All Moments are Key Moments

Listen to your life.

See it for the fathomless mystery that it is...

Touch, taste, and smell your way into the holy heart of it.

Because in the last analysis,

all moments are key moments,

and life itself

is grace.

Numbering Our Days

“Teach us to number my days aright

that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”  Psalm 90:12

Teach us to number our days aright.  I kept thinking of that verse this weekend as I made my decisions about what to do.  My head told me that I needed to unpack from my trip and spend the day scrubbing my house because we had people coming over tomorrow.  But my heart (and my husband) told me that we needed to seize this beautiful fall day and celebrate—celebrate closing on our house in Summerville, celebrate the fleeting beauty of autumn, celebrate our love for our family.  And so we did.  We used gift cards to go out to eat for lunch and dinner, and we spent the time in between that in God’s nature. 

Teach us to number our days aright.

When we got home, I did do some cleaning and vacuuming and prepping for today…but first, I made leaf wreaths with my kids.

Because that was more important.

Teach us to number our days aright.

And you know what?  When our church family got here on Sunday, they didn’t seem to notice that the kitchen floor had been swept but not mopped.  In fact, they didn’t even seem to notice that the carpets had been vacuumed and spot cleaned.  They just noticed the food…

…and the football game…

…and the company…

…and the LEAVES.

I’ve blogged some lately about our family’s desire to cut back, to slow down, to not be so busy.  We’ve axed ballet, and co-op, and now tae kwon do.  And I know that all might sound negative.  But the reason we have cut back on that stuff is so that we can more clearly number our days aright.  We cut back on all that so that we can have  more time to walk through the woods and to eat beef stew with friends and jump into leaf piles.

Teach us to number our days aright.

Teach us to number our days aright.

Teach us to number our days aright.

That we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Making Connections

On Friday night, the kids and I had a movie night and watched Aladdin.  It was just as funny and entertaining as I remembered from watching it as a child.  What I didn’t remember, however, were all of the historical references.  For example, I nearly fell off the couch when I saw this passing reference to Caesar’s assassination—something we had just covered in school that week.  It was so short that I had to pause and rewind to make sure the kids got it.  What was even cooler was seeing the things that they didn’t need me to explain or figure out for them.  For example, during the song, “A Whole New World,” I asked them to see if they could figure out where the characters were.  Of course, they easily got that the pyramids were in Egypt and that the giant dragon parade was in China.  What I loved, though, was when Aladdin and Jasmine flew over the Parthenon.  Now, we have been studying Rome for weeks and have recently learned about their big temple, the Pantheon.  When they flew over the Parthenon, Luke said, “The Pantheon???  No…it’s Greece!  It’s Greece!  The Parthenon!”  And then at the end, when the genie told Aladdin to wish for the Nile, Luke said, “I know!  He’s talking about the Nile River in Egypt!”

These are the moments I love.  And they aren’t really homeschooling moments, per se.  Every child has these moments when they connect their formal learning to something in real life that seems unrelated.  Those moments of making connections are so important, as I’m learning from the book that I’m (still) reading, called Mind in the Making.  In a world where endless information is at our fingertips, it is arguable that making meaningful connections with that information is more important than simply memorizing the information itself.  And though the Aladdin connections weren’t profound by any stretch of the imagination, it shows me that the history my kids are learning is really sinking in to them in a way that goes beyond the books themselves.

And that’s why I smile when a character in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is named Augustus Plume, right after we study Augustus Caesar.  And when we learn about the Russian czars with Five in a Row, after learning in History that the word czar comes from the word, Caesar.  It’s why I beam when, on the way to church, Luke is looking at a search and find he got from Chickfila and exclaims, “This plane reminds me of Louis Bleriot’s plane when he flew across the Channel.”  And when his next statement is, “And these are like the ships that come off the rockets…you know, like Apollo 11 and 13?”

