JOY

    



 "Joy does not simply happen to us. 

                      We have to choose joy

                and keep choosing it every day." 

                                     -Henri Nouwen

Everyday is the same. Luke shrugs his backback on and lumbers off the bus, brows furrowed in thought. Levi rushes past him towards me flushed and grinning.  With his coat falling off a shoulder and backpack bouncing he bellows "That was the best day EVER!"  Luke will often try to articulate that it is impossible to have a "best" day everyday. But Levi can't hear him because he has already launched into explanation of why the day was so wonderful. 

It wasn't always this way, goofy grins, and chuckling loud at life. He came into the world with colic.  Red faced and little fists clenched.  I never knew quite what to do when the crying would start. With unkempt hair and emotion I would pace back and forth.  Sometimes praying sometimes crying not knowing how to soothe this new child of mine. The one we named Levi, "one who lives in harmony".  Trying everything I could think of to get him to sing a different melody. The colic passed leaving me exhausted and unsure and Levi emerged from it contented, eyes smiling.  I would pray over the boys in their cribs before they could talk or understand words spoken.  Different prayers for very different boys. Luke's prayer was that he would love others more than himself and God even more than that.  And for Levi to be a joy bringer.  To carry God's joy into the lives of others.  And laughter comes easily to him.  Whether we have a house full of Highschool kids, leaders, or friends his nature is easy and light.  The only thing better than to belly laugh is to get someone else to join him.  

He is still the one person who can get Luke to laugh until hiccups punctuate each intake of breath.  Right now, at seven, Levi can wear joy and laughter  with ease. As he gets older, life will get harder.  Belly laughing at life will be seen in most circles as silly, childish, and niave.  I remember my mom often praying "God give me joy as my strength today."  Joy withstands the storms, the judgements, the pain.  It chooses to trust that there is always the option of a content and happy heart in Christ. Joy is the ballast in seas of changing swells.  Happiness bubbles up and breaks, pain pierces and dissapears, but joy can remain.  

My prayers now for Levi are often whispered in the dark.  Words he understands but can't hear because he is already asleep.  Words asking for him to choose joy as his strength in a world that arms itself with false power and control.  That this chosen joy will point others to the true joy bringer.  The one that gives life to the full and sees past the swells that rock us.  I hope you get to experience that type of joy this season and learn to choose it each day. 

"Be joyful always; pray continually;

give thanks in all circumstances,  
for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." 

          1 Thessalonians 5:16-18     



Landfill Harmonic

I found this video, Landfill Harmonic, posted on a blog that I read.  It is about a town in Cateura, Paraguay that takes trash from a landfill and fashions it into instruments.  In a place where there are no orchestras, kids are making music out of garbage.  Hope you can take a couple of minutes to watch this movie clip about it:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=fXynrsrTKbI 
God is able to make music, something beautiful, out of our lives.  Not just the beautiful parts but the parts with jagged edges and gaping holes.  If given to Him they can become something made new.  What we would count as loss He is able to see with a redeemed purpose. 
This morning I am reading the beginning of Isaiah 61 and praying that God will make beauty out of the ashes of this week, garments of praise instead of a spirit of despair.  And music out of a trash heap.

A Name

“Stories are light. Light is precious

in a world so dark.....

Make some light.”  

― DiCamillo, Tale of Despereaux

Luke, our oldest son, has always loved a good story.  The minute he was talking he was asking for a story.  I would knit words together each night as he stared, big  eyed, into the darkness.  The story would always involve Luke, taking adventures and discovering hidden treasure.  One of my favorite places to tell a story to him was around a fire in the backyard.  It was silent except for the crackle of wood.  Jeff would be holding Levi and I would begin, the whole time staring at Luke's face lit by the fire.  His most beloved story was not made up.  It was true and happened to Luke, and Jeff and I got to be a part of it. 

"Tell me again the day I was born, and what dad said to me, why you named me Luke."  I would begin the same way every time.  "I was very surprised, you see.  We thought you would come to us much later, years later.  Even the day you were born you surprised us!  Two weeks earlier than the doctor had thought, like you couldn't wait any longer to see what the world would be like.  "And did it hurt when I was born?", He asked this each time also.  "Yes, it hurt, but everything worth it hurts, and you were worth it.  I remember you came into the world not crying, and dad was worried, because all babies cry at first.  But the minute the nurses took you to see why, you let out a good, loud cry.  "And then dad spoke to me?"  Yes, He first kissed me and then walked over to get a good look at you for the first time.  He looked at your pink face and small belly breathing in and out.  And he looked right into your eyes, smiled big and said, "Hi Luke, you are my son and I am going to be your Daddy forever."  'And what did I say?" You cried, but I think you meant, I'm so glad your my daddy."  Luke would laugh at this part and stare at the picture that captured the time when father and son met.   Luke would end with, "But I knew him already, I knew his voice because he talked to me each night when I was in your belly."   He would continue to look at the picture quiet eyed and grinning.  

Luke would then ask about his name.  Why we chose to call him Luke Isaac Stables.  I always loved the name and as he grew in my tummy I knew more and more that would be his name.  Luke, means bearer of light.  Isaac means laughter.  I wanted Luke to bring light to people.  Truth in stories.  But that seemed a heavy mantle to carry, so Isaac means laughter.  And from the time Luke was tiny his laughter has been large, deep welled, and contagious.  It is a laugh that surprises people who only get to see a pensive boy with thoughts too large to express.  The contrast of furrowed brow in thought and belly laughing loud.  Luke always made sure we knew he was glad we gave him the right name.  What if you had named me George he would ask in horror. 

