The Evening Current

every evening as i clean up remnants from the day, regret and failure lap at my heels, tide rising. scenes of the day replay, patience lost revisited, unaccomplished lists swirl. did i play with the girls? did i love extravagantly? smile freely? give my best? forgive graciously? sacrifice my own desires for that of another?

closing eyes to the oncoming waves, i know where this current leads. to endless guilt, churning uncertainty, layers of regret...mental, emotional struggles this mama knows intimately.

so i resist, fighting the strengthening pull.

The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”

Lamentations 3:22-24 (New Living Translation)

resistance in the form of verse, God breathed.
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
over and over these words trickle down my head as cool, refreshing water amidst the swirling tides. down it flows seeping into hair, skin, bones, blood. living words infusing peace into a tattering heart.

an undercurrent of anxiety is still detectable, however. frayed edging. questions surface, testing: what of tomorrow? as evening approaches, will this episode repeat only to be quieted by a temporary salve? a sore to be reopened daily?

People who don't know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don't worry about missing out. You'll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.

Matthew 6:33 (The Message)

Father's hand in the form of verse gently smoothes the bumps, unties the knots, mends the tears inside this mama.

Lord, steep my life in Your reality, Your initiative, Your provisions. keep my heart focused on You. i choose to seek You first knowing that everything else will fall into place purposefully in ways that only You can fulfill. still this mama's heart.

photo: www.sxc.hu

embracing the story, preparing hearts

"I'll paint these and you can paint one of the howts," plans the oldest, harboring an arm span of baked dough shapes.

"Let's only choose pieces that tell the Easter Story." i direct.

"This is a colt. We'll use him," she decisively declares, cradling a baked dough horse in her open palm.

"Hmmm, ok. Is there a colt in the Easter Story?" i probe.

silence. thinking. "Yes, Jesus rode on a colt to Jerusalem," daughter quietly answers, waves of honey cascading past her shoulders. for a moment i close my eyes and offer up a silent prayer of thanksgiving for knowledge growing from scattered seeds taking root in the heart of this child .

after painting, we decide on an order to the dough shapes that will hang at the kitchen window retelling and reminding: heart, colt, heart, cross, heart, angel, cross, star.

we slide the fuchsia ribbon through the first heart. this is how the Easter story begins, with love.
For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son...John 3:16
to seek, save, serve, and restore, replacing stone with flesh.

next we thread the ribbon through the colt.
Go...and you will find a colt.... Mark 11:2
This colt "which no one has ever ridden" will carry the Messiah into his final days before the crucifixion. a humble, lowly little colt to carry the King of Kings. i pause and consider the vessels He uses; my heart leaps with hope.

another heart is added to the line. with this heart we talk about the love Jesus has for us which leads Him to die in obedience to the Father. Jesus: seeker, savior, servant, healer, teacher, sinless one took on Himself all of our shameful, disgusting, disturbing, hateful, hurtful, deadly sins that separate us from God. this plan was so magnificent, so incomprehensibly complex while simple, so absolutely fueled by love.

this brings us to the cross.
And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death— even death on a cross! Philippians 2:8
a death reserved for criminals, insurrectionists. whipped, ridiculed, pierced, nailed, hung, separated from the Father....all for us.


we string along another heart to reiterate the unprecedented, sacrificial love Jesus has for us.

next we come to the angel. this is Ava's favorite part of the story. mary, Jesus' friend, and a few other women are the first to see the empty tomb. dismayed, confused, they grasp for understanding. while standing there wondering, angels bright as lightening appear and say,
"Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen!" Luke 24:6
yet we do it, don't we? look for the living among the dead?
this query strikes the heart, bringing everything into startling focus:
He is not here.
Father, bring my heart into focus. help me to only search for You among the living.

a second cross is added to the line of figures. this one serves as a reminder: He is not here; he has risen!

we thread the last of our shapes: a star splashed bright with yellow. our hearts propelled into startling focus by the resurrection, we are given direction and clarity.
"I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." John 8:12
"Jesus is the light of the world!" proclaims the softened four-and-a-half-year-old heart glowing in the morning sunlight across the table from me.
Savior, shine Your light in every dark crevice of my heart. bring into the open that which is sinful and dead. strengthen me to repent and accept Your loving grace and forgiveness.

tying a knot at the end of our shapes, my eye is drawn to the fuchsia ribbon weaving through the story, connecting pieces. my heart weakens with realization. His flowing blood is a fuchsia ribbon weaving through our hearts, supplying life. this blood flows, restoring us back into relationship with Creator, Father, Love.
Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him. John 6:56
drink this blood of life. remain in Him.

kitchen window flooding with morning light, i hang the symbolic figures retelling the Easter story. a story so incomprehensibly complex while simple, so absolutely fueled by love.
my gaze drifts beyond the window to a worshipful expression of new life, rebirth: a trellis heavy with expectant yellow buds of carolina jessamine.
father, thank you for this new life, rebirth i have through Christ Jesus. i pray that my heart, also, is heavy with expectant buds fueled by the richest of soil, the flowing blood of your Son.

anointed outpouring

Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus' honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him.

closing eyes, i run my hands across the grain of wood piled with steaming dishes serving a feast to honor our savior; feel the skimming of Martha's linen as she prepares and serves; listen to the rise and fall of male voices, clinking of platters, rustling of robes.

Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

and slowly, deliberately inhale the costly, sacrificial, purposeful, love-filled outpouring of perfume.

a spilled vile of cabbage patch perfume in childhood clutched in the dripping palm of a clumsy, growing girl. room of dolls, mini-records, rainbow splashed wall quickly filled with the sweetened water of a savored possession. a scent that lingered days, weeks, decades in the walls of memory.

i wonder how long...
the fragrance filled the house were Jesus dined?
remnants lingered in mary's hair?
scent-memory stained the nasal membranes of everyone attending the feast?

the hour was quickly approaching.
the time when Jesus would be the one to pour out a fragrant offering. the costly, sacrificial, purposeful, love-filled outpouring of blood. And the world and heavens would fill with the fragrance of the sacrifice.

Your Spirit beckons, awakening my senses. deeply, reverently i inhale.

But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected,"Why wasn't this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a years' wages." He did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.

yet the timing and means are difficult to grasp.

excuse me, Lord, you are approaching this matter all wrong. as we see it with our limited, one-dimension earthly vision, the plan should be that You save Israel by restoring the kingdom to the Jews. have you noticed the oppression, lack of favor, unfair governmental practices? or have you been too busy dining with sinners, healing on the Sabbath, teaching multitudes? i can think of a million more profitable things You should be doing besides hanging there, dying, spilling blood that is much more useful inside your body keeping you alive.

"Leave her alone, " Jesus replied. "It was intended, that she should save this perfume for the day of my burial. You will always have the poor among you, but you will not always have me." John 12: 1-8

it was intended.

mary worshiped through a ceremonial outpouring of perfume.
Jesus worshiped through obedience with the outpouring of blood.
both costly, one immeasurably.
both sacrificial, one ultimately.
both purposeful, one restores life.
both love-filled, one endures forever.

Lord, stain this heart with the scent-memory of your costly, sacrificial, purposeful, love-filled outpouring of blood. teach me to be extravagantly worshipful in the time I have with You.

one year, four days

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

one year, four days.

despite my passive attempt to prolong what is to come, the time not only arrived but is now four days past. how can a mother describe the complex emotions towards the impending arrival of her child's first birthday? of course there is great joy and contentment in assurance of her baby's health, growth and development. after all, days of spit-up smeared shirts, leaking diapers, leaking breasts and sleepless nights are pushed back into the recesses of foggy memories. yet there is sadness, a longing for what is gone: sweet, milky baby breath; warm, peppery scent of her head; cradling a sleeping newborn. if i linger in this vain, sorrow for what is passing by too quickly casts a shadow over me.

instead i strain a little harder, squinting through the fog beyond this bitter-sweet moment to a time when motherhood was a dream greater than weddings, husbands, houses. crossing over into adulthood, that dream was dashed upon the rocks by crashing, volatile waves. heart heavy with grief, eyes swollen and burning from weeks of sorrow, hands empty. i remember You pulling me close, embracing my broken heart, broken dreams and whispering Your faithfulness into my ear, thoughts, heart, spirit. clinging to Your promises with desperate grip, my heart steeped in Your words until they infused blood and bone. You gave a gift to fill my hands, soothe my burning eyes, and lighten my heavy heart. hope. hope for what was unseen, by all accounts impossible. You turned my sorrow into hope, anxiety into peace. what was meant for destruction, death of dreams, you conceived in my heart a faith and trust to grow, mature.

seven years of hope and peace passed.

a cry rung out in the warm June sky. the cry of hope, peace, faith and trust birthed in spirit and in flesh. tears flowed from a mother's eyes in awe of experiencing Your touch and faithfulness. blessings continued. three years later You brought forth miraculous life once more. an inheritance.

here we are one year, four days later. this heart of one multiplied into a house of four.

prosperity. hope. a future.

humbly, i bow in adoration and gratitude of Your character.

meditating on mark 4:35-41

He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet! Be still!" Then the wind died down and it was completely calm.
Mark 4:39

when the moment arrives, it doesn't sneak up like a tip-toeing child or the soft splatter of rain drops. no, much more forceful, invasive. a furious storm swells with waves crashing, confronting mortality on a fishing boat at sea. yes, that is how the moment arrives. unexpectedly, fearfully, sending us into a panic without a plan. what now - ride the turbulent waves, jump ship and tread water....
did i hear that someone is sleeping through this calamity? how could that be possible!
wake! arise and see that death is clawing at our boat! certainly we will not survive this chaotic experience. do you not care?

i humbly confess with a heart that comes so short, this is my reaction - God, can you see this turmoil i am experiencing? are you slumbering through my agony? do you not care?

crashing waves, devastating winds, rising waters test the foundation. what do i grasp for, cling to with whitening knuckles - my ability, intelligence, resources, relationships, possessions? all had their time of reign, idolatry.

yet my soul aches and stirs with truth.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.
Proverbs 3:5

maybe this will help...i will do that next...then i will try....
emptying meager assets like contents of an overturned purse. God responds, "Quiet! Be still!" focus averts from problems, fear, the doom of possibilities and stills. quiet. peace. why was that not my first response when anxiety arose? i cry out, "Father!" and He answers, always. His character is security wooing my trust. regardless of what i can reason through or understand, He is.

crashing waves, devastating winds, rising waters test this foundation and find it secure, unscathed.

He is.