As a home educator, and more importantly, as a parent, I love the being able to introduce my kids to this big world they live in, and I especially love seeing how some of that information is starting to sink in.  It is so fun to watch them make connections between their daily experiences and the things they are learning in school!

Getting Closer to the Life I Want

(This was written on Friday night, but I just now put the pictures in and published it.)

This evening was one of those experiences that make me say, “Yes, this.  This is what I want.”  It was one of those times that I wish I could just bottle up and save for those moments when life seems too hard or too dull, something that would give encouragement and hope to my soul whenever it becomes weary. 

See, I have this picture of what my life should be.  I picture a life of peace, and of love, and of joy.  I picture a life spent bringing glory to God, spent doing the things that matter.  I picture a life full of love and happiness, of purpose and focus.  I want that life.  I want the life that I was meant to live, the life that God designed for me. 

This week kind of exemplified that life to me.  I was given several opportunities to serve in what I considered worthy ways, opportunities to try to help people, even if only a little bit.  I also had the chance to fellowship with some wonderful sisters in Christ, and to enjoy a lovely dinner with two families from church.  We ate on our friends’ back porch and then sat and talked while our kids played on the hammock and chased lightning bugs.  Also, I’ve been trying to be more purposeful about our family’s eating habits, and this week, I actually did a good job of just “shopping the edges” at the grocery store, and was blessed enough to pile my cart high with yummy fruits and veggies, thin sliced chicken breasts, yogurt, eggs, butter, cheese, and so forth.  The only “middle aisles” products I bought were baking products.  It was a good week in that regard.  I want more weeks like that.

That brings us to today.  First of all, because of my grocery shopping success, I enjoyed a fruit and yogurt smoothie for breakfast, followed by delicious sauteed spinach and a fresh, sliced tomato for lunch.  Later, I made a marinade (maybe my first truly “homemade” one) in which to marinate our chicken for dinner.  Then, I roasted the rest of our red potatoes, and the kids and I made homemade shortcake to go with our fresh strawberries.  I also cooked some lima beans.  Dinner was so good.  Luke devoured his chicken, and he generally doesn’t like grilled chicken.  Tonight, he ate two pieces.  Both kids cleared their plates and still had room to enjoy fresh strawberry shortcake for dessert.  (I did top it with Cool Whip, which is probably not an actual food.  Oh well—Rome wasn’t built in a day!)  We ate dinner outside on the back patio, and savored the perfect weather, along with the meal.

Before all of our shortcake-baking and potato-roasting, though, the kids and I had had a great afternoon making magic with cardboard.  I needed some to prepare for a Sunday school lesson using the best curriculum I have ever seen.  (We are going to make denarii and a coin purse on Sunday, to go with the parable of the lost coin.  It will be a two part lesson, as there are several great activities to accompany the parable.)  While I did that, the kids grabbed their own cardboard from recycling to make treasures. Luke started off planning to make a car, but he ended up with a display case for his Lego minifigures. 

Then, we transitioned to dinner, and after dinner, we pulled blankets and pillows in the yard and read The Story of Dr. Dolittle while we waited for it to get dark.  The kids thought it was so funny.  There was one particular part where a horse tells Dr. Dolittle, “I’m a pretty patient creature as a rule, but when that red-faced booby started to monkey with me, I just couldn’t bear it anymore ,” which made the kids fall apart laughing.  Luke literally laughed until he cried.  He said, “Mom, I have tears in my eyes…but they are happy tears!”  I read a couple chapters of that, then shifted to Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.  By that time, Greg had a fire going in our fire pit, and the kids busied themselves with stoking it with twigs and branches.  Then we all settled on the gliders, and Luke begged me to read another chapter of Dr. Dolittle.  That chapter became two chapters, and still he begged for more, but by then, it was time to roast some marshmallows. 

