Friday, November 21, 2014

My dear sad son...

My dear sad son...

I thank God for you, and most of all for your big heart. I do not think you appreciate this as a gift right now, especially since it aches so...  

Do you remember yesterday, the beautiful fall afternoon, when you and I and laid on blankets under the tree in the yard?  It’s been a rough week for all of us, and though you have said nothing, I could tell you’ve been running from emotions too big to handle alone. So this afternoon I determined to be there, near you, with open heart and ears. You were strong and composed, until piano music entered your ears and broke down all the walls around your heart. “Turn it off mom!!! It just… I hate piano and… it just makes me so sad about Kristie!” you cried, We talked and I held you. We lay together while the ugly feelings came out, in hiccups and gasps and hot tears. Oh son, I wish I could take them from you. I wish I could let you skip this part, skip the pain of growing up in Christ, of learning the brokenness of this world and grieving for it.   I cannot feel the feelings for you, but I do feel them with you.

As you grow, will you be one who seems to experience deeper sadness than others in times of suffering? If you are, son, and if you feel alone in this, know that you are not. You are so much like me in this way.  We see and intensely feel the brokenness of this place; we take the grief of others on ourselves. Son, I know you do not like this about yourself, but don’t you see? Your compassion reflects God’s compassion for us. Jesus suffers with us, is moved by compassion, takes it upon himself. This is a learning to love like Christ does, learning to love with His love instead of mere human love.
Oh son, I know it hurts terribly. It hurts so bad that none of us could survive long in this place if we only shared in our Lord’s hurt over the brokenness of this world. So my earnest prayer for you is this: May God fill you with hope and comfort in Christ, deeper and richer and fuller than the suffering you feel. I do not pray that he takes the suffering away… love growing in you is a gift, though a painful one.  I know, the ugly feelings are impossible to bear. May you not seek relief in numbness of hardness of heart. Instead,may you seek help from them in our Lord, in His Word, and in the comfort of his church family (and in my arms, as long as God allows!)
May God fill you with resurrection hope, and even joy in THIS place, as we wait to see his promises fufilled.

-- Mama

2 Corinthians 1:3-5English Standard Version (ESV)

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort,who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.

an excerpt from My Gliead; 10/3/14

Monday, November 17, 2014

just focus


They painted my room pink because I’m a girl. I hate pink. Tinkerbell wallpaper to boot. Why don’t they just put doilies on my dresser and be done with it? I will not do this to my little girl if I ever have one.
My mom is on her computer again. I need help with my homework, and she “just a sec’s” me, and I know better than to believe it will only be a sec.
There’s my brother. He’s licking the remote control and someone should stop him.
“Mom?”
“Just a sec, hon.” And she types on.
I sigh and grab the remote from him. He screams, and mom snaps, “Laurie! Would you leave him aLONE?”
“ But I was just..”
“Oh, whatever, just put something on TV for your brother. Make sure it’s a cartoon or something. I need a minute here.”
I do it because what else can I do? Maybe later I’ll talk to her. I'm still smarting from those words Jessica said to me today. I want to tell mom about it, but now’s not the time.
“Honey do you think you can warm up some chicken nuggets for you kids for dinner tonight? Daddy’s not going to be home so it’s just us and I really need to focus on this thing…” she trails off, implying that her computer work is dreadfully important and also highly confidential.
Perhaps it is, but I’d really like some real food to eat tonight. At least Junior’s happy watching those ridiculous minions again. “Sure, mom,” I say, moving slowly so she’ll notice I’m none too pleased. She doesn’t notice. I hear keyboard clicks frantically.
Dinner served and we are done, and I’ve even carried dishes to the kitchen. Finally mom shuts her computer. “Time for a bath, junior,” she says, and she takes him. I sit on the couch with my book, not really reading it. My stomach hurts like I’ve eaten Jessica’s ugly words, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
I hear junior splashing, and mom putting stuff away in the bathroom. I hear her walk into her bedroom and shut the door.
I should finish my homework but I can’t get off the couch. I pick up a book. Suddenly, Mom comes into the room and sees me, really sees me. She’s changed into her soft PJs and robe, and she sits next to me on the couch. Whatever it was that caused her to type so frantically still troubles her eyes, but she is trying to put it aside while she plays mommy.
I slide next to her, falling into her soft robe. I accept her act, and I play baby though my feet are as big as hers. She put her leg over mine and sighs. I am not ready to talk to her, but maybe if we sit her for longer I will be. Suddenly her body jerks, “Wait, is your homework done young lady?”
“Almost mom, but…” We here Junion cry from the bathroom, “I weewy weed to go potty!”
I flop on my bed, and as I hear mom yelling about the mess in the bathroom, I try to concentrate on photosynthesis.



