hard.
And once again I am faced with the greatest gift of grace.
That step daughter of mine has come to visit.
A surprise.
My broken heart is warmed.

 I can not have my son back.
I can never be his mommy again.
And all that was; will never be again.
It is forever changed.

But, in the sweetest of mercies, new life came.
And my friend Rhonda; who walks a mighty battle of her own and Chels,
 packed up all that love and drove; here, to the farm.
I ask if we can leave the cello lesson early;
because love and grace are waiting for me at home.

I first hug Rhonda. My dear friend, who I have missed. Her body fighting it's own battle.
It is good to see her. She is peace for me. Strength.
And then I hug Chelsea. The mommy who bore down to bring the sweetest of life into this world.
And then. And only then, do I open my arms to hold the tiny bundle.
I breathe in deep. I breathe in the pain, and ache of missing my child. I breathe in the scent of a new born baby and I exhale the gloom and let it go.
Because there is still living, and I pray that "the work of God will be displayed in our lives."

So weep not for me my friend

When my time below does end

For my life to Him belongs

Who will raise the dead again.