E-Lationship

We argue, on occasion. True confession. It's a question of expectations and opinions and belief in the right or wrong of a situation. A question of statements, and disagreements, and finding common ground to go on. Never loud; no yelling, not even volume raised, but argument nonetheless.

And my daughter knows. She's sensitive to tone and innuendo, to body language, to abrupt silence. I don't know what goes through her mind. A storm cloud looming? A rocky path? It's ok that she witnesses our disagreements; she needs to know that people have disagreements. Even people she loves. Even her parents. She needs to witness respect in the difference. And resolution. It's ok that she recognizes things are not always hunky-dory. That life goes on. That love goes on.

And that's when I learn from her.

"It's e-lationship, Mom," she tells me. "You and K...., it's e-lationship." She puts her arms around me, the empathy master working on comfort, and all I can do is smile at the Sierra-ism. She skips first letters on her words sometimes, in this case, turning relationship into e-lationship.

But isn't that just like her. To show me the joy?

Elate - the verb means to make someone ecstatically happy. It originated from a combination of two Latin roots: ex -- meaning 'out or from,' and ferre -- meaning 'to bear.'  These became 'effere', which then became 'elat' which means raised - which then travelled over to late Middle English as the verb we now know.

I like that. Relationship and Elationship. We raise up, we bear. From two minds, from two people, out of two hearts -- we raise up.

Love is like that.Relationship is like that.

"At that season Jesus answered and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that thou didst hide these things from the wise and understanding, and didst reveal them unto babes: yea, Father, for so it was well-pleasing in thy sight. All things have been delivered unto me of my Father: and no one knoweth the Son, save the Father; neither doth any know the Father, save the Son, and he to whomsoever the Son willeth to reveal him.

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Matthew 11:25-30 (ERV) 

Five-Minute Friday and the prompt is Season. It is the beginning of Advent and the sometimes crazy Christmas season is upon us. In looking for an anchor for this post -- a scriptural anchor -- I came upon this passage from Matthew. In every translation except English Revised, season translates as time. As in - in that time... Curious. 

I tend to do this thing - this choosing of the 'underdog', so to speak. This choosing of a scriptural anchor that only uses season in one translation. When the whole prompt is season.

Hmmm....

I'm sure it's because of the reference to children -- to the wisdom of children. Because I am a witness to this through my daughter. My 24-year old daughter who is not a child, yet, because of her unique capabilities and differences, perhaps because of her extra chromosome, shows me a different perspective.

In Matthew, Jesus was most likely at his wit's end (if you can imagine), revealing himself through supernatural means -- miracle upon miracle -- over and over, in cities and towns far and wide, yet realizing that the people he came to redeem still did not see or believe his true nature. How frustrating. So, instead of ranting and raving at those people, he turned the situation around and thanked his Father for the children - children without the burden of worldly knowledge - who believed through heart rather than head.

It reminds me of my daughter - who believes through heart rather than head. 

"It's e-lationship, Mom."

Of all the seasons of the year, it seems to me that this is the one where we need to stress the elationship in our relationships. 

Love is patient and kind; 

love does not envy or boast; 

it is not arrogant or rude. 

It does not insist on its own way; 

it is not irritable or resentful; 

it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, 

but rejoices with the truth. 

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (ESV)

I Am Scared

Anyone who sets himself up as “religious” by talking a good game is self-deceived. 

This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. 

Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: 

Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, 

and guard against corruption from the godless world.

James 1:26-27 (Message)

"There's a situation, sir, across the sea..."

The man looked up from his computer screen, eyes tired behind the horn-rimmed glasses, the ones his wife insisted he wear. He rubbed them wearily.

"What situation?"

"People, sir. They're washing up."

"Washing up? What do you mean, washing up? Washing clothes? Quitting their jobs? Cleaning themselves?"

"No, sir, they're coming onto shore in boats and rafts. Even innertubes, sir. They have no papers. They have no money. Mostly women and children, sir. They have no food."

The man took the glasses off, holding them carefully by the expensive frame, and sat back in his chair to get a better view of his visitor.

"Across the sea, you say? How is this our business?" He was annoyed. So many issues, so little time. Interruptions and distractions. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose where the glasses usually rested, his eye caught movement on the television screen in the waiting room outside of his office. Past his visitor. Rude of him, really, to look past the other man, but the image, in focus now, compelled him. Ragged people, eyes too big for their heads, tent camps and fences. Refugees. 

The news agencies were all over the situation. The one across the sea. Not here. Funny to be told about it and see it, almost simultaneously. Not here. Not our problem.

"How is this our business?" He asked the question again, but even as he asked, he waved his hand dismissively at the screen in the other room. His visitor blinked at the gesture and turned to see the news report. A long moment passed before he turned back, tears in his eyes.

"We should help, sir. They need..."

Interrupting, the man behind the computer replaced his glasses and looked back at the screen.

"Not today. Not our problem. Not our mess."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

Tuesday school, her daughter jokingly called it. Tuesday morning Women's Bible Study class. They were studying the Old Testament - all of the good kings and bad kings - all of the judges and heroes. They were at the years of captivity, Babylon, and the worshipping of idols and the killing of babies. Horrible things. Unbelievable things. 

But the conversation today was not about scripture; it was about the terrible events on the news. Shootings. Bombings. Terror. And the refugee crisis in Syria, home of ISIS, the worst of the offenders. Horrible things. Unbelievable things. Scary things.

"Did you hear the President's speech? About Syria and the refugees? He wants to let 10,000 more come over here."

"Ten thousand? That's more than our whole town! We only top out at a little over seven. Thousand. And that's counting every, single man, woman, and child. And probably a few hound dogs..." With a little smile. To lighten up the situation. "Aren't we already doing enough? Remember when we started the backpack program for the kids? Twenty. We wanted to feed twenty. Now it's up over three hundred."

"And the Peace meals. Don't forget those."

"Ten thousand. Imagine. I read about it on Facebook the other day - one of those newsfeed articles. There are millions coming over the borders over there. With just the clothes on their backs. Because their homes are gone - they've been bombed. And the men are coming in - taking girls, taking women, taking boys." Tears threatened to overflow the dam of eyelash and mascara.

"I say we need to take care of our own. Right here. I mean, what if some of those terrorists sneaks into the group the President is talking about? It's just not smart to take that kind of chance - like inviting those people right into our own backyard... It scares me.

"Me too."

_________________________________________________

"What do you see?"

"I see postings, left and right, for and against, controversy and agreement. Heated, argumentative, pleading, and divisive."

