Love

What a man I am married to...

He loves the outdoors.  Tells me casting a line is almost spiritual for him...

He loves sports...hockey is his favorite.  "GIVE BLOOD, PLAY HOCKEY"  if you know what I mean...

He's a guy's guy.

The opposite of a metro-sexual  (which drives me nuts being a hairstylist and all...) and hates to dress up but has to wear a suit and drive off to work clean shaven everyday.

But tonight, his true deep love for me surfaced and peeked out it's beautiful face.

Because tonight game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals were being intently watched by those magnificent eyes that still make my heart melt...

And NO the Red Wings were not playing but YES he was excited to see...

And my sweet, sweet man who has been cultured above and beyond he ever signed up for or thought he would be, I'm sure, through this crazy girl...

He not only lets me turn the channel to PBS and catch the very end of the Les Miserables 25th Anniversary Tribute... (which happens to be on the very top of my "favorite things" at the moment...)

He actually sang along and smiled all the while missing the end of Game 6.

(The poor guy has been dragged to 3 Broadway performances of this particular musical since he met me)

And all I can say is that I'm blown away!!

He really does LOVE me!!!

1 Corinthians 13:4–8a
(New International Version)
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. (NIV)

New Chapters

We woke up to a cold and overcast typical Michigan winter morning mid-December 2007.  Just like most Sundays, our family piled into the mini-van and drove to church.  We had been quite busy.  We moved just a couple of weeks prior into a new house that was only a few blocks away from our previous dwelling.  Ayla was only nine months old.  Jonah had turned seven in the beginning of the month and Micah was four.  And on this particular day, things had gone quite smoothly.  I don't remember much about the church service so I'm guessing it was quite normal.  After worship we dined on delectable breakfast food at our routine Sunday morning restaurant.  On the ride home, not only were the kids unusually quiet and relaxed, I was as well.  We turned onto the main side street to take us to our house which happened to be the same street of our prior home.  Three to four blocks and two stops signs later, Joe taps the left turn signal on and we pull up in the driveway.  Joe looks at me, and I look at him and we are both thinking the same thing,

"Who's car is that in our driveway?"

And then it hits us like a fist right in the gut.  We accidentally pulled up into the drive of our old house.  We all busted out in laughter but my heart was twisted in two. Memories of our five years gushed into light.  Jonah toddling barefoot on the wooden floors with a saggy diaper.  Staring out the window at the budding dogwood in spring while rocking my bundled new-born Micah to sleep. Recollections of our narrow Christmas tree lit in the picture window and blazing autumn bon-fires in the cedar lined yard.  Visions of Micah coloring on our enclosed porch and bringing Ayla home from the hospital in late March with unusually warm weather.  Walking my first-grade Jonah across the street to his elementary school with that brand-new back pack strapped behind him on a perfectly sunny September morning....

Flashes darting in my head.

And there we sat in our old driveway for a moment stopped in time and as Joe shifted gears into reverse my thoughts shifted back to our new house.

My eyes focused on the road in front of us and I realized that a chapter of our life was now written and we had many blank pages ahead to fill.

And as I sit here now, four years later, I think about how much of the time I long to re-write my past.  Erase the mistakes and start over.  Instead of being thankful for the mess-ups I beat myself up and stay stuck in the swamp of guilt.

Oh how I need to remember that those chapters are closed and lessons can surely be learned and moments remembered and cherished but the fresh ink of this day is waiting to mark the page.  

And my God, my savior, who is the author and finisher of my faith is right here with me waiting to write my story with me.

The question is will I loosen my tightly clenched fingers and surrender the pen over to His ever-present hand and allow Him to make my ugly into something beautiful?

Will I allow Him to make my story all about His-story?

His story that is one of grace and redemption and love and turning the other cheek and giving until it hurts?

His story that denies myself and puts others first?

His story in which the last are first and the least are the greatest?

Only through His Spirit can I say yes.

