Not left behind

  As the youngest of three and a true daydreamer, I was given a healthy fear of being left behind.  I was never good at keeping up with two much more focused and braver siblings.  Often, the gap between our strides would widen until I would realize how far behind I was and rush to rejoin them.  Ian is not a daydreamer, he just is a lot younger than Luke and Levi.  He did not come in the nicely spaced
two years of his older brothers. Or even a reasonable three or four year spacing. It was the summer Luke was seven and Levi was five that Ian came into our lives.  And pictures changed from Luke and Levi side by side, to Luke and Levi with Ian far behind.  The gap is slowly closing as I take snap shots
of their adventures. 

I use to worry that Ian would be lonely.  He would feel like an add on child.  Feeling foolish for thinking we looked like parents that didn't have their act together. Not like the other families that planned and provided just the right spacing for siblings to share bus rides and friends.   I didn't know I had the expectation that all my children would be grouped tightly together until it didn't work out that way.  

Funny that is how expectations work, they are silent until met with something different.  Then the loud voice of discontentment, what ifs, and why not echos through my thoughts.  Fear becomes louder than hope.  

I love this picture because it reminds me that our expectations and fears are wrong.  Ian loves to be in the middle ground.  He enjoys watching his big brothers charge ahead, call him forward, and rests in knowing I am safely behind watching it all.  He doesn't look ahead panicked that his stride does not match theirs.  He certainly isn't concerned that I am behind and not beside.  He is enjoying his own pace and making his own set of tracks, his own ripples.

It is so easy to get caught up in our expectations or someone else story that we forget to trust God's timing, spacing, and path set specifically for us.  When we fixate on how God unfolds life for others we begin to think He is withholding from us.  We can miss the blessings of the middle ground, the ripples and steps of them, because we are wishing to be further along or in a past that feels safer.

I am grateful for two older boys who are fearless and charge ahead in adventures.  Thankful for Ian  following the trails they have blazed and often times creating his own.  He is a reminder daily
 that expectations and time frames that disappoint at first, end up strengthening
our trust and faith in the end. A reminder that looking down at the steps taken
now is better than fixating on the future or wishing for the past.
To rest in the knowledge that we are not left behind and we are never alone in the journey.

"You will keep in perfect peace

all who trust in you,

all whose thoughts are fixed on you!"

Isaiah 26:3

Hold on

"When a train goes through a tunnel and it gets dark, you don't throw away the ticket and jump off.  You sit and trust the engineer."

-Corrie Ten Boon

Shirley is home

"It is important to identify the many ways in which we think, speak, or act with fatalism and, step by step, to convert them into moments of faith.  This movement from fatalism to faith is the movement that will remove the cold darkness from our hearts and transform us into people whose trust in the power of love can, indeed, make mountains move."

-Henri Nouwen

It took me five days to walk across the yard to Shirley's house.  Eight to surrender to the idea that I cannot be the hands to help.  Not the way she needed.  It was eight days ago that her daughter was moving clothes back into her house.  I left the groceries in the van and ran between the yards, Ian bouncing on my hip, to make sure all was ok.  "She is coming home on Monday." The words broke a smile across my face.  A smile that eased into concern as she explained that nothing had changed.  She was not getting better.  She just could not handle one more night away from home.  One more night in the long term care facility with florescent lighting.  The smell of sanitized sickness.  The noises that echo off the hard floors and bare walls.  She wanted to come home to green trees, and soft sheets and surrounded by the full life she lived before all this happened.  

Ian wiggled on my hip and I let him down to pick clovers.  She asked if I could help. Shirley needs twenty four hour care and split between two siblings with full time jobs and families of their own it is hard to know what to do.  I fumbled with words spilling out unorganized.  I couldn't.  I wanted to, would love to, but...my life is too full now.  Too many needs pulling me into too many directions.  I am often feeling overwhelmed with life now.  And I am already dreaming of more cold streams to swim in with boys and adventures in woods.  Adventures far from my own house full of dirty clothes and needs that never end.  She understood.  I felt the lurch in my stomach, the tightening of the chest reminding me I am not enough.  I cannot fix this or even offer the help they need right now.

I saw the ambulance bring her Monday.  Watching through my window.  I stayed home and my chest tightened again.  Each day looking out across the yard as kids asked for help, needs were met, games played.  Evenings smearing into mornings.  There were always cars.  Always people.  I didn't want to intrude.  To let down.  To show up only to say all that I could not.  My mom called twice to see if I had seen her yet.  Excuses tumbled out of me.  Saturday only one truck was in the driveway.  Jeff was home and all was quiet.  With a heavy heart I trudged through the patch of grass carrying clipped flowers and cards.  Small gifts in the face of great need.