After our marshmallows were eaten, it was about time to start looking for lightning bugs.  Luke quickly saw and caught one, but let it go while Greg was poking holes in the top of the jar.  Later, he caught another one (or maybe it was the same one.  There weren’t many lightning bugs out).  The kids spent a good long while looking for lightning bugs, and we also saw a bat, which caused much excitement among the children.  As it grew darker, we settled back onto the blankets to watch the stars come out, which is something Luke loves to do.  Unfortunately, it was really cloudy, but we did spot Mars and a couple of others.  Also, several planes landed at the airport, so that was fun for the kids.  Finally, we sent them in for baths.  Greg and I sat outside and talked by the fire, poking our head in occasionally to make sure all was well.  Each time, the kids would be playing and giggling.  Seriously, not one harsh word or complaint was spoken all night.  It was bizarre.  After baths, they bundled up in pajamas and robes, and we went outside to take one final look at the stars and say our prayers.  Luke went to sleep with his lightning bug by his bed.  He said it was the best day of his life. 

I try my hardest, often unsuccessfully, to embrace every part of life.  I try to embrace the valleys as well as the mountain tops, the fatigue as well as the excitement, the sickness and the health, the disappointment and the triumph.  Often, I fail, and find myself wishing the hard parts away--the uncertainties, the stresses, the burdens, the in-between times, the illnesses.  But honestly, all that hard stuff feeds in to nights like tonight, nights full of tickles and snuggles and laughter and beauty and nature and good food and love.  The memories of the hard parts make the joy of nights like this even more sublime and wonderful. 

Sometimes I think I must sound like a broken record, always talking about life and my desire to live a good one.  I keep circling around the idea and thinking about it and searching and praying and…some would say navel-gazing maybe.  But times like tonight make me glad that I am such a freak sometimes about trying to seize each day and live it well.  Times like tonight make me glad that I’m a searcher, a seeker of meaning and purpose and truth.  Because as a searcher, it makes it so much better when I have nights like tonight and think, “I found it.” 

Because it’s always nice when you find what you’re looking for.

The Body of Christ

I’ve been thinking a lot about the body of Christ lately.  I definitely think that, on one level, Paul’s metaphor for the church is meant to describe, you know, the whole thing.  The global church.  All Christians together.

On another level, though, I see how each individual congregation of believers makes up their own little body.  Each church is a living, breathing organism, with a distinct personality, a distinct set of beliefs, distinct strengths and weaknesses, a distinct focus.  Each body is made up of different parts, individuals who bring their own skill sets, personalities, and circumstances to the body.  I love being a part of that congregational body. 

Right now, though, I am an organ in a cooler.

I was part of one body, and I will soon be placed into another body.  And right now, the first body is taking care of me, and the second body is preparing for me, but I am very much in transit.  I’m receiving the services and love from the first body, but I’m not really a part of it any more.  I first realized this when, during my morning prayer time, my prayer requests list kept shrinking.  I realized that I simply didn’t know what was going on in my old body anymore.  I wasn’t plugged in like that.  It was weird.

But it got me to thinking about what it means to be a part of such a body.  Growing up, I was like a body part in training, and college was…well, I don’t know what that was…but coming to Summerville, I really got to understand what it meant to be a real, functioning body part.  And in the past eight years, I have been learning what it means to be a part of the body of Christ.  Here, in no particular order, is what I have taken away from that experience.

Being a part of a body means feeling giddy exhilaration when one of “your” girls gets baptized.

It means being weighed down with sorrow when a member is diagnosed with cancer, and looking at the clock all day as the minutes tick by to their appointment where they learn how bad it is.  And it’s waiting on pins and needles to hear the result.  Even though you don’t even know them that well. 

It means talking with a sister over coffee about the things most important to you in this world.

It means listening to the teen girls answer a question about their struggles, and hearing them all say the same thing, and mentally writing the next quarter’s curriculum based on these revelations.

It means chatting with two deacons over lunch about what constitutes “milk” and “meat,” as far as church teaching, and being very invested in the conversation, b/c the conclusions are vitally important to the direction of the body, your body.