"Good. Social media is an excellent tool for stirring up. What do you hear?"

"Fear. Whispers in the dark, heads in the sand, voices of avoidance. I hear thoughts: not me, not here, and let someone else."

"Ah... wonderful. Our plan is working. Can you feel it?"

"I feel terror."

"Yes. Can you smell it?"

"I smell Death."

"Yes. The end is near - our long-awaited victory. Yes."

Heavenly Father, 

I can only imagine the power for good 

that would be released into this world if 

we followed your Son - 

Love the Lord, your God, and Love one another. 

Help us to be united in these two. 

Grant us wisdom to see through curtains of controversy - strengthen us to glorify you. 

And Father, walk beside the homeless, the hungry, and the broken - 

comfort them, heal them, give them hope,
And help us to help them. 

In the holy name of your Son, Jesus, 

Amen.



Linking with Unite, #TellHisStory

Untie the Love

As the Father has loved me, 

so have I loved you. Abide in my love. 

If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, 

just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.

These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, 

and that your joy may be full.

John 15:9-11 (ESV)

"How do you take the prayers out?" Little fingers winding in and through the knots. Never still, head tilted, eyes wide with wonder, Charli had just heard the story of this quilt, this prayer quilt, of how the knots were tied with prayers.

Knots tied with love. Old, gnarled fingers on hands stiff with arthritis and ropy with veins. Young, supple fingers on smooth-skinned hands. Working hands, hard with callouses tied knots. Surgeon's hands, pastor's hands, teachers and musicians. The congregation gathered around this quilt, praying over the knots. Praying for the man who would receive it. Praying strength and comfort, praying forgiveness and grace, praying wisdom. For him, for his family, for his doctors and the medical team.

To little Charli Grace, it must seem like a wonderful gift - each knot a prayer - like a wish, a blanketful of wishes, like lighting advent candles, like opening a series of birthday presents, like Christmas morning - all of these prayers tied up in the quilt, all of these prayers laying over her Grandpa's lap.

Sweet smile, innocence in blond curls and china-blue eyes. "How do you take the prayers out of the knots?"

Because she realizes the prayers are the important part. The part to be unwrapped. The gift. Precious and holy.

I want to take the prayers out of the knots in all of the prayer quilts of this world.

I want the prayers for comfort and healing and strength and wisdom, for forgiveness and grace, for families and doctors and medical teams to stretch from here to Paris, from Paris to Syria, and Kenya, to Russia, to North Korea, to India. To the United States.

I want the prayers to grow like a vine, a wild, beautiful vine, that winds around and upholds the lost, the hopeless, the grief-stricken, the desperate, the lonely. 

I want the prayers to rain down on hubris and greed, on fear and ashamed, on selfish, on self-loathing. Rain down and melt down. Healing rain.

I want the prayers to heal the sick, help the poor, adopt the orphans, build houses for the homeless, find homes for refugees. 

I want to unknot peace, and kindness in this broken world.

I want.

Jesus said "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Love and pray.

Love and pray. Precious and holy.

I want to untie the love in this world - the action of love - of loving one another as Jesus loved us. He died for us. 

Can't we untie the love?

Linking with #TellHisStory, and Three Word Wednesday

We Need Help

From one of the gates at Boldt Castle - looking out, over the Saint Lawrence....

For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.

Romans 8:19 (NIV)

Yesterday I described a metaphor, based on an outing taken by my family over the weekend. We were on the river. We docked next to a castle, on an island, originally built as a gift from a loving husband to his wife. When she died mid-construction, it broke the man's heart. It broke his will. He abandoned the castle on Heart Island. The unfinished castle suffered through seven decades of neglect, to the elements, to vandalism, deserted by love.

The metaphor?

My husband, daughter and I didn't pay the admission price to go onto the castle grounds to explore. We were on the outside, looking in. It made me consider my life before Jesus, before belief, before grace. It made me think about being on the outside of Christianity and looking in. We stood at the fence, at the gate, at the door, and on the other side? Jesus. Jesus, the ultimate love story.

But there is another metaphor -- from the inside looking out.

Jesus came in the fullness of time to redeem us for all time. This plan existed from the beginning with the Word of Truth. Our Truth came to earth. A seed - one person in one place. And it grew. And it spread. And it still spreads. At first, because of Roman roads, because of common language, because of the political and military structure of the time, because of the dissatisfaction in false gods. Because it was prophesied. Because our God is a mighty God, sovereign, faithful and just. And because our God is a loving God full of grace and wisdom.

The inside looking out. Imagine God's Kingdom in heaven. A mansion with many rooms, prepared and waiting. Waiting for us - yearning for us, the children of the King, to live, to laugh, to love. Waiting for us -- the inside looking out.

And how do we enter?

Our admission is admission. Our admission is belief. Our admission is prayer.

If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” 

and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, 

you will be saved. 

For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, 

and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.

Romans 10:9-10 (NIV)

It sounds so easy, but sometimes it is the hardest thing. 

Belief that Jesus is Lord means WE aren't Lord.  

It means that we need to give up control.

We need to give up anxiety and worry.

We need to turn fear away.

Jesus can help us.

Admission.

In order to turn fear away, we need to name it, confess it.

Then dismiss it.

Jesus can help us.

We need to set our hearts on His ways - ways of love, forgiveness, compassion, kindness.

Jesus can help us.

In these days of Ferguson and Isis, of Chattanoogas and Charlestons, in these days of entitlement and privilege, of racism and prejudice, of poverty and violence, of fear --- We need to see through His light, what CAN be so that it WILL be.

We need help.

Jesus can help us. 

Linking with Three Word Wednesday, and TellHisStory

Outside Looking In

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, 

I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.

Revelations 3:20 (NIV)

The castle commands attention. Look at me! Look at me! Look at my beautifully crafted stone walls, my manicured lawn, my geometrically detailed windows! Did you notice the gateway? A turreted, bridged walk spanning the river? Did you notice the docks and the shops? The yachts and the afternoon cruises? The cameras? The tourists? Located in the heart of this 1000 Island Region, almost directly across the water from riverside hotels and motels with the multi-windowed and balconied views. Look at me!

We stayed on the outside - looking in. And the castle - was on the inside, looking out...

Beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking. And it has a story... a romantic, sad, love story.

 Beginning in 1900, the Boldt family spent summers in the 1000 Islands at the Boldt Families Wellesley House near Mr. Boldt’s Wellesley Island Farms while 300 workers including stonemasons, carpenters, and artists fashioned the six story, 120 room castle, complete with tunnels, a powerhouse, Italian gardens, a drawbridge, alster tower (children’s playhouse) and a dove cote. Not a single detail or expense was spared.