This month I'm participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I am actual a Rebel because I am focusing on several short stories, but my goal is to write 50k in the month of November. This post is just me playing with fiction, warming up my fingers.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

unforseen sweetness

“Take and drink.”
I do.

The bloody mercy is sweet to the taste. Yet on that day, who could have forseen this?

Sinful men with violent hands
Agony of the innocent,
The sweat of a tortured brow,
Body and blood, given for you;
A crimson sign from heaven, declaring mercy,
Forgiveness,
and peace with God;

A sacrifice of life, that we may have life.

The body and the blood of Jesus:
it has trickled down, down centuries, to these receiving lips.

And it is sweet to the taste.
Yet on that day, who could have forseen the sweetness?

Those who loved him hid,
Grieved.
They could not fathom a suffering God,
Suffering-for
Suffering-with

Darkness before glory,
Bitterness before sweet.

Take and eat. Take and drink.
Go forth in peace to love and serve.
Take in, and pour out.

But I can’t. It’s too much. I’m not enough.
I fear the suffering to come:
Will there be sweetness mixed in?

I consider past suffering:
deployment, the brain surgery,
soul-crushing grief and fear;

And I recall the sweetness; it is of a flavor I did not recognize before the suffering.

There is a hidden sweetness that is in with and under
a flattening of myself;
The worn knees from praying,
The heart-rending asking
And the being HEARD.

The view, from the journey taken on the edge of eternity
with opened eyes,
stripped of false comforts,
knowing that if one is to survive it will be by the hand of God and no other way;
And surviving.

The needing, desperately,
And marveling at God’s provision.

The way He proves His faithfulness,
And we find
Under the crumbling things of this world,
There is more of Him,

And what else could a soul possibly need?



Communion Cross with Jesus

Florence


I only recently discovered Crooked Still, but they are quickly becoming my new favorites.

Here's a lovely song, perfect for those who are looking forward with me...


Remembering...
From Alicia.

Displaying saints 1.jpg

Thank you God for blessing those who have gone before us.
Preserve us until that day when change and tears are past,
when you scatter all of the darkness, finally, forever.
Amen.


Tuesday, November 11, 2014

The Unfinished Fight (Veteran's Day)


On this Veteran's Day, a word from my favorite veteran, my husband, Joshua Cook.


This is an address he delivered at our local high school yesterday. 



The Unfinished Fight (by Joshua Cook)


Veterans Day is a day that our nation takes time to honor those men and women who made the sacrifice to serve our nation’s armed forces. For many veterans it is a day mixed with sorrow and joy. Sorrow, because they know personally the cost of freedom, the cost of standing up to evil and not backing down. Perhaps they have lost their friends or family members. Perhaps they have lost a spouse to divorce because of the hardship that deployments bring. Perhaps they still wake up with a start in the dead of the night. Fighting evil has its costs, and our veterans know the cost all to well. And yet, there is joy on this day as well. Joy that a nation has not yet forgotten. Joy that there is still enough honor and respect left in the world to commend those who have fought for freedom, who have placed their neighbor’s good before their own.

