In the face of empire worship, we turn ours to Jesus.

Lately I’ve been wondering,
What do we do?

As we sit and watch little self-appointed kings perch upon their thrones of power.
Adorned in molten crowns, traces of the golden calves thrown at their feet still visible to those who have eyes to see.
Calves erected by the very ones who taught us to be on guard against false prophets and heed warnings of old.

Those who have ears… let him hear. 

Hear the little kings spout hate with the promise of destruction.
Death and decay celebrated in the name of empire.
Juxtaposing our call to celebrate Renewal and Resurrection – The Living Promise – made possible by self-sacrificial love.

So.much.opposition.
To The Humble King’s way.

So what do we do?

When there are lunches to pack and permission slips to sign.
Dogs to walk and dinners to make.

How do we rage?

We, who do not subscribe to this idea that power is king.
We, who are not used to the feeling of wanting to rage?

We are told to abide in Him…
So, we’ll try. 

To abide in Him who is reflected in the faces of all. 

We decorate tambourines before the Red Sea parts,
Believing in the promise of an already and not yet Kingdom of rejoicing.

We laugh hard with neighbors around the table,
The Imageo Dei in us, communing with the Imageo Dei in them. 

We fill up the home and paint each other’s nails,
Recalling how He washed their feet all those years ago.

We snuggle our babies and love them lavishly,
Doing our best to model how to invite in, and love freely.

We marvel, with wonder and awe, at the moon put in the vast vast sky.
Collectively feeling the childlike hope and joy of being a part of something good, something big, something cosmic.

We turn our eyes and ears to what is pure, what is lovely, what is true.
And do our best to point others that way as well.

The way of the One who is continuously creating new life,
To point His beloveds back to Him.
Because of love. 
For Love. 

It’s what we can strive to do in the face of empire worship – 
Fix our eyes on Jesus.

And love His people so well,
They might see Him in us too. 

Soul Breath

With the sea

My soul breathes.

In tune with the Earth

He has said is good.

Breath of Creator made tangibly known

In salt and water

In wind and waves.

Stillness of constant motion

Powerfully calming depths of unknown.

Erosion of old

While creating anew.

We glimpse a small bit of 

the Infinite 

As we gaze out 

In wonder and awe.

And so we are drawn to return

Again and again 

To the thinly veiled place 

Where our soul breathes

In and out

With the sea. 

Legacy of Love

The doctors said you weren’t going to come home.

1 in 10 chance, they said.

Lungs are just too full, body is just too frail.

Is your will updated?

Have you said all you need to your sweetheart of 65+ years?

My mom had to ask you, had to be sure.

Your daughter, wondering if her dad would be around for Christmas.

 

Why are you crying, Mama? 

My kids wanted to know.

I told them I probably wouldn’t get to see my Grandad again.

They prayed for you to get better and for Grandmom to not be too sad.

We facetimed to say goodbye after the kids went to bed.

You joked about how you were doing, and asked about our lives in the Lonestar state.

We hung up and said hopefully to each other, He seems ok?

 

I woke up throughout the night to check my phone.

Would we be going to Colorado earlier than we planned?

Wearing black instead of festive red and green?

Christmas is your favorite, I think.

Always has been.

The family all gathered to celebrate His birth.

 

Skits and stockings.

Cookies and chaos.

Sometimes snow, and sometimes sun.

Always games and always laughter.

Legacy of love strengthening year after year.

Would you be here to see it this time?

We didn’t know. 

 

Lungs are clear!

Surgery went well!

He’s going home on Monday!

Christmas is on Thursday!

 

You beat the odds.

Stubborn will and onery genes keeping you this side of the now and not yet.

Would it have been the same if Christmas wasn’t so close?

If you hadn’t had a trove full of memories and a quiver full of people bolstering you afloat?

Science says, maybe not.

We weren’t meant to be alone, our bodies know as well as our minds.

You sat in your worn in brown recliner, watching us tear into gifts you and grandmom painstakingly wrapped.