In January 1904, tragedy struck. Boldt telegraphed the island and commanded the workers to immediately “stop all construction.” Louise had died suddenly. A broken hearted Boldt could not imagine his dream castle without his beloved. Boldt never returned to the island, leaving behind the structure as a monument of his love.     

(http://www.boldtcastle.com/visitorinfo/index.php/about/)

Metaphor commands my thinking.

I remember when I was on the outside, looking in at the greatest love story our world has ever known. I remember when I allowed my disbelief to overcome my faith. I remember yearning for the peace of green pastures and still waters. I remember the feelings of not-deserving; confusion and turmoil. I remember thinking the distance too great, and the path too difficult; the water was too deep and too wide.

For 73 years, the castle and various stone structures were left to the mercy of the wind, rain, ice, snow and vandals. When the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority acquired the property in 1977, it was decided that through the use of all net revenues from the castle operation it would be preserved for the enjoyment of future generations.

Imagine 73 years of neglect.  Imagine the damage to the buildings, to the estate, to the island.

Heart Island. Metaphor.

And now imagine the healing, tender care and meticulous attention. Love on Heart Island.

Jesus healed me. He took my brokenness and made me whole. Once upon a time, I stood on the outside of Him, and looked in. And yet, He is always looking out for the lost, lovingly, with great mercy and grace. Yesterday I was reminded of how very far He has brought me.

He can heal you, too.

Linking with Kelly and Jen

Jesus is Here

I can't seem to let it go, this new thing my daughter is telling me. I sit at my computer in the early-before-morning, cup of coffee on the desk beside me. My husband and I share the desk, he checks the weather and wanders through Craigslist; I catch up on emails and facebook. Sierra is usually the last to come down the stairs.

It used to be that she would wrap warm, sleepy arms around me, then move to our favorite Army guy, then to the dog - old dog in his bed - awake but not up. I've said it before - my daughter is an equal-opportunity hugger. It used to be, that after her 'rounds', she made her way to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee, then move the piano bench over to the desk to share our morning with us.

"I am not awake yet," sleepy sounding words, soft voice.

"I not have my coffee yet", true statement of the obvious.

But this last week has been different. Yes, we still get hugs all the way around. Yes, she still gets that precious cup of coffee.

But this last week, the good-morning statements aren't about being awake. They aren't about coffee.

"Jesus is here, Mommy."

My heart jumps. You have to know my daughter. She's not a halfway kind of girl. If she's unsure, or treading those waters of not-knowing, or not-understanding, she ducks her head, avoids eye contact, changes the subject, gives a little, misplaced giggle, or passes the topic off with a 'just kidding' statement. Not today. Not yesterday, nor the day before. Her voice is strong; her words are clear. Her eyes sparkle with life, like bright sunlight on the river.

"Jesus is here."

It's the first thing she tells me, everyday now for a week.

I've asked her about it, about Him. "Where?" I ask.

"In my room." Her smile widens, like a memory. Words still crystal clear.

"In your room?" Her hand pats my shoulder and rubs my back. She must sense my confusion. I am thinking about Jesus. I am thinking that I know He is with us, in our lives; I believe in a personal Savior. I am thinking about Jesus in my life, in my heart. It is the first time I've ever heard my daughter express this kind of relationship with Jesus.

"Is Jesus in your heart?" I am searching her face, her eyes, her smile. I don't fully know what she understands. I think she may know more about Jesus than I ever will while I'm still here on earth. I think, not the first time, that her spiritual connection surpasses express-ability.

She places her hands on her chest, she knows where her heart is - lots of visits to various cardiologists have given her a good sense of this kind of anatomy.

"Yes, Jesus is here; he is in my heart."

Have you ever seen someone transformed by joy? I witnessed my daughter, her face bright, her eyes wide, her smile wide, her hand on her heart, transformed. Jesus does that to people, doesn't He?

There is a growing ministry in many churches and denominations - some call it Disability Ministry - I would prefer a name like Differing Ability Ministry - but, words...right? I suppose I've had a finger on the pulse of this ministry for several years, ever since we became part of a 'Friends Class' and 'Bridge Service' in Virginia, where adults with cognitive disabilities were invited to worship and take a Sunday School class. I helped teach that class for awhile. The hope behind Disability Ministry is to provide a place for adults and children, like my Sierra, to learn about and access all of the things we all want and need to learn and access within a church community: fellowship, missions, scriptural knowledge and insight, corporate praise and worship...

The idea is spreading and there are successes and not-so-successes. In some ways, it is transforming the way churches 'see', and causing them to review and revise some hidden and not-so-hidden policies. Change. No matter who the population, there will be change.

I read something recently, by a guy deep in the process of facilitating positive change for Disability Ministry. In his blog, Disabled Christianity, he wrote about a verse from Matthew that opened my eyes concerning my daughter.

You have been given the chance to understand the secrets of the kingdom of heaven."

Matthew 13:11 (NIV)

Whenever someone has a ready heart for this, the insights and understandings flow freely.

Matthew 13:12 (Message)

If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.

James 1:5 (NIV)

What an exciting opportunity we have. Ask for wisdom. Jesus is here. Seek the kingdom of heaven. Jesus is here. Make your heart ready. Jesus is here.

Amazing.

Linking with RARaLinkup, Unite, Three Word Wednesday, TellHisStory, SDG Sisterhood

Saving the Best

This is a super-busy week for my family and me. No writing. But I'd like to share this post from a couple of years ago. It seems that lately, many events have overwhelmed the headlines, the news, social media. Sometimes, I need a reminder to stop and search for joy - especially in the little things and the overlooked. I've noticed most of my writing recently has been about that very thing. You know what they say - when your mind won't allow you to let go of something, it's probably time to pay special attention. 

Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.

John 2:10

I was always curious about the water into wine thing - the first recorded miracle Jesus performed - at the wedding party of a friend.  It just seemed so unimmortal - kind of an anti-miracle.  Not exactly what one would expect from the Son of God - not something as common as wine and water.  He changed water into wine.  Because the feast of celebration had gone on for three days and his mother had told him of the shortage.  Because he and his disciples had added extra mouths to the party.  Because he didn't want the bridegroom or his family to be embarrassed by the shortage.  Because it was needed.