Jesus said: “Greater love hath no one than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Of course we know that God’s only begotten Son had even greater love – he laid down his life even for his enemies, so that all who believe in him might have eternal life. Students of Trinity Lutheran High School, you have been given the privilege of this education first by Christ, who has made you his own, and second by those people in your lives, parents, grandparents, teachers, and veterans too, who believe that it is our responsibility and privilege to stand up against evil and to serve our neighbor in love.

Edmund Burke said: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” On this Veteran’s Day, it is most fitting that we honor and commemorate our nation’s good men and women. But this Veteran’s Day will mean nothing in the years to come, if you and your generation choose to do nothing. Veteran’s Day should also stand as a day for all men and women to consider their God-given talents, and to ask themselves honestly: “What can I do to help?” “What is my part in standing up to evil?”

Now, I’m not saying that every one of you needs to become a service member. Evil is found in many places – not just the battlefield. Nor am I suggesting that you wage a personal vigilante war against evil—wars are fought shoulder to shoulder. No, what I am saying is that as Christians, and as Americans we need to join together in our effort to stop evil dead in its tracks. First, this is a spiritual battle. The apostle Paul warns us that Satan is like a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour. We also know that Christ Jesus conquered mankind’s greatest enemies–sin, death, and Satan himself-by his death on the cross and resurrection from the tomb. Here at Trinity you are being equipped to share Christ Jesus and the Gospel message of the forgiveness of sins as his free gift – that is single most important thing for you to do. And yet, this is not only a spiritual battle that our world faces. Evil is tangible, it has physical manifestations. This is where Christians and non-Christians must join together in the fight. This takes the form of soldiers on the front lines in the war against terrorism; doctors and nurses fighting Ebola, and cancer, and other diseases; Police, fireman, and EMTs protecting our neighborhoods; teachers providing education; parents providing stable and safe homes; and students, equipping themselves to be the next generation who will step into the breach.

I am not saying that this fight will be easy. It will not. Some will be asked to lay down their lives, even as those whom we honor on this day did. But there is honor in this fight. Some will try to tell you that the fight is “all for nothing”—but they are wrong. Their defeatism is evidence of their lack of hope. But we are not those who are without hope, for we are remade by Christ’s forgiveness. “Behold what manner of love the Father has given unto us, that we should be called children of God, and So We Are.” This love is not only upon us, it is within us. It is what makes it possible to serve our neighbor in love, and to lay down our lives for our friends. Christ allows us to participate in his victory over evil–it is no small task–but it is an honorable one.

In conclusion, I’d like to leave you with a portion of Lincoln’s well-known Gettysburg Address, which in my mind is the single-greatest tribute and call to action that has ever been offered in honor of our nation’s fallen heroes:

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.




Thanking God today for those who stand between us and evil, who sacrifice more than we can imagine to protect our freedom.

Monday, November 10, 2014

smoke

The smell of cigarettes has always been comforting to her, unless she was pregnant. She wasn't now, so when the beach breeze blew those fumes she found herself suddenly remembering her grandfather. His embrace, given long ago, and uncles with beer breath and tickly beards, and cousins climbing trees and swinging on swings and spilling lemonade on grandma's tile floor. Grandma never seemed to mind, and though she took it for granted when she was a child, her patience seems remarkable now. That dear woman, with her foard of children and grandchildren. Did her skin ever bristle with the noise and the touches? Did she ever want to climb into a bottle and hide for a month? She remembered the cool skin of grandma's arms, the way she smiled as she sat on the dock and watched the little ones play in the water.
“Ew, why does he need to be so close to us with that nasty smoke?” her daughter said, rolling her eyes. Mom watched as the young girl picked up her beach towel and shook it with pointed disgust. She felt an expression come over her own face, one that was once her grandmothers: a thin smile, an acquiescence to the ignorance of youth. She would not bother trying to explain her thoughts to the young one.



