The Beautiful Gate

(Two posts in a month!  We should probably celebrate.)

 One night, I manage to slip away from the papers and tests long enough to go with my husband to the track. 

Beside me, Big Red begins his intensive workout--sprints, burpees, and other mind-boggling, sweat-inducing moves.

I walk in circles. 

Big Red is training for a Spartan race.

And I thought, I am training to hold my breath.

So I pray to exhale.

Around the track, around my head, prayers loop and weave in between my parallel lives of teacher, mother, student, wife.

Lesson plans and supper plans and best-laid plans.

The next morning, I'm in Act 3, 

reading about the man at the temple who holds his cup out to Peter and John.  

He's asking for silver,

but he gets something far more precious.

He gets a chance to praise Jesus with everything--

body, soul, spirit.

It's a cool testimony, and one with lots of implications, but my eyes go to the line Luke repeats.

"...the Gate called Beautiful."

It sings like a chorus in my head all day: the gate is beautiful.

The place he sat, day after day, year after year-

 where he looks at Peter and John,

where he listens to Peter's voice,

where he anticipates just enough for today,

where he seizes Peter's right hand,

where  he gets more than he ever thought or imagined.

It was beautiful 

because it was the place where he waited with expectancy and where he accepted what was offered.

This place where I am, 

the place where I'm waiting with my cup out,

looking, listening, expecting,

that's the place Jesus calls beautiful in me.

What looks like brokenness now will look like beauty later.

I don't know what I'm anticipating, 

but I know Jesus well enough to know that it will be more than I bargained for--

and I want to seize it, accept it, 

and leap for joy.

The God of Present Tenses

Long time, no blog.

The pace of life accelerated out of control around here in July, with gardens and graduates taking the bulk of the hours.

In August, I sent my baby away to college, started my Master's degree (hello, college tuition), and landed in one of the most challenging professional situations I've ever found myself.

There has been insomnia.

There have been tears.

There has been the stupor that only comes when overwork and under-rest collide. 

Oh, and did I mention I am working a retreat team this fall as well?

As my laundry list of responsibilities grew (including laundry, which sits in untouched mounds awaiting action), my mother questioned my participation on this team.

It was tempting to free a night in the crowded calendar, but God said no, and I listened.

This past week, He did a bit more speaking.

It started in the worship, when the Comforter reached into weary places and did His thing.

Then the speaker reminded us that God's name is I AM.

Not I Was or I Will Be.

He is the God of present tenses, in my NOW, because He is unbound by time. 

In every season, He is there.

The past belongs under His blood; the future in His hands alone.

My present tense: morning mist on the pond

Truth be told, nostalgia had taken over, 

a wistfulness for the days when my girls were little, 

and I was a SAHM, 

and, as it always does when viewed backwards, 

life seemed simpler.  

In a school year when I am not at all sure I will survive until May, 

that simplicity (or, at least, those problems) taunted me.

So, in the quiet of that room, the Lord reminded me that I am in my now, 

and He is, too.

He is here, 

in a middle-aged woman attempting to return to college mode for a few semesters.

He is here, 

with a mama launching one from the nest with fear and trembling.

He is here, 

in a classroom with insurmountable issues further complicated by educational bureaucracy.

He is here. Holy, holy.

He is here. Amen.

Following,

Ginger

Linking here.

The Grass is Green

Yesterday I attended Day 1 of a two-day college orientation for DD#1.

(Dad is taking his turn today.  Bahaha!!)

Somewhere in between the " Don't helicopter over your college student" (got it; I teach middle school and am well-acquainted with helicopter parenting) and " You will need a second job to pay for this, " I cleaned 519 emails off my account.

True story.

And don't even get me started on FERPA. 

Me no see grades, you no see cash.  Very simple.  

Yesterday evening, this tired mama and the sweet daddy who had swooped in (helicoptered??) to rescue shared a pizza and talked finances, dorm dilemmas, assorted worries about our child.