I had to look it up - on Biblos.com - just to see how important a role wine had in the day.  Wine.  Is kind of a miracle in itself.    Fruit of the vine, grown to sweet ripeness, picked, and pressed - the juices separated from the husk - stored, and strained.  Sometimes simple - like grape juice - sometimes fermented like the wine we are more familiar with today.  Spiced, reduced, imported, or home-grown.  Wine was common.  Drunk by all ages, all castes, rich and poor alike.  It was offered as a drink offering in the temple; it was considered a basic household staple.  Although warned against overindulgence, people in Jesus's time didn't mind a little tongue-loosening and happy partying with good wine.  An abundance of wine ranked right up there with signs of God's blessings.

Which is exactly why I'm curious about this water into wine thing.  Jesus was helping the party - that three-day-old-I-can't-even-imagine party - to party on.

Yesterday, my family and I took a little day trip to the coast.  We went via the 'scenic route' - which we thoroughly enjoyed for all the right reasons.  It was, after all, scenic.  We came home via the highway - been-there-done-that with the longer, slower route - we wanted to get home  We had things to do, schedules to follow, deadlines to meet.  But the highway didn't end up being the shortest distance on the timeline - someone had driven off the road and was stuck in the median - and we were stuck in a giant traffic jam.  We moved slowly, for the most part.  Very slowly.

Slowly enough that I had some time to actually look along the shoulder of the road.  The shoulder of the highway was verdant and lush - it had been recently mowed, but there were errant stalks of wild grass bravely swaying in the breeze of the crawling cars.  I was fascinated.   Enough so, that I pulled my camera off the floor, opened my window, and started shooting.  This camera has an amazing lens on it - a 42x optical zoom.  I actually enjoyed the time spent in that traffic.  What I saw was eye opening.  Looking through the viewfinder is an introduction to a whole different planet.  A whole different planet also created by God.  But this is a planet of small things - things missed from normal vantage - beautiful colors and incredible compositions.  Common things.  Things I would miss in my normal day-to-day drive.

But you have saved the best till now.

He changed water into wine.  Common things.  He didn't rant and rave and wave his arms.  He didn't mutter incantations and burn incense.  He didn't even lay his hands on the water jars.  He told the servants to fill them with water and then to pour and present the pouring to the headwaiter.  For his approval.  So the marriage feast - the celebration - could proceed without apology - a gift, perhaps even  a blessing to the marriage.  In the common acts, in the common sequence of events, Jesus performed a miracle.  On the highway yesterday, I had an opportunity to see the world differently - instead of the busy, hurry-up-and-go world of my everydays - the common weeds along the side of the road became something special.  A miracle.  God gave me a gift - perhaps even a blessing.  Like water into wine.

Heavenly Father, I know I lose sight of what's important sometimes.  The great will be small and the small will be great.  I need to remember those small things.  The details.  The unnoticed.  Thank you for showing me - again - the wonders of your creation.  Thank you for showing me the miracles in common things.

Linking with Three-Word Wednesday, TellHisStory, and RaRaLinkup

The Point

Jesus answered, 

“I am the way and the truth and the life. 

No one comes to the Father except through me. 

If you really know me, you will know my Father as well.

 From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

John 14:6-7 (NIV)

I tried reading Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time. Tried, I suppose, is the operative word. I think I'd had just enough physics to get myself in trouble in wrapping my mind around what he wrote. Ya know what I mean? Just enough to feel like I was on the verge of a great and powerful understanding.

But I finally stopped. Reading, I mean. The man really is genius; I'm not. At least, not in the same way. And I guess that's the point of this writing, this post. See, there was one concept he wrote about, he actually drew a picture of - and that was the possibility of multiple universes. Which I kind of like. What he drew, to explain the concept, was something that reminded me of two funnels, one placed on top of the other, mirroring each other, with the funnel parts touching. And actually, they weren't exactly funnels because instead of tubes, they ended in points. So the points of the funnels touched.

And at that intersection, he envisioned us. The funnels were like all of the possibilities of all of the universes in the future (picture the funnel on top here), and all of the possibilities of all of the universes from the past (picture the funnel on the bottom). We stand at the intersection. The actual, only possible point in the now. Present tense, emphasis on possible. He used some calculus stuff too - calling it the sum of histories. Calculus is that branch of math that calculates possibilities and makes them handle-able and quantifiable.

The world. See, I picture our world at the point of all of these possibilities, past and future. There is nothing we can do to change the past, that funnel is closed. But there are an infinite number of choices to the future. I want right choices to be made. In the nexus, in the now.

God. I picture our God into this model. He surrounds it, infuses it, because He is not limited to a single point. But his plan, his great, good plan guides us to a single point. That point between infinite futures and infinite pasts is Jesus. He is the Way. He is the Truth. He is the Life.

Linking with Five-Minute Friday

*** Five-Minute Friday is a free-write based on a prompt word. The time limit is five minutes which means: no editing, no over-thinking, no worrying about perfect grammar or punctuation.
Just write.

All the Time

This is a 4000-word Curio story. It may be too long for blog-hopping. But if you decide to stay, this is the scoop about Curio stories; they are my way of working out questions I have. I have written two others, one about the Garden of Eden, and one about Curio's Show and Tell. This story helped me sort out the question of if God is good, why....  I realize it is not a complete explanation and I relied very heavily on essays by C. S. Lewis. He, in fact, is Curio's professor in this story.

God is good.

All the time.

All the time.

God is good.

Curio was confused.  Again.  It seemed like every day there was something.  Something to make her squirmy, uncomfortable, doubtful, or like today, just plain confused.

She focused on the words she had written.  The gold ink reflected the light and they glimmered and shone on the page. It wasn't the first sentence she was having difficulty with.  Those words glowed.

God is good.  Yes, He was. Glowingly, wonderfully, sparklingly good.  Just the thought of Him lifted her spirit, like effervescent bubbles that tickled the nose, like a spray of water on a hot day, like goosebumps on the underside of her wings that stood her delicate down on end. She bounced a little on her seat; she just couldn't contain her enthusiasm for her good God.

It was the second part, the frequency part that had her stymied, that almost had her cross-eyed with frustration. All the time? Really? Did that mean always and forever, continuously without rest? As in time never-ending? An infinite line of goodness? Or did it mean each and every incident, every single action? She pictured the heavens filled with infinite points of goodness, spinning and swirling into galaxies of kindness and decency, into universes of righteousness. But if there were points of goodness, then it followed there would also be points of not-so-goodness, of nothing-ness, and even, perhaps, of bad-ness. Wouldn't it?