We filled your living room with laughter and chaos once again.

Our kids bringing to mind the years we were young.

Throwing stuff down the laundry chute.

Banging too loud on the organ.

Four generations under your roof.

 

You smiled with tears in your eyes as you told us going to your grandparents’ house for Christmas held some of your favorite memories.

Keep gathering, kids – you said, as we sat round.

Families like ours are rare, you stressed.

We nodded because we know.

 

We know because some of our favorite childhood memories were made in your house at Christmas.

Not because the food was so good (although it was).

Not because the presents were plentiful (even though they were).

Not because California kids loved the snow (but we sure did).

It’s because your house and the people in it were familiar.

Familiar in the way that allows for belly laughs and goofy pictures to abound.

Familiar in the way that brought forth long nights around dominoes and basement shenanigans.

Familiar in the way that let us know we were part of something that exceeded state lines and time passed.

 

Warmth infused with care.

Laughs infused with love.

Family.

Not perfect by any means but tied together by knowledge that we are loved.

You and grandmom built this legacy of love, founded on Love Himself.

And boy, am I glad you were around this Christmas to see how we are all trying to continue that legacy.

Run.Fight.Hide.

Run

My baby is fast.

So fast, she beats all the kids in all the races. 

Her body moves quick, with strength and speed. 

My baby is so fast.

But she can’t outrun a bullet.

Fight

My baby is tough.

She stands up to school bullies.

Looks them in the eye and loudly yells, “Stop that!

My baby is so tough.

But, please God, dont let her stand up to a bully who has been given a gun.

She’s not tougher than a bullet.

Hide

My baby is sneaky.

She finds the best spots during family hide and seek.

Squeezes her body into tight, dark places.

My baby is so sneaky.

But…would she stay hidden if her friends were getting shot?

We’ve taught her to be a helper… so would she stay hidden from a bullet?

Oh, God, my baby.

All of our babies.

Let Us Lament

Sometimes – like these times – I don’t feel like raising a hallelujah. 

I don’t feel like singing of thankfulness and peace. 

I don’t want to sing about glory and goodness or beauty and gifts.

Sometimes – I don’t feel like singing the Psalmist’s praises in the church pew.

In these time. 

I want to utter a cry of lament.

I want to 

whisper tear filled whys

shout an anger filled how could you-

not save them…

let it pass…

allow this…

hide your face…

I want to add to the Psalmist’s anguished pleas while donning sack cloth to wallow in despair – in tune with the mamas wailing beside their daughters’ empty beds.

And so… I lament.

I cry out to the One who can hear.

And ask for

intervention

comfort

remembrance 

Hope.

Because although I don’t understand, I still believe our God is a God who can handle our raging, and holds us as we weep.

Investing time in our kids now will change their whole world

We try to be intentional about spending 1:1 time with each of our three kiddos. Special dates with Mama and Dada.

Because it doesn’t cost much to make a kid’s day.

To focus your sole attention on their little eyes, listen with your whole brain to the vast worlds inside theirs.

Maybe while some ice cream dribbles down their chin, and markers smudge their fingers.

They giggle and smile and whisper, “this is so fun, right Mama?”

They stand a little taller as they march to the car, asking to push the cart since big sis and little brother aren’t there to squabble for attention. They smirk a little while saying, “I wonder what dada is doing with them at home while we have all the fun.”

Schedules might get disrupted a bit to make that special time. Bedtime starting a little later, making your adult time that night a little shorter. But really, what a small cost to pay.

To remind your baby they are worthy of your time, deserving of your attention, and the object of your love. Just for being them. Just for being yours.

It doesn’t cost much to make a kid’s day.

But it makes all the difference in the world.

And those babies of ours, they are worth it. Oh goodness, are they worth it.

It’s the little moments that bring big feels as a Mama.

You never know what’s going to get you as a parent. What’s going to hit you right in the feels. There are the things you expect – their first birthday, when they can say “I love you,” first day of daycare or school, etc. These things you expect and can sort of prepare for, but those random things? Those weird things that just happen and all of a sudden you are tearing up at a stop light on a Friday morning on the routine drive to daycare? You can’t prepare your heart for those things.