This morning I was reading about the feeding of the 5000 in John 6.

5 When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?”  6 He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do.  7 Philip answered him, “It would take more than half a year’s wages[a] to buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!”   8 Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up,   9 “Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?”    10 Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.” There was plenty of grass in that place, and they sat down (about five thousand men were there). 11 Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish.

There was plenty of grass in that place. 

Jesus is getting ready to show His disciples yet again that He's sufficient for every need.  He commands them to have the people sit down, and they sat on the grass.

Another gospel tells us it was "green grass". 

Not dirt.  Not sand spurs.  Not gravel. 

Green grass.

I love that detail.  I big-puffy-heart it.  It brought tears to my eyes today, because it is the picture of the God Who overlooks nothing.  He makes me lie down in green pastures.  He meets my need and then some ( a point that He makes again and again in this story.)

Not gonna lie--sending my kid--and in particular, this kid--to college is a big, huge, fat, hairy deal.  It is not small. In fact, between this and work, this fall is loaded up with not small.  

In her book, Rhinestone Jesus,  Kristen Welch shares an email she received during a difficult season:

"'You are not going to lose this battle because it is already WON on the Cross.  I don't believe in losing or getting the victories because Jesus has already done it.  The question is, how far will you do to declare the victory in this battle?  Would two more rescued girls make you know it?  Or two thousand more?  How far will you go to proclaim that the victory was DONE for you?'"

How much will it take for me to know Christ is sufficient for all things?  How many more signs do I need?

He fed 5000 men with five loaves and two fish, and everyone ate as much as they wanted.  There were leftovers.

There was green grass. 

Following,

Ginger

The Good Season

It's summer break here at the 'House.
That means watermelon season is upon us.
I would've taken a picture, but I ate it all before that occurred to me.
I followed up my watermelon appetizer with a lunch of pimento cheese, one of the great foods missed by millions simply because they are Yankees and have never heard of it.
Sad, really.

Simple pleasures, fruit and cheese.  As I've counted gifts this year, I've wondered at how many of them are small things.  I am blessed by minutiae of everyday life.
Yet, in this list of little things, there is large.
The large things are hidden by the tiny piled atop them.

For instance, # 439--"Breakfast out with daughter".

Oh, the significance of that small entry.

My girls tease me when I write about them.  "Mama just writes about how hard it is to have teens!"'

Well, it is hard.
As a friend wrestles with a tragic situation concerning a teen family member, I'm reminded that Jesus is the Only Hope we parents have.
The anxiety is real, and the fights are real, and the regrets are real, and the dangers are real.
There's nothing easy about this gig.

Over the years of parenting, I've asked God for some things, things I've begged to see in my household before my children fly the nest.
One of them will launch all too soon, and these last few months together have been a good season.

Hard (yes), but very, very good.

So "breakfast out" really means "the unfailing love and faithfulness of the LORD".

We've got challenges coming in these months of transitions; of that I'm sure, but we can say that we have seen the goodness of the Lord

I'm not sure who, if anyone, reads this blog, but this is for the weary mamas, the struggling daughters, the ones who wonder if it will ever be better.  What I can say to you is this: I have been there.  There are buckets of tears with my name on them, and there are probably several more sitting on ready, but Jesus will not waste them.  He'll redeem them.  They will lead to my good and His glory, and whatever glorifies Him will have been worth it.  
His unfailing love and faithfulness, His grace and truth, turn breakfast into Bread and Wine.

For your steadfast love is before my eyes,

    and I walk in your faithfulness.

Psalm 26:3

 Following,
Ginger

Pinky Promises

The never-ending school year is done--Hallelujah!--and we have six weeks of house projects, mini-vacations, gardening, college orientations, Bible study, and all the unexpected that will no doubt blow the plan to smithereens before July 30.
Six weeks will go by faster than a greased gnat, so I am making myself a goal list.
This summer I want to
1) get back into an exercise habit after a long-standing routine crashed and burned;
2) lose the creeping pounds (see #1)
3) paint interior doors, dining room chairs, DD#2's bedroom--heck, I might paint Big Red if he stands still long enough
4) NOT think about school at all for at least 5 weeks. (No, you cannot see my fingers crossed behind my back; it's your imagination, I promise.  Really.)(Pinning school things doesn't count.) (My list, my rules.)
and oh, yeah,
5) write a Bible study--at least the rough outline of one.