Curio could list lots of examples where it didn't seem like her good God was good at all. When it seemed like her good God might be acting a little to the left of good. She started to count, extending her fingers in recitation. It didn't feel very good when her friend Patience lost her temper and huffed away without a word. It didn't feel very good when she stubbed a wingtip playing 'Roll the Halo'. It didn't feel very good when she went to bed with no supper just because she had stretched the truth a little. And those were just a start.

What about the news she was hearing, like distant thunder, of war and pestilence, of hunger and disease, of fear and anxiety? Again, Curio stared at the words on the parchment before her. All the time. 

She couldn't stop her hand from raising; it crept into the air above her head, stopping and starting, stopping and starting. Face warm, stomach shaking, wings all aquiver, she blurted out one, single word...


"But.."

"But, what?" Voice calm, the Substitute Teacher focused on the trembling, little angel.

"But, He's not good ALL the time." Her voice was very, very quiet, and her eyes were filling with tears.

Curio found it impossible to look at her classmates; she was so distressed. Why, oh why had she interrupted a perfectly good lesson? No matter how much she wiggled or squirmed in her seat, she couldn't push herself any further down; she couldn't make herself invisible. She felt miserable. Case in point, she wasn't feeling so very good in this moment...

Hand down, now, she chanced a peek toward the man in the front of the room, the substitute. Without lifting her head, she looked past her lashes, peering from beneath the glow of her halo.

He was looking right at her. Her first inclination was to duck, but she chose, instead, to face him. A single tear dropped to her desk. Her lips smiled at the thought of showing this stranger her weakness, her emotional uncertainty, her lack of control. Not for the first time, she wished she could disappear.

Curio noticed his eyes first. They were soft brown, rich and loamy like the silkiest of clays. He had introduced himself as Jack, simply Jack and had insisted the class must call him that, without any honorifics or pretenses. The writing on the board, those simple four lines, which all the angels had dutifully copied into their notebooks, was his. English schoolboy, proper and precise. He was not dressed in heavenly robes and did not have wings, as other substitutes had. He wore earthly garb, a roomy, tweed coat with wide lapels, a comfortable sweater vest, and a double-windsor-knotted tie. He was, beyond a doubt, professor material, linguistics they had been told; and in those deep eyes, holding her gaze, she saw deep tenderness, and infinite kindness.

"Ah," his voice was as soft as his eyes. Abruptly, he turned and began taking measured steps, back and forth, back and forth, across the front of the classroom, hands clasped loosely behind his back.

Curio could feel her classmates; she sensed their emotions, eddying and swirling like rainwater in a flooded drain spout, like waves in a tidal pool, like her own confusion, embarrassment, curiosity, and determination. Overflowing without release, pressing and pushing, jostling and splashing. As their professor paced, Curio noted other hands, some raising into the air tentatively, some thrust forcefully overhead, some waving frantically.

The Professor stopped his pacing and stood quietly. His posture commanded attention; without moving his head, Curio could see him acknowledge the fountain of raised hands. He cleared his throat softly and the fountain splashed apart, the hands lowered, uncertainly at first, and then faster, with purpose, until there was nothing left in the space between heads and ceiling except haloes and wings. The classroom was silent.

"What are the natures of God?" The Professor-named-Jack stood poised by the board, ready to write.

"He is all-knowing," Patience called out.

"And all-powerful," added Principio.

"He is all-loving." Wisdom's voice was just a whisper, but it cut through the silence like thunder.

Jack, using Curio's favorite gold marker, wrote:

• Omniscient, 
• Omnipotent, 
• Omnibenevolent

"Which of these is NOT good?" He turned to look at the class, angels sitting at the edges of their seats, quills poised. His half-moon eyebrows raised and lowered with the inflection of his question, causing his hairline to bob up and down. 

No one answered. 

Patiently, he pointed the marker to the first word. "God is all knowing. Do you agree? Can you think of any examples?"

Puppetlike, heads nodded and haloes glimmered and gleamed. Agapio raised his hand. "God knew the Babylonian king's dream." The professor nodded in agreement.

"God knew what David did to Uriel." This, from Honoria, blushing slightly.

"Circumstances. Do you agree? God knows events. Is there another kind of all-knowing? One that isn't incident oriented?"

Curio's hand shot into the air. Again, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, "Wisdom!"

The professor smiled, as much at her impatience as at the correctness of her answer. "Well done." She could tell he was pleased. It made her heart glad to please him.

He turned again to the board and added a definition: omniscient - all knowing, all wise, all seeing. Then he pointed to the next word: Omnipotent. "And this one," he asked, eyebrows raised slightly, causing lines on his forehead to wrinkle, giving him a slightly surprised expression. "Can you think of examples for this?" He looked over the class with his plowed forehead and quizzical smile.

"The plagues of Egypt...the great flood...Sodom and Gomorrah...the Tower of Babel...Jonah and the whale...Jonah and the worm...Isaac..." Titters and squeaks erupted through the room. "...yes, Isaac, and Jericho and Gilead..."

The response was immediate and loud. Not quite chaotic, and the professor practically danced in agreement to all. "Yes, yes!" He exclaimed, he sang, he shouted. "Words, phrases, thoughts, ideas!"

Titters and squeaks. Curio couldn't hide her smile of delight at the antics of this man. The classroom sparkled with amusement, none more than he, swirling with arms raised and coattails flapping. "Yes," he exclaimed again. Then his eyebrows drew together into a 'V' and his voice thundered, "Yes, power that created the universe with a WORD!"

And the angels sat delicately, dangerously, adoringly still, because another voice was booming through the room:

I am he; 

I am the first and I am the last.

My own hand laid the foundations of the earth,

and my right hand spread out the heavens;

"Is this power good?" Jack whispered into the silence after the storm.

Heads nodded solemn assent; Curio found herself balanced on the edge of her seat, wingtips pointed, toes curled against the straps of her sandals that barely touched the floor beneath her desk.

Next to the word Omnipotent, the professor had drawn and labeled columns, and placed headings over each: Creation and Destruction. "Categorize your examples, you may work together if you wish."

Curio moved next to her best friend, Patience, and they looked at the categories together, trying to remember the examples from the frenzy-before-the-voice.

"God created the earth," Patience began. Curio agreed, remembering the sound of HIS voice echoing foundations of earth...

"And the heavens," Curio added. They both scribbled Earth and Heaven in the first column.

The classroom was all abuzz with activity and discussion as the angels worked. "What about the Plagues of Egypt?" Curio, even as she voiced the question, was already writing Plagues under the second column; she remembered the destruction by the locusts, the biting flies, the river running red with blood, and she remembered the wailing of Egyptian families on the morning of the Passover. Unconsciously, she snugged her wings up next to her ears, soft, downy, sound-blocking, memory-fogging wings. Definitely destruction.