It means huddling together with a group of moms trying to figure out what to do about another mom who is in crisis.

It means debating the unspoken “rules” of baby showers, and when and if we should break them for the mom who is having her fourth child.

It means sitting with a teen at Dairy Queen as she tells you of some past traumas and trying very hard not to break down sobbing at how sad it is b/c 1) you don’t want to freak her out, and 2) you are in Dairy Queen.

It means making sure the new family gets plugged in and has “people.”

It means figuring out childcare for Life Groups/the Christmas party/Mommies Anonymous/Sunday nights in the summer/teen fundraisers…the list goes on.  There is always a need for childcare!

And it means food.  Oh, the food!  The body of Christ can eat.  And being a part of that body means feeding it.  It means meals for new moms and meals for Life Group, and meals for pot lucks, and meals for the sick people, and meals, and meals, and meals.  It means figuring out how many pizzas you need to feed thirty teens, and why it never works to tell guys to bring drinks and girls to brink desserts.  It means getting an awesome punch recipe, and learning too late that you should always bring extra ginger ale to water it down in case it goes too fast, and oh well, it was good while it lasted.  It means learning how to make royal icing for the gingerbread party, and figuring out how to keep food warm for after church Life Group.  Should you cook it before and keep it warm in the oven, or cook it in the church oven during service?  And oh, were you using the oven for  the college meal?  Well, I’ll just take this over to the annex.  It means next time just bringing a crock pot. 

It means figuring out games for VBS that fit with the theme of “Joshua,” or “Daniel,” or “Elijah.”  Good luck with that!

It means thinking about how Jesus would want us to serve in our community.  And then trying to do it.

It means sitting through the tense moments in Sunday school when the discussion heats up.  And learning so much in those times.  And especially learning that we come away united despite our differences.

It means having a family that is 500 members strong…with all the responsibilities that come with having a family.  It means experiencing the vicarious joy and despair, the exhilaration and frustration. 

It means that participation in such a body is not considered an “act of service,” any more than the heart serves the human body by pumping blood.  The heart is simply functioning as it is designed.  You don’t give it any gold stars.

Being a part of a body of Christ is both mundane and profound, both practical and philosophical.  It is giddy and glum and joyful and tragic and peaceful and tumultuous.  It is the whole spectrum of human experience.

It is a part of me, a part of the very core of my identity.

I miss it. 

But I’m excited about the future.

For eight years, my heart beat for Summerville.  Now, it is starting to beat for Woodbine.  I’ve been dreaming of what a mom’s group there would look like, and the possibilities excite me.  In the spare moments of my day, I try to work out the practical details.  How many moms would have access to a car?  What would be the maximum age of the kids allowed?  Where should we have the holiday parties?  Should we just meet during the week, or throw in some weekend events?  It might seem mundane, but in eight years, I’ve learned that these are the type of mundane details that need to be worked out to meet the goal:  a group of moms who make up an intimate, real community, a community where they can share their struggles and learn from each other and point each other toward God.

Which is a big part, you know, of being the body of Christ.

 

I’m curious…what does being a part of the body of Christ mean to you?

A Good Day of Gardening

I work in a vineyard. 

So I am told. 

By Jesus.

To be honest, I don’t always love working in a vineyard.  Sometimes, I would prefer to be working in a fireworks stand. 

Wouldn’t that be fun?  All I would have to do is just light a match, and BOOM!  Lots of loud noise and beautiful, dramatic displays of light.  Everyone would “oooh” and “aaah,” and I could say, “Isn’t it amazing?  My God made all that!”  So easy.

Instead, I am apparently called to be a gardener. 