This past week, my baby boy started singing along to the song I’ve been singing to him since he was born. And let me tell you, apparently that’s one of those things.

I heard his quiet little voice pipe up from his car seat behind me, “blues…dreams….sweet baby James”. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw his little face was lit up with half a grin, like he understood this song was for him. Granted, it has his name in it, so it’s sort of a giveaway, but still. It was a shy little smile, like, “oh, mama’s been singing this song about me, to me.” He’s two, so I know the thoughts in his little brain aren’t that complex, but I still think he got it.

We made eye contact in the mirror and his smile widened as he said, “mo’! Mo’ sweet baby James?”

Of course, my boy. Always. Always more.

Maybe it was because there was this song playing on the CD that I’d been softly singing to him since that first night in the hospital, when he fit in Mama’s arms and instinctively knew they were his safe place. And now, he’s a toddler the size of a five year old, who tries his best to fit in Mama’s arms and has learned that they are still his safe place to run. Where there is always more room, more snuggles, more love. Always more.

Or perhaps, it was because it was so quiet with only him in the car because his older sisters were off on a “starting kindergarten and second grade” adventure with Daddy; making me realize this would be the commute the next couple of years. Just him and me on the way to daycare because my other two babies had outgrown yet another stage of childhood. My baby of babies, the last for my mama heart to plead for more memories, more snuggles, more time. Always more.

Probably, it was becuase I pictured, right there in the van, him and I dancing to Sweet Baby James at his wedding. Him towering over me in his man body, whispering in my ear as we slowly twirl, “More? More sweet baby James, mama?.”

I’ll look up into those dark brown eyes I’ve been drinking in for years and years and say, “Of course, my boy. Always. Always more, my sweet sweet baby James.”

Always and forever, more.

Stay close to me, my love.

Stay close, my love.

Right now it comes natural, as you totter and play. You take a few steps, then turn back around, checking that Mama hasn’t wandered away. So natural in fact, that sometimes I might say, “Can’t you ask someone else?” as you claw at my leg for the hundredth time today.

Stay close, my love.

When you start to drift just a little bit further and you no longer need Mama’s hand on your shoulder. You’ll climb and you’ll jump and you’ll get that much taller. While I’m watching on, my arms feeling just a bit colder.

Stay close, my love.

When you and your friends stay out late in the night, having gone to the game out under the lights. You’ll forget to call home to say it’s run late, and I’ll be pacing the floor trying not to worry with all of my might. The door will ease open and you’ll head up the stairs, anger melting away as I hear, “Love you Mom, Goodnight.”

Stay close, my love.

When you pack up your car and family of your own, waving out the window as you make your way home. Home to a place that is miles away, where the fastest way to reach you is to pick up the phone. I hope that you’ll call when you’re feeling alone, call your Mama for help, even once you are grown.

Stay close, my love.

No matter how tall you may get, or how far you go, Our hearts are connected, and I want you to know:

My love for you baby boy, will forever continue to grow.

Childbirth is the Magical Undoing

There is magic to be witnessed if you visit someone who has just given birth. A deep primal magic.

Indescribable power and strength marrying brokenness and unmatched vulnerability. It thickens the air, new mama drenched in the union. You can’t help but stare, in awe, at her. Sitting on a throne of bloody pads and swollen body parts, she is regal. She is breathtaking.

Animalistic energy sweats off her, adrenaline retreating to make way for the fiercer chemical etching new pathways in cortices that cannot be unmade.  Disheveled, in pain, exhausted – radiant. Beauty like nothing you’ve seen before.

She may resemble the person you had lunch with a few days prior, chatting excitedly about how she hopes her baby comes soon…but she is not the same. You feel it. She feels it. Something has shifted.

She has been undone.

And it is in the undoing that she’s become.

The unraveling of what and who she used to be, has spun a new being into existence. Nine months in the making, coming to a beautiful completion in the matter of hours.