I need some order, some self-discipline, and a ton of prayer.
Following,
Ginger

May-hem

I had planned a thoughtful, maybe deep post that might appear yet, but I must pause to ponder the merry, merry month of May(hem).

Maybe June is your month when all kinds of crazy collide, 

but ours is now, especially with a graduate in the house.

A graduate who just agreed to a graduation party this week.

("What's the big deal about graduating anyway? Everybody does it!") 

(Her cake-of-choice if someone besides Mom can make it..)

There are two weeks before graduation.

(These are cute and doable!)

(source)

Did I mention her parents teach?

(Another cheesy idea for graduation food.  (I'm tired; can you tell?)

And they have finals for their students--as well as all the usual last-week-of-school chaos--

  the day before graduation?

Adorable, but I might lose my mind!

(source)

(She also detests the phrase, "Congrats, Grad", so that eliminates many options.)

(Though this is super-cute to me!)

(source)

Thank You, Lord, for Pinterest.

I know you can laugh and cry at once, but can one laugh-happy and cry-sad all at the same time, too?

Excuse me while I go put out another fire/call another guest/plan a menu/ roll my eyes at the honoree/grab a tissue.

Following,

Ginger

The Day a Writing Prompt Called Me Out as a Liar

Today, when looking over some potential lessons for next school year, I ran across the old advice, "Write when your students write, and share your writer's notebook with them".
Right up there with "sleep when your baby sleeps," this is probably wise but practically difficult.
So I tried a test run of sorts.
I decided to write a "mentor text" of a personal essay prompt to inspire next year's budding writers.
It was standard stuff, an introductory essay to tell them a bit about my family, my preferences, my goals.

And y'all, it was hard.

Hard for lots of reasons.
Hard because writer's block shows up every spring with the same regularity as allergies.
Hard because I could hear myself rambling.
Hard because I can't share anything meaningful about myself without sharing Jesus, and that must be carefully navigated in public school.

As a teacher, I believe this practice will help me in the long run.
It will probably make me more empathetic--which is important to remember when the powers-that-be seem to think all children-of-the-square-peg variety can be jammed through the same round hole-of-testing if only
their teacher is differentiating/summarizing/reteaching/tap-dancing enough.

As just me, I think this practice will help me, too.

A few months ago, I confessed to a friend that I felt God might be leading me to write down what He was teaching me in John.
She laughed, and said, "Of course."
A few days ago, I confessed to this same friend that I was feeling ill with insecurity--that I didn't know how to begin.
She said, "Good!  I'm praying you stay insecure so that you always know He is your source."

She's a very good friend, and a very good pray-er.

To paraphrase one of those Pinterest-y inspirational signs, here I go confidently in the direction of my insecurity.
(Or insecurely in the direction of my confidence?  That might be a better way to say it.)
Maybe in the meantime, I'll share my writer's notebook with you.
Following,
Ginger

On Writing

Writing is both solitary and social.
Solitary, because sooner or later it is just writer and blank page with no mediator.
It's the heart or the brain on paper, as public as a blog post or as private as a prayer journal.

Yet writing is also social, because every author seeks an audience on some level or another.

This question of audience puzzles me.
It makes me realize that establishing a legitimate audience for my classroom of I-wish-they-were-writers is an important component of my teaching that I've neglected.

Then my question becomes, " Who is my audience?", and I struggle to answer that.

I'm in the midst of my annual spring blogging slump, and every year I ask my Audience of One if I still have a purpose here.
He hasn't really answered yet, except to give me this post--which I suppose means I have today's answer!