Here is why gardening is harder than working at a fireworks stand.  For one thing, you have to do a little more than light a match.  You have to, like, till soil and plant seeds and water and maintain and on and on… 

Also, you don’t get immediate results.  Fireworks are instant gratification.  You do something little and immediately get something big.  With gardening, you work and work and stare and stare at some dirt, and eventually…maybe…a little seedling pops up.  It’s definitely not as dramatic.

And yet, it is a miracle.  I’m not much of  a real life gardener (like, at all), so when Luke brought home a little cup of soil from Sunday school a few years back that ostensibly had a seed in it, I did not have high hopes.  Yet, for his sake, I put it in the windowsill, and we dutifully watered it daily.  Still, I was completely surprised when….wait for it…something grew!  It. was. amazing.  All you gardeners out there are thinking, “Yeah, genius, that’s what happens when you water a plant and give it sunlight.”  But still…it was still such a miracle.  I mean, how does water and sunlight make something green pop out of the soil?  That just doesn’t make sense.  And as much as we talk about things like photosynthesis (which, for me, obviously, is not much), do we really understand it?  Can we replicate that process on our own?  I don’t think we can.  We just trust that it happens and watch for the little plant to start miraculously growing out of the ground.  Amazing.

I’m going somewhere with this, I promise.  

As a worker in God’s vineyard, I spend a lot of time watering and tending and thinking deep down, “Is something really going to grow from all this?  I just don’t know if it is.”  And then sometimes, sometimes, the tiniest little shoot pops out of the ground, and I’m like, “Praise God!  It’s a miracle!”

And it is. 

Tuesday was such a day.  That morning, we went to the beach with the teens.  That in itself wasn’t a miracle, though it was fun:

No, the miracle was what happened while we were at the beach.  During that time, my cell group went—of their own volition—to the Lowcountry Orphan Relief to serve.  I couldn’t go b/c my kids are too young (LOR’s rule), and I didn’t have childcare.  But the fact that they wanted to get together, and wanted to serve God with their time is wonderful.  It represents a tiny shoot popping up out of the ground.  Thanks to Greg’s idea, I planted a seed called “cell group,” back in August, and it has been such a blessing to watch girls that barely knew each other to begin with end up voluntarily serving together…without me there.

Instead, one of their moms took them.  She volunteered, b/c, as she told me, “Ever since the Community Outreach Ministry started, I have felt a need to get involved, and I’d really like to check out the Orphan Relief.”  Again, a tiny plant.  Back in January, a seed was planted called, “Community Outreach Ministry.”  It’s goal was to get our church involved in the needs of our surrounding community in a tangible way.  It has been kind of a slow process, so to hear someone say, “I want to serve in this way,” is great.

Then that evening, another tiny plant made its debut in the wide world.  Haley, a member of my cell group, got baptized. 

The other members of my cell group baked a cake for her that afternoon and waited excitedly with my kids and some of their younger siblings:

Proud mama.

My cell group, minus Abby, who was out of town.

Afterward, we headed quickly back to our house, where we met 11 post-high school “kids” (some of whom are married, and are probably not to be considered kids anymore:)) for a Bible study, which was another blessing.  In fact, we had to send our intern on to our house with a key, b/c we were going to be a bit late.

While Greg explained how to get there, Luke took the opportunity to climb on Adam’s shoulders:

Anyway, I spent the day sitting in the warm soil of God’s vineyard, gaping in surprise and delight at all the little shoots of life that popped up around me.  It was amazing.  And watching them, a deep and obvious understanding permeated me, telling me that I did not do any of this!  I have no idea how a plant comes out of the ground!  But it is such an honor and privilege to be even the tiniest part of that process.  How gracious and loving God is to allow his helpless children to “help” him in His vineyard.  “Coincidentally,” we read 1 Cor. 3:6-7 at our Bible study that night, where Paul says, “What, after all, is Apollos?  And what is Paul?  Only servants…I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow.  So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.”

Thank you, God, for making these plants grow.  I know that they will last a lot longer than fireworks, and I pray that they will bear much fruit in your kingdom!