The juxtaposing experiences of every muscle of the body being strained and pushed to their limits, intense pain, possibly even trauma, giving way to life and a new form of love impossible to describe.

Terrifying. Beautifully soul wrenching. Glorious. Sacred.

The every day event of giving birth is inexplicably miraculous. And the birth giver… that new Mama you are visiting?

She is pure magic.

A Mother’s love transcends time. You taught me that, Mama.

Hey, Mama.
 
Did your heart break a little when you read my latest post about the week I’d just had?
I picture you sitting there, phone in your hand, showing the screen to Dad.  Worry in your eyes as you say, “Oh no. The baby is sick and I think she’s stressed. Read this.” In fact, I know that’s what you did because Dad doesn’t get online by himself often, yet there was his name “liking” that post.  Checking on his girl who lives 1000 miles away.
 
When you sat on your couch, discussing if it was “too soon” to call, did you picture me as the woman I am? Thirty-one years old, with a job of 8 years, a mortgage, and three kids of my own? Or when you read my words illustrating the stress and challenges of the week, was it the chubby-cheeked five-year-old who asked you to hold her pine cone that day in the woods many years ago? Maybe it was her.  Maybe you read the words of your thirty-one-year-old daughter, but heard the voice of your baby.  They are one in the same to you, aren’t they, Mama?
 
Now that I have 3 babies of my own, I’m starting to understand.  Understand that the passage of time holds no authority when it comes to Mamas and their babies.
 
When my husband dances with the girls at night before bed, I can’t help but picture them as the gorgeous women I know they will be, in flowy white gowns, dancing with their Daddy at their wedding, or walking proudly across the stage to receive their degree, graduation gown billowing, looking for their Daddy in the audience.  Simultaneously, I notice how long my six-year old’s legs seem to be and remember the look on her daddy’s face when he held her for the very first time as a tiny bundle.  So, I just bet, when I danced with Dad ten years ago on my wedding day, James Taylor’s voice transported you and your misty eyes. Transported you right back to the nights where James sang and Dad twirled his girl around in his arms, her feet dangling high above the living room floor.
 
It’s weird right, Mama? I didn’t get it before. But now that I hold my eleven month-old son in my arms, tracing his soft cheeks with my finger, I feel panicked that somehow the insane newborn days are already gone.  All I did was blink, Mama. I promise, that’s all I did. But in between the open and close of my eyelids, I’m already seeing the tall, strong teen he’s going to be. I’m already watching him dominate on the basketball court in high school, feeling him wrap me in his strong man arms as I drop him off for college. Is this how it was for you too, Mama?  Is this how it is now?  Do you hold the juxtaposing realities in your mind and heart when you think of me – your baby girl all grown up, but also, that can’t be right because she was just an infant swaddled in your arms?
 
I think I know the answer.
 
I guess that’s motherhood, isn’t it, Mama. Seeing the past, present, and future threads of our babies all tangled up, no matter what stage they are in. And we try to be the time keepers. Oh, yes we do. Keeping moments and memories in our hearts and our minds. Keeping hopes and prayers on our lips. Keeping joy and grief in our hands as we bear witness to the daily transformations taking place across years. But try as we might, time keeps slipping and sliding, leaving us with those threads bunched in our fists.
 
So, Mama, I know. I know that as I tell you animatedly about how fast my littles are growing and changing before my eyes-  you look at me.  You look at me, your adult daughter, and see my eyes crinkle and lips turn up in that same smile you studied for years. You see a glimpse of the little girl you used to write lunch notes to and tuck in at night.
 
As I tell you about my babies holding my heart forever and ever- you see your baby holding your own heart.  You see me wrapped in a tapestry of love you’ve woven together with those collected threads, covering all years – past, present, and future.
 
That’s what I’m starting to understand, Mama.
 
Where time holds no authority when it comes to a Mama and her babies, love does. Because love?
 
A mama’s love transcends all time.
 
Thank you, Mama, for showing me how to love forever and for always.