She stopped writing mid-word. Her mind had caught up to her hand. Destruction? She abruptly put her quill down and looked at Patience with horror. How could destructive power be good? Remembering the smell of sulpher and the raining of fire on the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah, Curio felt queasy. Again, she heard screaming; she saw the burnt corpses, the scorched stone, she felt the groaning of the earth beneath toppling walls. Anytime? She remembered the panic from the rising waters of the flood, like a never-ending, incoming tide, the unstoppable, inexorable drowning of all that was green, all that breathed. Except for a lone ship floating like a cork above the waters, floating with the hope of a world. She was right back where she had started, feeling confused, and uncomfortable. Somehow guilty, somehow ashamed.

She knew what she needed to do, right there in the middle of the classroom, in the middle of the activity and noise. Carefully, Curio placed her quill on her parchment, then she folded her hands in her lap, trying hard not to hold them too tightly. Squeezing her eyes shut in an effort to push away from distractions, she tucked her head down, and prayed. "Oh God," she thought silently, lips moving with earnest sincerity, "Oh God, forgive me for thinking anything but good about you. Forgive me for doubting you. I am just a little angel, God, and you, you ARE. Thank you for all your works. All of them, because they are good, because you are good. God, I know you made me to glorify you. And I do, really. You are holy. You are awesome. You are God. And I'm not. So maybe you can help me understand a little of these things that confuse me. A little. God. If you want to. Thank you God."

Curio still had her eyes shut tightly; it was her ears that sensed a change in the room. It had just been a short prayer, but in that time, the noise in the classroom had gone from active to silent. Raising one eyelid from beneath her bowed head, Curio noted dropped jaws, wide eyes, and paralyzed quills. All of the angels had stopped writing. Angel mouths shaped like angel-O's, angel feathers in shocked disarray, angel halos tilted in unexpected surprise. Curio opened both eyes, swinging her head away from the stunned look on the face of her partner, to the front of the room where the Substitute Teacher stood by the board, with the two columns. He was the center of focus.

And he continued to be the center of undivided, scrupulous attention as he wrote each example Curio had so viscerally remembered, under both column heads: Plagues, Flood. She looked at the words, shining in gold marker, written fluidly, painstakingly in English schoolboy cursive, twins, commanding recognition as creative power as well as destructive power.

"Curio," the substitute's voice rang out, "How can this be? How is it possible for one event to occupy two columns?" She stifled a nervous giggle and pushed down her immediate thought: God's power makes it possible....get it?...it's the punchline to a celestial joke...tada-dum. Instead of blurting out her first thought, with a silent thank-you for help in controlling her tongue, she focused on the first word. Plagues. Yes, the plagues were, plain and simple, bad. But they helped Moses accomplish God's plan for the Hebrew slaves. They helped to soften Pharoah's heart. Out of Egypt was born Israel. The laws of Moses. The birthplace of the Messiah.

Curio's heart skipped a little beat in her excitement. And the Flood. The sinful world was destroyed but God gave the new world a promise of hope, with his rainbow. And He had chosen the survivors. Noah. Out of Noah, Shem. From Shem, Terah. From Terah, Abraham. Then the impossibility of Isaac. And so on, all the way across generations to Jesus, son of Mary, betrothed to Joseph of Nazareth.

God's destruction led to Redemption. To new life. To hope, to grace, to mercy.  To Love himself.

She began to talk, to explain, trying hard to control the pitch and speed of her words. She was so very excited about her conclusion. The words poured out, her thoughts and connections. She saw the other angels nodding and she smiled inwardly when she saw a couple of her friends give her the thumbs up. The professor still stood by the board with his gold marker. She was in the middle of reciting the lineage of Noah when she stopped short, her words arrested by a new thought. The professor was writing Sodom and Gomorrah in the Destruction column, and had paused and turned slightly toward her, perhaps waiting to hear how the annihilation of these cities was also redemptive, cause for new hope and life.

She couldn't think of anything. This was, in her mind, pure and simple destruction. And destruction couldn't possibly be good.

Could it?

Behold, I set before you the way of life and the way of death.

The voice, just as it had before, filled the air and spaces within the classroom. It ruffled wings, feathers rustled like leaves in a wind. The silence erupted into a chorus of sharply indrawn and expelled breath. The atmosphere tingled, Curio felt fine webs across her face, and knew them as echoes of power, charged and electric. She knew HIS voice and closed her eyes in anticipation of HIS glory.

"Ahem." Quietly, the professor cleared his throat, gathering the attention of the angels like a net gathers fish.

"Did I mention that this is not an easy lesson?" His brown eyes shone, a little tired, perhaps, yet his smile was full of light. He walked slowly down the aisle and stopped by Curio's desk. He smelled like soap and spice, and she thought she detected a faint hint of pipe tobacco. The scent of him, earthy and real, calmed her. He looked down and his smile widened. Curio noticed that he wore a pocketwatch, the chain draped elegantly from his vest. The initials CSL were engraved in a swirly monogram.

"Did I tell you," he was looking directly at Curio with this, "that this is one of the Great Debates in Christendom? That for some, it is the make-it-or-break it reason to believe or not to believe?"

Curio felt curiously relieved. Yes, she was still confused, but at least she wasn't the only one...

"But," he smiled very broadly at this, winking at Curio, "God is good."

"And," he continued, walking swiftly back to the front of the room, "We are about to unravel this debate." His words had quickened; his pitch had risen from baritone to tenor; his step could only be described as lively. Curio knew to get her quill ready because his excitement was contagious. She knew THIS was going to be good.

"The argument is: If God is good all the time, then all that God does must also be good. And because God is all-knowing and all-powerful, then He must be responsible for all things. If, however, there are bad things, then God can't possibly be good. At least not all the time.

Curio wrote his words as he spoke, nodding in agreement. He said it so easily, so clearly. She caught her breath at the thought of her good God, and the logic that was proving Him faulty.

"We've looked at God's omniscience. I believe we decided that the knowing, seeing, and wisdom were all good. Then, we started to look at His omnipotence, and we could see that redemption was part of the equation. And redemption is good. But we were faced by a conundrum about His goodness when we considered Sodom and Gomorrah. Now, let me remind you of an earlier event. Would you consider the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden to be an act of God's power? Yes? Was it God who caused Eve to sin? It was the serpent? Are you sure?"

Curio knew what he was leading to. The serpent could not have tempted Eve, if she had not had the ability to choose. If she had not been given the gift of free will. Honoria had her hand in the air.