"Yes Lord, make my story all about you and your ways, help me to forgive others as you have forgiven me and fill me with love for the unlovely.  Thank you for your unstoppable, never ending, unchanging constant love that never gives up on me."


Let the writing begin.

20/20

After 12.5 years of marriage I finally am beginning to grasp the concept that my husband and I will never peer through the same lenses.  The object of our gazes may be identical but the glass between the frames definitely holds a completely different prescription.

For example:  I walk into my bedroom and find an unmade bed and clothes piled on the floor.  Through my glasses I see a mess just waiting to be tucked away and pulled up neat.  My husband on the other hand sees right through the wrinkled sheets and tossed off clothes.  All he sees is a bed waiting to tuck him in tight with his wife right next to him warm and cozy..........

Example #2:  We are watching a movie, lets just say oh "Gladiator".  Joe's favorite scene is at the end when blood is splattering and swords are stabbing the hero dead.  All the while I am still misty-eyed from the previous scene where the princess and the hero steal a secret kiss in the dimly lit catacombs.

Yet another example:  We have a river-rock fireplace in our family room.  I envision a beautiful sepia canvas print of my three precious children hanging above the fire.  Joe, on the other hand, would love to see a thick wood mantle with a huge rainbow trout and a fly-rod adorning the stone.

We see the same surroundings and scenarios so differently.

Are men really from Mars and women from Venus?

I'm not sure.

What I do know is there is a power struggle with most close-intimate relationships.

I want and yearn for my husband to see things my way.

Instead of treasuring his unique perception, I long to twist and turn, manipulate his prescription to mine.

But my spectacles won't fit him properly and his sight will be blurred through the wrong lenses.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I am beginning to realize that no matter how much he tries to or pretends to, he doesn't see it my way.

And he hasn't since he was a toddling boy.

We are just wired differently, him and I.

Reflecting on this tonight I swallow a bit of my puffed-up pride.

Humility lowers me to my knees as I turn over a piece of my enlarged ego.

I raise my head to the heavens and open my eyes.

Both pupils stare through hope, bright and glorious, upward.

Tasting the freedom of redemption that knocks me down yet fills me up all at the same time.

Click here:

    http://youtu.be/gQzrqmcwg8o

Hidden Treasure

A new "Home Goods" opened up less than a mile away from our house a couple of years ago.  If anyone reading this has ever had the opportunity to tread the shiny woodish floors laid out in one of these amazing stores I'm sure you can attest and agree that it can be downright dangerous to live almost within stone's throw of one.

They really should hang a big "BEWARE" sign posted in large font on the burnt-orange metal framed shiny glass enclosure.

"BEWARE"  this store can make you dizzy.

I get so dizzy in there.  My head spins and I cannot concentrate  because there is SO much to take in.


I am overwhelmed.

I walk in and my dilated pupils try to focus.  My heart starts to pound and then it happens...

Flashes of black dart in front of my eyes.  I close them and take a deep breath.  Slowly....carefully....calmly I lift open my lids and try to focus.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP....

I feel my blood pressure increase slightly.

I am not kidding around.  I am totally serious.  I get so darned excited when I step inside.

What will I find?

What hidden treasure is waiting for me today?

It could be as simple as a candle or a cake-stand.

Or as grand as a chaise or chest of drawers.

Deep breath.

Focus.

Slowly I browse.  Aisle by aisle.

Heart fluttering and all, I stop and pick up each possible purchase, examine thoroughly (mama taught me well) and then look at price tag (most important part, mama, I know).

Either I return it to shelf or place in cart with countless ideas floating in my head of what I can do with this or that.

Where will this new item fit in my house to make it more of a home?

My mama had a deep heart for making her house a home and I have inherited that passion.

Even though she was always EXTREMELY frugal... she was always EXTRAORDINARILY creative as well.

Even though I am still embarrassed of  her trash-picking Jenny Lind beds in our sweet Astro-mini van back in the 80's....(thank God for tinted windows).