I do know this. 
About two months ago,  He whispered to my heart that there are words waiting for me from the book of John, and while fear and self-doubt assail,  He's been faithful to encourage.  

So I wait for the solitary and the social to find their meeting place.

Following,
Ginger

A Short (but very, very wonderful) Story

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess (who has never quite known she was beautiful),

who, for lots of reasons, struggled to give and receive love.

It wasn't that she wasn't loved. She was, deeply.

It wasn't that she didn't love.  She did, deeply.

It was just complicated,

 the way things are, the way people are.

Anyway, the lovely princess (who doesn't know she's lovely)

 had some hard things happen, 

things her parents couldn't make better,

and she couldn't seem to change,

and the girl wondered if the King,

the One Who created her, and died for her, and made her a princess,

(and she did believe that-- really she did--but this life wasn't working out like any fairy tale she'd ever heard)

really cared at all.

So this weekend, the King sent some messengers to remind the princess 

that He knew her heart.

He sent her the Gospel.

And the princess (whose life isn't likely to become a fairy tale any time soon)

heard the message loud and clear:

Jesus loved her.

Jesus loved HER.

And that, really, was the most important thing she needed to know.

The End (but not really)

Following,

Ginger

Three Word Wednesday: Not Feeling It

It would be grossly unfair for me to call this last few weeks a hard eucharisteo.

So, forgive me; I teach middle school and I have teenage girls, so let's chalk it up to the company I keep.

(Or my natural propensity for drama...that could be it. Maybe.)

In the real, no-kidding hard eucharisteo moments, when the pain is breathtaking, it's almost as if I'm searching for gifts under a microscope.  I'm desperate for hope, desperate for Jesus to heal--

and the small becomes Divine.

Then there are days (like today)

 when busy and tired and discouraged are duking it out for Adjective of the Day, 

and my brain is like so much mashed potato, 

and I can't see any gifts because I'm not looking.

Those days I'm looking for a little drama.

The warm bowl of oatmeal with toasted almonds and cranberries doesn't have enough pizazz

 (and besides, haven't I written that down already?)

In John's gospel, there are lots of folks looking for a little more action.

Water to wine? Yesterday's news.

Bread for thousands? Yeah...but what have You done for us lately?

So Jesus calls their bluff.

How about what you really want need?

How about Living Water, Bread of Life, New Wine?

Only, you don't just consume it; It consumes you.

The Lord tells His people,

"Be still and know that I am God."

(and...we stop there because that's all that fits on a coffee mug or a wall plague.)

and we I miss the last part:

"I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted on the earth."

That should be enough drama for anybody.

So my list of gifts grows by (a very, very, super-exciting, uber-important) one:

244. His Name is exalted in all the earth.

Amen.

Following,

Ginger

Three Word Wednesday

I am Just

I am just

a woman on a walk,

breathing in cold air,

concentrating on the mud slipping under my feet,

but longing to watch the moon rise over the pond, suspended in graying sky.

It and the cold snatch my breath away.

It's there again,

out the winter-dirty window,

pale white orb on a black sky

where otherwise there is nothing visible in the darkness.

I am just ordinary,

but I have seen the moon rise.

This week 

I am just

a woman breathing in Grace,

longing to see the hand of the Jehovah Rapha, 

the LORD my Healer,

where there was otherwise nothing but the darkness.

I am just ordinary,

but I have seen Hope rise.

Following,

Ginger

Hard Eucharisteo

So we begin our year in the hospital.  My mother had brain surgery yesterday because of injuries sustained in a fall.  It will be a long journey back.
Things may be quiet here for a while as we wait and pray for the Lord's best.
Following,
Ginger

A Formula for Gratitude

In studying 1 Thessalonians, I get hung up over in chapter 5:16-18 on three of the simplest verses in the whole book.

Rejoice always,

pray without ceasing,

in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

Easier said than done--or is it just me?