"It was her choice. She chose the Tree of Knowledge, even after God told her not to. She made a bad choice."

"Bingo!" The professor, Just-call-me-Jack, was positively ebullient. "She chose. Was God responsible for her choice? Turn to page 212 in your textbook. Read the paragraph at the top of the page."

Curio was stunned. This was a new look at an old story. God created Eve with free will. If he hadn't... Concentrating, she flipped to page 212, it was a quote by a man called C. S. Lewis from his book Mere Christianity.

"God created things which had free will. That means creatures which can go wrong or right. Some people think they can imagine a creature which was free but had no possibility of going wrong, but I can't. If a thing is free to be good it's also free to be bad. And free will is what has made evil possible."

The paragraph was only half read, when a stray thought came to Curio.  She had read C.S. Lewis before. She was very familiar with his delightful series about Narnia; she especially loved Aslan, the not-tame. The substitute liked to be called Jack; C. S. Lewis like to be called Jack. Hmm.... She continued reading.

Why, then, did God give them free will? Because free will, though it makes evil possible, is also the only thing that makes possible any love or goodness or joy worth having. A world of automata - of creatures that worked like machines - would hardly be worth creating. The happiness which God designs for His higher creatures is the happiness of being freely, voluntarily united to Him and to each other in an ecstasy of love and delight...And for that they've got to be free."

Oh my! HE wanted them to choose to obey; HE wanted them to choose to love HIM; HE wanted them to say Yes to HIM.

The professor continued. "So, what is good? You can be good for the mere sake of goodness; you cannot be bad for the mere sake of badness. You can do a kind action when you are not feeling kind and when it gives you no pleasure, simply because kindness is right; but no one ever did a cruel action simply because cruelty is wrong - only because cruelty is pleasant or useful to him, In other words, badness cannot succeed even in being bad in the same way in which goodness is good. Goodness is, so to speak, itself: badness is only spoiled goodness. And there must be something good first before it can be spoiled. There is but one good; that is God. Everything else is good when it looks to Him and bad when it turns from Him. "

Oh my! Curio was processing the professor's words. God was good all the time. Humans made bad choices. But how... how could her good God not KNOW those choices would be made? How could her good God allow a world with pockets of the absence of good?

“If God 'foresaw' our acts, it would be very hard to understand how we could be free not to do them. But suppose god is outside and above the Time-line... You never supposed that your actions at this moment were any less free because God knows what you are doing. Well, He knows your tomorrow's actions in just the same way--because He is already in tomorrow and can simply watch you. In a sense, He does not know your action till you have done it: but the moment at which you have done it is already 'NOW' for Him.”

Oh my! The cost of free will was sin. And God knew it as it happened. Curio thought back to the columns Creation and Destruction. She considered that word redemption. She thought about her good God, the God who always had a plan. A plan! Curio's quill knocked the inkwell off the desk, she raised her hand so quickly. She jumped up and down in her seat; she couldn't contain her excitement.

"My dear Miss Curio, is there something you'd like to share?"

She felt quite breathless and gulped a couple of times before squeaking out the precious name.

"Jesus."

The professor stood for a moment, beaming at the class. Then he abruptly turned to the board and wrote:

It costs God nothing, so far as we know, to create nice things: but to convert rebellious wills cost His crucifixion. 

She remembered a verse she had learned long ago, a verse about God loving the world so much that he gave his only Son...

She remembered the scars on the hands and brow of her Teacher. The scars she could see beneath his sandal straps. She remembered the day when 10,000 angels cried because God hadn't allowed a rescue, the day the veil in the temple split. Because, she now understood, God had planned an even greater rescue, an even more daring rescue than that of lifting a man from a cross. Any angel could lift a broken body, that was compassion. God-in-the-Flesh took on the sins of the world, even at the cost of the-Father-God turning his face away. And He died with those sins. He took them to the grave. That sacrifice, that undeserved suffering, THAT was love. And love was the ultimate good.

Omnibenevolent. She should have figured it out from the start. All-loving.

The substitute finished writing:

"But the great thing to remember is that, though our feelings come and go, His love for us does not. It is not wearied by our sins, or our indifference; and, therefore, it is quite relentless in its determination that we shall be cured of those sins, at whatever cost to us, at whatever cost to Him.”

Curio couldn't help herself. She had to say it. It needed to be said, loud and clear and in a ringing voice:

God is good. All times. all the time, all of time, all through time.

The professor began to clap. Curio turned slowly where she stood, still breathless, and now flushed. He was clapping for Jesus. Her hands acted independently from her thoughts. She was clapping for Jesus. And for her good God - one and the same. Perfect love. She saw the other angels, her classmates, standing one by one. They joined in the Professor's applause.

Linking with TellHisStory, and Three-Word Wednesday

All About Him

And Jesus answered and said unto her, 

Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: 

But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, 

which shall not be taken away from her.

Luke 10:41-42

I caught myself thinking yesterday.

I know.  What a statement.  I suppose it implies that there are times I am NOT thinking.  Well, yes, as a matter of fact, there are.  So maybe what I could have said is I caught myself NOT thinking yesterday.  Either one works.  And each speaks to a new attitude, a new way of looking at things.

Here's the backstory.

We have recently moved to a much colder climate than we are used to.  Complete with feet of snow and below-zero temperatures.  It is taking some getting used to - I have taught my daughter to wrap a winter scarf around her neck, nose, and mouth so that she doesn't catch her breath in wind-chilly gusts of cold air.  We are getting accustomed to layering our clothes and bringing our street shoes so we can wear the snow-and-ice-gripping snow boots on snow-packed sidewalks and slushy parking lots.  We keep our personal blankets on the sofa so we can snuggle in during movie and TV time.  I have added a new skillset to my teach-an-old-dog-new-tricks repertoire - I know how to start and run a snowblower, and I've learned how to throw snow up on four- and five-foot stacks using a push-and-whoosh shoveling style.

I think the snow started toward the end of November.  Here it is March, and between the lake-effect, the lake-enhanced, the regular snow falls, and the colder-than-average temperatures, we still have at least three to four feet of snow filling our yard, and we have neighborhood snow banks that top out above roof level.

It's a lot of snow.

I am wishing for spring weather.  I am wanting to see some greenery, some color.  Less white and gray, more pink and yellow.  I remember last year, about this time, I took my camera out and about in the neighborhood (yes, farther south from where we are..), and I caught some of nature's signs of upcoming warmer weather.  I called it bud hunting.

So, since this location isn't showing any signs of spring, yet, I decided I would bud-hunt through my iphoto files, and begin posting pictures from prior years.