I digress...

Back to the store...

Heart fluttering.

Head spinning.

Does this excitement, this emotion flood my being when I reach for that precious already owned book on my shelf at home?

Does my heart pound when I gaze upon the leather-bound, gold-trimmed pages?

What treasures lie inside?

What life-changing, house made home waiting information is scribed upon each God-breathed page?

What words of wisdom are waiting to work their way into my wayfaring heart?

I have tread upon these floors before and I have to warn you:

"BEWARE"...may cause dizziness or blurred-vision and simple or grand hidden-treasure will be waiting.  

The Light of the World

Last night we had a Passover dinner.

Later when the guests left and the kitchen was all cleaned up Ayla gazed into the flame of the candle and told me,

"I can see Jesus in there"

What a great reminder

"God is light and in Him there is no darkness." (1 John 1:5)

GOOD Friday?? BAD Friday??

On "Good Friday" I never feel GOOD

As a matter of fact I almost always feel BAD

Unworthy

Shameful

Wretched

And puzzled as to why 

God in all of His glory would have left his throne in heaven...

Confused as to why He

"made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness." (Phil 2:7)

Knowing He would be

"despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering." (Isiah 53: 3)

Knowing He would be

"oppressed and afflicted...led like a lamb to the slaughter." (Isiah 53: 7)

Baffled that He would be

"pierced for our transgressions...crushed for our iniquities" (Isiah 53: 5)

Yet in this same passage I am reminded 

"By His wounds we are healed" (Isiah 53: 5)

In Him all of my BAD is made GOOD

All of my iniquities

Every bit of 

Shame

Unworthiness

Wretchedness

has been healed for

"By His wounds we are healed"

No Use Crying Over Spilled Milk

Mornings and I don't work too well together.

I am a night owl.

The quiet solitude of a sleeping house is music to my ears.  However, this cherished time flies by all too quickly and most evenings I find myself extending each treasured minute, keeping my stinging eyes open doing crazy stuff like reading a book or surfing the web instead of getting the shut-eye they need.

This morning was rough just like most.

I poured Ayla some milk.  She has been drinking unsweetened almond milk that I sweeten with agave nectar.  I went into my lazy-susan in the corner cabinet where I keep all of my baking foods to get out the nectar.    I squirted it into her cup and she was under my feet playing around in the cabinet.

And I spilled the milk all over my $5.00 bag of unbleached organic flour (wide-open, unclosed) and the rest of the supplies in my cabinet and the doors, rug, etc.

And even though "there's no use crying over spilled milk", I almost could have cried.

Ayla looked at me and said,"Good thing that wasn't my fault."

And then I wanted to cry even more.

Because my 4 year old already knows how I react to her spills.  And obviously my reaction isn't good.

Tears well up in my eyes as I ask her to please move out of the way.

Pools flood out of her sweet blues as she cries and asks,  "Are you mad at me?"

More tears on both of our faces.

"Of course I'm not mad at you and I don't want you to ever think that I am when you spill something."

I wrap her up in my arms and hold on tight.  I tuck her dangled curl behind her ear and stare into those precious blue gems...

And I wonder...why in the all of the world He has chosen me?

This broken, messed up, easily angered over spilled milk woman to be her mama?

And I remember that I am not alone.

I am not the only mama who feels like she has failed.

I am not the only one who cries over spilled milk.

And I remember that my God is the God who sees me, no matter how trivial.

"And even the hairs on your head are all numbered" Matthew 10:30


WOW!  As a hairstylist I know that everyone sheds a certain number of hairs per day.  That number varying during pregnancy and after having a baby or because of medication, thyroid problems, etc.  Not to mention medications or certain treatments for diseases or haircuts which involve the thinning of one's hair or texturizing as we hairstylists like to refer to it...

He knows every hair on my head.

He sees that intricately.

And I am reminded that He sees my heart as well.  And I LOVE my children.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins" 1Peter 4:8


What a relief!