She moved her towel away from the smoke and sat near her daughter.


This month I'm participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I am actual a Rebel because I am focusing on several short stories, but my goal is to write 50k in the month of November. This post is just me playing with fiction, warming up my fingers.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Friday, November 7, 2014

Acedia and Me by Kathleen Norris

Acedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's LifeAcedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer's Life by Kathleen Norris
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A Marriage, Monks, and A Writer’s Life
(3.5 stars if I could give half stars)

In this book, we are given glimpses into each, along with insight into the topic of acedia as well as depression.

In particular, I found myself challenged in the way I view daily chores, boredom, and my own restlessness. (See quotes below.) I also enjoyed peeking into her experiences with both monastic life and marriage.

She writes from a modern perspective, and a generally Roman Catholic understanding of sin (behaviors may be sin, but our desires to sin are not; they do not condemn us but inspire us to be better people.) In her wrestlings, though she draws strength from Scripture (especially the Psalms), I did not find a clear understanding of Christ, specifically his work on the cross. She also quotes heavily from Evagrius, a monk condemned as heretical by the RCC- she mentions this in an offhand way, as if the fact of it or the reason for it does not matter. This is telling in regards to her approach in matters of theology.

I would give this book 3.5 stars if I could- I am torn between the feelings of dislike of the academic slopiness and the appreciation for the poetic gems and insights skattered throughout.

That said, her book offered many valuable insights and challenging ideas regarding both spiritual sloth and depression. A few of my favorite quotes follow:

“If my pride recoils from endeavors that seem futile in the face of my world-weary despair, I have to remember that disdaining ordinary, mundane chores that come to nothing can lead to my discounting personal relationships as well. “

“In this hyped-up world, broadcast and Internet news media have emerged as acedia’s perfect vehicles, demanding that we care, all at once, about a suicide bombing, a celebrity divorce, and the latest advance in nanotechnology....the ceaseless bombardment of image and verbiage makes us impervious to caring.” 129

“The word menial derives from a Latin word meaning “dwelling” or “household.” It is thus a word about connections, about family and household ties. “ 197

“Technology had made a fool of me, for a few seconds of ‘waiting’ in computer time is no longer than seconds spent ‘waiting’ on a magnificent, rocky beach for the sun to rise over pearl-tinted ocean; is is only my perception that makes them seem different. And how I perceive such things is a matter of spiritual discipline.” 220

“The very nature of marriage means saying yes before you know what it will cost. Though you may say the “I do” of the wedding ritual in all sincerity, it is the testing of that vow over time that makes you married.”
ife

“Might we consider boredom as not only necessary for our life but also as one of its greatest blessings? A gift, pure and simple, a precious chance to be alone with our thoughts and alone with God?”


“Like faith, marriage is a mystery. The person you’re committed to spending your life with is known and yet unknown, at the same time remarkably intimate and necessarily other. The classic seven-year itch may not be a case of familiarity breeding ennui and contempt, but the shock of having someone you thought you knew all too well suddenly seem a stranger. When that happens, you are compelled to either recommit to the relationship or get the hell out. There are many such times in a marriage.”


View all my reviews

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

A space for gratitude

November is here, and giving thanks is all the rage.

But how do we fit it in? Shall we keep a list next to the bed and add five obligatory things before we earn our sleep? Shall we pause each day with kids around ankles and throw a grateful thought or two up on facebook? Shall we make a big project of it, and involve the kids, and decorate the walls of our home with leaves and words and sticky masking tape and let it all hang there until we can't take it anymore?

I don't think it matters, really.

How, when, who knows about it- none of this matters, really. What matters is that we open our eyes, and our hearts, and that we take time to notice the gifts God gives us right here, today.

Slow down, and notice.

The person who types these words is much more prone to barrel through, get 'er done, and trample.  I need reminders, and my own children should be enough, what with their constant "Mommy look at this picture" and "Mom, watch this!" and "look through my folder with me!" and "can you listen to one of my songs?" and "I just made a smiley face for you," on the mirror, in toothpaste.