I knocked and creaked open the glass storm door.  Her hospital bed set up in the closed-in sun room.  The room she would watch us sled in the winter and watch the boys run through the sprinkler in the summer.  Her bed was facing the road and the stoop where she would sit each evening after the yard work.  Behind her the now green cherry trees, as close to the outdoors as she could get.  I walked in and she smiled.  Her son pulled up a chair and left us alone.  It is still hard for Shirley to talk.  Muscles are weak and saying a few words leaves her breathless.  She still always asks about the boys, the neighbors, which flowers are blooming outside.  She still can only move one hand and her toes.  She still smiles and says this too is God's will and she is trying to trust Him and His plan no matter what it holds.  Most of all she still longs to get up and walk and drive to church and help others.  But there are no tears this time.  And her cheeks hold the pale pink of life.  Her children are doing for her what she has done for others her whole life.  The giving without receiving, the loving as water poured out and not held back and rationed.  

And as we talked I felt foolish for thinking my hands were a part of the answer in this new stage.  I was to sit and listen.  To tell stories of the boys and read words of Life.  To take Ian and make sure he does not try to climb on her bed to talk close.  To remind her that she was made in love with a purpose of love and that lack of movement or speech does not hinder that plan.  And to leave after a visit thanking God for each step taken back to our house.  For each moment given to live and love the ones around me.  Without fear of their needs or my weakness.  But with a full knowledge of His grace and mercy.  

Please continue to pray for Shirley.  Doctors do not know what the recovery will look like. The time frame of recovery or if it is even possible.  She is living each day with grace in bed surrounded by flowers in glass jars.  Nights are the hardest.  Waking up from dreams that are good she said can be harder than waking up from bad ones.  Loss of freedom can be more crushing than the pain.  Pray that the boys and I will not waste the time we have.  Walking across the small side yard to share stories of cold creeks and frogs caught.  Flowers picked  and some love we are so richly given.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Blessed are those who morn, for they shall be comforted.  Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."

Matthew 5:3-5

After I wrote this Luke came over with me to see Shirley for the first time since her stroke in March.  He was convinced it was better to remember the old Shirley.  Terrified to see her in pain and not able to move.  We sat and talked.  We remembered all the visits he made on his own to her house.  His shoulders relaxed and his smile deepened.  By the time we left her house he was filled with deep joy, deep compassion, and most of all hope.  The blessing of loving another.  There is no better gift to give the boys.

Ian is three

     
 He makes us laugh out loud at his antics.  He reminds us that we still don't know what we are doing.  He helps us to live in the now, every sweet and hard moment of it.  He stretches our hearts deeper and our minds wider.  We cannot imagine Team Stables without our #3.  Happy Birthday Ian!

The Waters

  "Character grows in the stream of the world's life.  That chiefly is where men are to learn to love." 

 -Henry Drummond

Luke and Levi's favorite spot in the creek pictured above is where the deep swimming hole leads to a small drop off and then to shallow rapids.  The small rapids are strong enough and just deep enough to carry you down the rocky bottom until you find your footing again to stand.  Their backs bear the scratches of many trips down the creek.  Often they would perch right in the spot where it flows from calm to turbulent- their backs against the cool, still waters and feet dangling in the foam and swirl of the drop off.

There are two questions a person will ask us when they find out we are moving to Basque Country, Spain.  Number one is do we speak Spanish.  No.  No we do not.  The little bit I remember of High school Spanish is now mixed in with the little bit of Russian I remember from college.  Jeff took French in High school and the boys have watched Diego a few times.  The second one is when are we moving.  We had originally said July.  May seemed too naive with the budget we had to raise.  A winter leave seemed too hard on the boys with the school year half over.  It is hard to explain to someone that the leave date is completely based on when we raise a Young Life Missions budget for the three years minimum in Europe.  When we raise it, we go.  No one I know has that as part of their job description here and to reply with that seems a shielded request for funds.  The add on question seems to be "Are you excited?"  That answer can change as fast as the waters pictured above.  In still waters it is a yes!  When footing is lost and plans stalled it can whisper into I am not sure...

I am still shocked by the seasons of deep gratitude and trust dropping off suddenly into worry, doubt, and fear.  I can go weeks confident that God is in this.  I would much rather have the story and confidence of this all moving quickly and smoothly.  Much rather have this months calendar filled in with packing, passports, and tickets ordered.  It is so tempting to feel like God is only in the easy and the blessing... and miss His presence in the struggle and the wait.

 I hear truth of God being in the hard, the messy, the waiting and wresting.  God was with Jacob and David.  With Mary and Martha.  In their victories and their sorrow.  His plan and truth is not dependent on my emotion or circumstance.  His provision and protection is not dependent on how the water looks on or below the surface.  So this week I am finding my footing again.  Remembering why we felt the stirring to go in the first place.  Remembering how He brought us to Culpeper, Va and trusting He will lead us out at the perfect time.