And here's the aha moment.

It was snowing when I decided it would be a good idea to post those memories.  Big, beautiful flakes of snow falling into the backyard, falling on the driveway, clinging to the trees.  I could see them gather, airy and light on the porch handrail, on the flag-holder, covering the old snow left by plows, filling in footprints.  In the beginning of the season, when we first moved here, I loved to watch this kind of snow swirl and drift.  Now, not so much.

What changed?

The only thing I can come up with is time and habit.  I've grown used to snow, and it's overstayed its welcome.

Really?

Am I so looking forward to something new and different, that I am neglecting to see the beauty of now?

I've been reading from Beth Moore's bible study:  Jesus. The One and Only.  Years ago, Jesus had dinner at the home of Martha and Mary.  Martha opened her home, but Mary opened her heart.  Each made a choice.  But it wasn't between right and wrong choices, it was between levels of good choices, levels of right choices.  It is so easy for me to think of my choices in black and white - only one is right.  I don't like snow.

But I do.  I just don't feel like loving it right now, because I SO want to see and be in warmer weather.  But the choice isn't between snow and warm weather.  I honestly like them both.  The real choice is in my attitude.  How will I choose to feel about the snow while I'm looking forward to the spring?  Hmmm....

In this study, Beth shows that between Martha and Mary, the choice was between good and best...  But Beth's final words in the chapter had me thinking about my snow attitude...

Shall we allow good to become the enemy of our best?  The choice is ours.

Oh God,

Help me to see the forest for the trees.

Help me to recognize the good and the good, and to realize I don't have to choose between them.  Help me to glorify you and your creation - all of it!

Thank you for snow.  

And Spring.

Thank you especially, especially for Jesus, 

Because in the end, it really is all about Him.

Linking with Naomi, and Kelly 

The Many Faces of Snow

I woke to snow falling this morning.  Again.  Flakes were almost indiscernible in the gray before light, calling to mind a mist or fog.  Tiny drops falling fast and straight.  Tiny snow, barely knitting together a blanket to cover the old, ice-capped drifts, the old accumulation.  But as the grayness slid to morning, the snow mist changed.  From fast falling to gentle swirling, from drops to flakes,  And the blanket grew deeper, covering more, softening edges and muffling the world.

Last week, there were domed caps of ice, like skullcaps, on the hills and mounds outside my window.  I have never lived in a place that stays frozen for so long, where the snow doesn’t melt between fallings. 

Yesterday was the coldest day of the year, so far.  New snow had fallen during the darkness of night and in the frigid sunlight, it lay like a diamond veil over the landscape.  An unsullied bride, a sparkling treasure, crisp and white and clean.

Today, more snow.  And wind.  Arctic temperatures, the news reports. 

There is beauty in this landscape.  Harsh and tender.  My thoughts wander from what I see to what is, from literal to figurative.  I don’t love the snow, but I am fascinated by what I learn from it.

Snow covers.  It makes new.  It softens rough edges.  It redeems the brown landscape of winter, it awakens beauty.  I understand this.  Jesus Christ is snow.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come:

The old has gone, the new is here!

2 Corinthians 5:17 (NIV)

Wind sculpts.  Like a potter with clay.  It drives the snow into drifts, deep places and shelters.  It tears the snow from the ground, leaving ragged scars of dirt and broken grass.  It creates swirled landscapes of ridges and dunes, terrible and beautiful.  I understand this, too.  God is wind.

Yet you, Lord, are our Father.

We are the clay, you are the potter;

we are all the work of your hand.

Isaiah 64:8 (NIV)

I woke to snow falling this morning.  Again.  It is well with my soul.

Linking with Naomi and Kelly, and Jen

What Is Home?

Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.  My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.  You know the way to the place where I am going.

John 14: 1-4

I sit in the office, brain trying to wrap itself around what to write, and I allow a slow-moving, slow-rolling wave of past experiences wind its way through my mind's screen.  Images of childhood, first days of school, climbing trees, swimming.  Images of high school, images colored in instagram sepia because the memories seem to come from a place long ago and far away.

I sit in the office and look around at the misplaced, the off-the-walls, the stacked, signs of work that's going on in this house.  Work going on to make it ready to sell.  Sell it so that we can move.

Once again.  Where the army takes us.

We have a list of everything that needs to be done to the house.  For the house, because this work has been more of a labor of love and we have gotten to know this house intimately.  We want her to shine; we want her to feel attractive and generous, and fulfilled.  We want her to feel needed.

Did I say 'her'?

Yes, this house has become a member of the family.  And we've only been here a year.  Does that happen to you?  I walk her familiar rooms and run my hands along her walls and woodwork.  I know her scrapes and scratches.  I heal her wounds.

My husband speaks of her construction.  She has good bones.  He says.  She was well built.  He says.  I watch him sanding walls that have been bumped - sand and touch, sand and touch.  He talks to her as he works - cajoling, soothing, laughing.  He wants her at her best.  I watch him dress her up with crown - it is elegant and fitting.  I help him lay tile - rugged and wonderful, right next to the gloss of dark wood.  I am amazed at the transformation and I feel the house breathe solid and strong.  Contrast between rustic and sheen.  I watch my husband custom craft and fit so that the new blends perfectly with the old.  Nothing shouts I am here, look at me - the beauty is in the whole, not the parts.

I sit in the office and look around at the red ladder, and the stacked-and-ready-to-be-installed door handles, and the door frame that is only half-painted.  This too shall pass.  Soon, she will be at her company best - all dressed up - eager to please.  And we will sell her so that we can move.

Once again.  Where the army takes us.

My sister once asked me about our many moves.  She said it was overwhelming to her - to think about setting up a new house in a new place - on a regular basis.  She said it would be hard to make all those new places into a home.  And she was right.  A house is only a house (even if I do insist on calling it a 'her').  It is only a place.  A building.  Home is the living that goes on inside the house.

Home is family, and love, fighting and making up.  It is shared decisions and planning.  It is working together on the house in order to sell it.  It is my daughter who hears "Neighbor Day" instead of Labor Day and insists that we go talk to the neighbors.  It is thanksgiving.  It is sweet dreams and security.

A little over two thousand years ago, Jesus left a home he loved to light our way in the darkness, to redeem us, to show us the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  He is preparing a new home for us - one that He bought to give to us.  And He bought it at a steep price.  It won't need to be spiffed up and polished; it is already perfect.

Our home will forever be with Him, wherever that takes us.

Linking with:  Three-Word Wednesday, #TellHisStory