Yet, these things are God's will in Christ Jesus for me, 

so He will make it possible for me to do those things.  

In me, impossible.

In Him, all these things possible.

This morning I read a quote from Charles Spurgeon that brought these verse together for me.

"When joy and prayer are married, their first born child is gratitude."

Joy + prayer = gratitude.

When I seek joy with a heart that's in continuous communication with my Father, gratitude for Him will flow.

Eucharisteo precedes the miracle,

but chairo (rejoicing) and proseuchomai (praying) precede eucharisteo. 

I love that.

I did some gift-counting in 2013, but I'm starting my list over and working toward 1000 in 2014.

  (I gave myself a head start.)

1. warm house

2. cold winter sunshine

3. blue skies

4 hot coffee with cream

5. gluten free banana bread with coconut

6. the hands that made the bread

7. raspberries from our summer garden

8. Big Red

9. a new, gentle alarm that makes me smile (a little) when it goes off

10. DD#2 and her sense of humor

11. under warm covers

12. a plan for the paper clutter that tries to eat my house

13. Hillsong's Aftermath album

14. a plan for Sunday morning

15. hot soup

16. electricity

17. a paycheck

18. giving

19. & 20 two of my favorite sisters in Christ

21. a job

22. blue mason jars with white daisies

23. 1 Thessalonians

24. God gives God.

25. All I really need I already have in Christ

26. I am His and He is mine

27. What He starts, He'll finish

28. bacon

29.& 30 appliances to make life easier

31. a new journal

32. years of old journals

33. onions cooking in olive oil

34. morning dark

35. first light

36. a clean floor

37. the testimony of the year

38. snow day!

39. Jesus Project verses

40.  Jesus was in the Beginning

41. The Word is God.

42. Sunday morning worship with our little group

43. morning quiet in my house

It's a long list!  Keep me accountable for counting!

Following,

Ginger

Less is More--Looking Back and Looking Forward

Happy New Year's Eve!

How was your Christmas?

We had a lovely week here, and I'm blown away at how fast Christmas break is flying by.

I will not talk about going back to school.

I will talk about words for the year.

Last year, I didn't pick a word.  

If I picked one now for 2013, it might be waiting.

Waiting for change I knew somehow was coming. 

Poised on the edge of something--something (or many things) I still can't name exactly except that I know they are there.

I gained.  I lost.

Yet, for this year, in record time and with no discussion, God gave me a word.

Less.

The God of Abundance gave me the word less and made me excited about it.

It will, as words always do, mean something else by the end of the year than I am thinking it means now.

Here's what I do know: it means less stuff, and it means less worry, and it means less baggage.

It means less of me and more of Him.

Less means lightness, freedom, release.

Less is an open door to more of what really matters.  

This is a lessoning so that abundance can come.

Happy New Year,

Ginger

Noel

In his book Stories of Christmas Carols, Ernest Emurian writes of the obscure origins of the word "noel".  There is apparently much scholarly debate about Latin root words, but the most likely story rests in the English propensity to abbreviate phrases.  

For example, "Good be with you" condensed to "goodbye", "fare thee well", "farewell".

So  it is highly possible that lazy tongues also produced the word "nowell" from an old Christmas morning greeting, "Now all is well."

Now all is well.

In a world run rampant with troubles, a Savior has been born!

Now all is well!

Except

all is not well.

Or so it seems in circumstances.

Ugly divorces, pressure from every direction, disease that robs young and old.

The general unloveliness of people.

All, indeed, is not well.

If my eyes are focused on my surroundings, I risk living, as Anne Voskamp writes, as though Christmas is a myth. 

I risk living joyless, hopeless.

Part of the problem, I think, is that even we who profess Christ have made Christmas about us.

In one way, of course, it was about us. 

Christ came to earth, our Emmanuel, to rescue His people, those on whom His favor rests.

Yet we miss the first part of the story that says, "Glory to God in the Highest!"

The great and glorious and highest God has made this thing happen--

He is mighty to save,

loving in all His ways,

the Redeemer and Rescuer of His people.