   
 How we come into this world is important but lasts only a moment.  A name is important and you carry it through your days.  It is how the world will first hear of you, how you are announced, called forth.  One of the most important things Luke will learn and relearn in life will be to know who he belongs to.  Who calls him by name in love.  Who began his story before we knew he would be written into our lives.  That story is the one that will become more important the older he gets.  What does your name mean? Who calls it forth in love?   To whom you do you belong?  Praying that you will hear his voice call you by name.  And hear the most important story to be told.

"You created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made."  Psalm 139:13-14

Euskara and the Basque flag

In Basque everyone can speak Spanish and is willing to (phew).  Though their native tongue is Euskara.  The boys will be doing school 1/3 English, 1/3 Spanish, and 1/3 Euskara.  That is if we get in the government subsidised private school, the one with the two year waiting list.  Written Basque is as strange-looking as the language is strange-sounding, featuring an extraordinary number of x's and an apparent disregard for vowels. The Basques refer to themselves as Euskaldunak, or ``speakers of the Euskara''.   Language is incredibly important to their identity.   We will be learning Euskara along with Spanish.   The picture below is the Basque flag.  Hope you are enjoying learning a little Basque history.  Next time I will share about the three American couples we met during our February exploratory trip.  They encouraged us in many ways and let me ask any question I wanted.  Those who know me understand why I hold them in high regard for that! 

Fears relieved

"Our doubts are traitors,

And make us lose the good we oft might win

By fearing to attempt."

-William Shakespeare

      "I don't want to look back and regret that we missed being a part of something way bigger than ourselves.  That we played it safe, and that was okay, but missed out because of fear."  We circled back to this over and over.  Jeff repeats with gentle truth his stand.  Should we leave home, our support system, our family and friends to be part of starting Young Life in Basque Country, Spain?  When it came down to it, the marrow of it all, I was afraid.  I saw the doors open as clearly as Jeff, but we had just cracked a window to get fresh air, I did not expect the front door to swing wide. 

Fear has been my friend you see.  The thin, hard, fragile egg shell that makes me think I am protected because I am separated from it all.  Fear, the reality I believed for so long, a reality that has no room for God.  For His tender mercies, or abiding love.  It makes no place for grace and joy and peace.  Fear makes you believe that scars are shameful and trophies are wanted by Him. 

The opposite is true when I read scripture, His word living.  When I read about the men and women who trembled and stepped out in faith in scripture He promises He is with them, with me.  And they fell... some fell and evidence of healed wounds stayed.  Scars of misstep and sin all woven in His forgiveness to tell a story bigger than themselves.  So we said yes, knowing skinned knees are coming, that there will be no bronze plaque that is given at the end.  But we will get to take a leap of faith like many before us and see God present in a story that is not written in fear. 

Praying you get to crack open a window today.  That you will let God write this chapter and not fear.  Can you imagine the new things you would see and be a part of?  What cobwebs would be cleaned out with new light brought in? 

Therefore, since we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.  Hebrews 12:1

Life overflowing

"Materialists mistake that which limits life

for life itself."
-Leo Tolstoy

"I am grateful, I just..."  this is the mantra of my struggle.  I am happy, I am grateful, I love my life of  dirt rimmed sinks and tender husband.  But I still want, I still feel the lack of something.  And my wants are silly ones mixed with deep.  A coat I pick out and not one given secondhand, the living room carpet clean and fresh, a book I purchase and read because I want to.  None of these are bad things, but I put importance where it was never meant to rest.  And surely there are so many others who have more, and who are much more ungrateful than I am.  This is the smoke screen I justify my want with. He has taught me time and time again that what I have is enough, that I live a life overflowing, and that He has so much more to give I just don't see it.  I know I don't see it clearly, as if I am waking up trying to focus on something with tired eyes. I even feel it when someone I love is given something beautiful.  I rejoice and laugh wonderment with them.  But then it comes.  The small voice that wants to know why it was not given to me also.  Maybe something not quiet as beautiful, even ordinary would do, but something.  Can I know the Giver but still question His giving.  When my vision is tired from want, the gifts given to others will seem too generous and mine too meager.  But if I look at the Giver's heart, the heart that knit me together in my mother's womb, that calls me by name, who loves me more than I am able to comprehend,  my vision is focused sharp.  I see that His will is perfect.  And if His will is perfect then so are His gifts.  Even the ones I didn't ask for.   And all of these little gifts I desire, the silly ones, would bring me great joy, but the joy would begin to disappear as soon as the coat frayed, the carpet stained, or the book had been read.  So, I pray that in this season of gifts you can focus on His heart and not His hand.  That we will be able to live in His love, His sacrifice, and the ultimate gift ever given.  And that we will thank Him for a life overflowing.
         
              "And my God will meet all of your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus." 
                                                               Phillippians 4:19

Basque

       Did you know that the Basque are the OLDEST surviving ethnic group in all of Europe?  Or that scholars have yet to discover the exact orgin of the Basques?  Did you know their language, Euskara, is considered a language isolate?  It is not linked to any other language root in the world.  The Basque country (north, west Spain and into the south of France) is bordered by the Pyrenees mountains and the Bay of Biscay.  This may be why they were able to be isolated and unconquered for so long.  Are you getting curious yet?