We are hovering just over 50% raised to go to Basque Country.  We also have received a matching $50,000 pledge.  This matches immediately the annual total of a 3 year pledge. A $100 a month pledge, is matched by a $1200 one time gift up to $50,000.  Jeff has currently taken over the lead in fundraising and speaking at churches.  We are hoping to leave by this Fall, 2013.  Our summer will be spent going through Rosetta Stone with the boys and traveling to speak about what God is doing in us and in the Basque Country.  Filled with wilderness adventures, and swimming in creeks.  Learning to be grateful in the calm waters and finding our feet in the currents.  A friend shared  a song with me this week and it has been my solace, Where Feet May Fail.  If you have a few minutes here is the link to hear it:

Hillsong UNITED Oceans, Where Feet May Fail:

                     http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=dy9nwe9_xzw

May you be blessed in knowing He is with you in the still waters and in the waves.  In the receiving and the waiting.  And that we will not be swept up in our fears but find our feet firmly planted in the truth of His love.  

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers they shall not overwhelm you;  when you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you."

Isaiah 43:2

The Mess

"A two year old is kind of like having a blender, but you don't have a top for it."  -Jerry Seinfeld

This is Ian's last month being a two year old.  The last weeks.  I know that it will not change him overnight but the changes will happen as quietly as the sun slips into the horizon each evening.  The phrases he picks, the way he talks to me.  He says each word as if a mini hurricane is propelling the syllables out one by one.  He is left breathless after a story told.  When he is done, eyebrows up, he is watching to see if I understand.  Watching to see if my eyebrows will go up too, repeating the story.  

When we have had a full day, after friends and family have shared life with us, the sun sinks and Ian clings near to me.  He holds his face close to mine and says, "mommy don't share Ian now."  I love that.  I love that there are moments that I don't have to share him.  No school bus to catch, or friends that are more exciting.  But the days are short.  I don't want to waste the days cleaning and prepping for the smooth running moments and miss the messy ones.  The messy ones where the kitchen is undone from making muffins and the floor is smudged with mud. Three sets of feet now run barefoot in the backyard.  Screeching  when they find a frog or toad.  Bringing it close to me as if it was a bundle of daffodils.  The mud smeared onto his cheeks and small hands proof that catching the frog was no easy feat.  And the mess mingles in with the joy, the wearing out and the giving.

The truth is, what overwhelms me about life is also the vehicle in which the most joy flows.  The mess of it.  I am constantly putting back into order what has been scattered in a day.  It would be easy to demand order.  It would be easy to keep shoes tied tight, the hose off, and frogs in the woods.  The house would look much better.  I would look less weary by seven o'clock.  But the joy would trickle out instead of gush. The bone tired exhaustion of some days are also the same days saturated in joy. The mess and joy cannot be separated in life.  And the magazine pictures that show it all clean and pristine, also show frozen smiles for a camera crew.  So, I will try to remember tomorrow, as I scrub the mud from the floor and find the two year old tracker of the mud at the sink, that these moments are sweet.  That very soon the days of scrubbing will turn into days of remembering.  

I hope you get to smile at a mess today.  That the mess will be a reminder of blessing.  And that we can all stop looking for the blender top for a moment.

"Every good gift and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."  James 1:17

Gratitude

"Gratitude changes the pangs of memory into tranquil joy."      -Dietrich Bonhoeffer

We are cleaning out the basement, closets, and corners of a house well lived in.  And the best find so far has been the old bent box of dusty photo albums.  Jeff hauled it up from a corner of the basement, placed there for just a moment and then forgotten.  I wiped down the covers, the dust thick.  And as I flipped through them time stopped.  Faces, eyes squinting at the sun.  My sister, brother, and I with the California hills behind us.  The years skip forward and high school is relived in moments, fingers pausing at the friends I have lost touch with. I flip another.  My first dorm room.  Tapestry hung above the bed and a look of anticipation and fear.  And then the countless ones of friendships made, trips taken, experiences that welded hearts together.  The first ones of Jeff and I dating, the ones of us broken, and then the wedding day.  They flood through my heart and mind as I remember what I don't ever think about much anymore.  That I didn't just end up in Culpeper, VA married with three boys.  And Jeff didn't just come up with a crazy idea to move us all to Basque, Spain.  Each picture held a clue to how we got here to this place.  And to see it unravel dusty page after dusty page steadily filled me with gratitude. 

 Gratitude for parents that loved and spoke into my heart.  For an older sister and brother who shaped me.  Friends who helped me understand what it is to give and receive.  For a man that loves me, the good, the bad, the tiring.  And the three boys smiling at me in each photo.  Teaching me what life is about.  And I am so glad it is not all about me. I wouldn't trade a single snapshot for a better composition.  For better lighting or faces.  They tell a story I am so grateful I get to be a part of.  That feels a lot better than being afraid of what is left to written.  Gratitude rests in the remembering.  And to remember with a heart and mind that sees  clearly.  That each moment, day, and year had a purpose.  Some refining and stretching, most just living through the small joys given.  And none wasted.  The perspective of seeing snippets of life lived so far, how much has been given.  How much has been GIVEN.  It is hard not to thank the Giver.

I hope you get to pull out an old picture album this week.  To go through the slick pages of memories, years lived.  And to see how God was weaving His love story throughout.  That each face in each picture was a part of something so much bigger than you.  That your heart will grow heavy with thanks by the time you flip the last page and reach the pages to be filled.

"What shall I return to the 

LORD 

for all his goodness to me."

Psalm 116:12