The Hero of the story is not the princess in the tower;

it's the Prince of Peace.

He's here.

Now all is well.

He's coming again.

And all will be well.

Following,

Ginger

Linking here and here and here.

Scripture and a Snapshot: Bragging on God

I love that when we brag on the Lord, He writes it down.

When we speak to one another--in real life, in Blog-land, wherever--about the glories of God,

His mercy,

His faithfulness,

His holiness,

His righteousness,

we announce our regard for His Name.

We fear and esteem Him

as One of inestimable worth.

Following,

Ginger

Linking to here, here, and here. 

What's Not Missing

For the last year and a half, I've not spoken to a group of women about the Word.

(And that's my passion.)

For the past 11 months, I've not taught a Sunday School class.

For the past two Sundays, I've not attended the church where we've worshipped for eight years because we believe, for a host of reasons, that it was time to leave.

 (May I mention here that this has never-like, ever-happened to us?  

We've never left a congregation unless we've also left the town.) 

So this Sunday, at another church, listening to people I don't know leading worship, 

I realized that it would be a long time, if ever, that I had the privilege to do that again either.

We sang a song about the cost of following.

I'm surrendering my all; I surrender to the King.

I thought, I've surrendered everything I am in the church.

Then He spoke, 

in the swift and sure way that He will. 

that all is given away-

except

who I really am:

Beloved Daughter.

In the church (little c), I am without a place,

but in the Church (big C),

the Body,

the Kingdom,

I am who Christ paid for me  to be,

and I rest secure there because He promised. 

Let the sons and the daughters sing.

Sola Gratis

I tried to take a photo of the moon.

Tried--and failed.

In my photo ignorance, I didn't capture it, 

not the raw beauty of the night-

nor the wind with ice in it,

nor the rattling of leaves under my feet.

My camera missed the burn of cold in my fingers,

and steam from hot chai when I came inside,

and the warmth of laughter around the table.

My skill is inadequate,

my words feeble,

my heart full.

-----

68. warm coats on cold nights

69. clear skies and moonlight

70. bare tree limbs against a darkening sky

71. the sound of wind from inside a warm house

72. pork chops and broccoli

73. biscuits and maple syrup

Following,

Ginger

Multitude Monday: Still Counting

In a season of transition, 

I know the response of my flesh is panic, clinging to what is familiar with my fingernails. 

 I get angry

 and lash out

 and feel the tears rising--

which is why this response shouldn't surprise me in my teen.  

It came to me yesterday in a moment of conflict that I need this infusion of gratitude

 because I need to model something different 

than what I have taught in my weakness. 

 I  want my children to respond in thanks to the myriad of graces.

  So must I.

----

51. Saturday sunrises

52. a true cold snap

53. air in my lungs as I walk

54. frost

55. sapphire sky

56. orange leaves and light reflected on water

57. a good word from the Word

58. our house

59. early oranges

60. gluten-free pumpkin-chocolate-chip muffins that make me happy

61. a whole Saturday at home

62. a productive day at home

63. boots

64. a mustard yellow scarf

65. going to work

66. a good, free, online commentary of the Bible

67. knowing He fills my hunger 

Following,

Ginger

Saturday Gifts

This morning I woke up earlier than expected.

Out my window, as the sky burned orange over the pond, I suddenly knew I was looking my gift in the face.

Halfway through stripping off sheets, I abandoned the task.  I pulled on a sweatshirt, stuffed my husband's stocking cap over morning-damp curls, and pounded down the gravel drive.  

Snapping away in frosty morning air, my camera records the blessing, the moment He dreamed up in His infinite wonder and imagination to delight me, to lavish love on me.

I lap the pond once--my hands are freezing
--but with each step, I am thankful, thankful for the healing I can anticipate in the counting,
in the noticing, in the Presence Who always has been there,
even when I've refused to see. 

Following,

Ginger
Linking up at Still Saturday