Accept my grateful praise, son. Or not.

Truth be told, I resent those interruptions sometimes. I want to notice, but I don't always want to be TOLD what to notice by little people, especially when I'm trying to get the homework done and dinner on the table.

It's over stimulation season, and the sheer amount of talking and movement of the children can make me want to run and hide. "WHY are you climbing on the counter and turning on the water right now?" Can't they see I'm trying to serve dinner?

I don't know whether they see, but that particular time, that particular annoying moment with the child in my way in the water on the counter, it was something I should have noticed.

He was doing this:


It's hard to see there with the clutter. 
The beauty. 


My kindergartner put it there... for me.

I have seen horrible things growing in sippy cups in my days, but this time, beauty, put there by a child who not so long ago drank out of the cup, and clung to my hip, and took everything all the time. That child is learning how to give, how to notice, how to help others notice.

Noticing,
in the middle of the clutter. This is my challenge.
This is the fight.

The dining room table seems to have a magnet that attracts papers, mail, clutter. Sometimes  we have to shove it all to the middle just to eat dinner.

Yesterday, I cleared it off.
Our family gratitude notebook will remain right there, all month long. Surely it will get buried more than once, but I think there, in the center of activity, it might get opened, too.






“Our capacity for gratitude is not connected with an abundance of resources but rather with a capacity to notice what it is that we do have.  This is expressed powerfully in the traditional African-American prayer of gratitude that the Lord “woke me up this morning clothed in my right mind. He didn’t have to do it, but he did.” 

(Christine D. Pohl, Living into Community)



Father,
Open our eyes to see, and our lips to declare your praise.
Amen

Monday, November 3, 2014

Clinging

The campfire is hot on her shins, and the others are ready for bed, but she does not move. She smoothes Little One’s hair and breathes it in. He smells like smoke and marshmallows and boy sweat. He smells like life, and she is not ready to let him go.

All day she’d been haunted by the feeling of this child in her arms, not sleeping, but pale and without breath. He’d been underwater much too long, and she should have been watching, but she never seems to have enough eyes or arms to keep them all safe, especially in her dreams. She was watching his brother when he went under silently, telling the wrong child to be careful. And so it was that he was carried to her from the stream, silent and still. It was too late to do anything, and she pressed him to her and breathed in his wet hair and tried to love him alive, but it was too late.

“It’s getting late,” daddy says, but she is busy loving him alive, for just a little longer. He stirs, nestles in closer, and puts his sticky hand in her hair. She clings tigher, sits deeper, and will sit until her bluejeans catch on fire.



This month I'm participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). My goal is to write 50k of fiction in the month of November. This post is not part of the novel... it's just me playing with fiction, warming up my fingers.  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Acorns: Listen for it

When the fight is fierce, the warfare long,
steals on the ear the distant triumph song
and hearts are brave again and arms are strong
Alleluia, Alleluia 

(from For All the Saints)

Do you hear it? 
Stop and listen for the song, the distant triumph song of those who have gone before, who have seen now with their own eyes His promises fufilled. 

They assure us, it will not always be this way.
We will not always fear, we will not always wonder if our work has been done in vain. We will see and know God, even as he sees and knows us now. The veil will be removed. We will be welcomed home and we will be given rest.

And what is given by our faithful God shall not be taken away.

Stay the course, dear church militant, for soon and very soon you will join the church triumphant.

And I heard a voice from heaven, saying, "Write, 'Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on!'" "Yes," says the Spirit, "so that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow with them."

Revelation 21:6

“Oh that my words were written!
Oh that they were inscribed in a book!
Oh that with an iron pen and lead
they were engraved in the rock forever!
For I know that my Redeemer lives,
and at the last he will stand upon the earth.
And after my skin has been thus destroyed,
yet in my flesh I shall see God,
whom I shall see for myself,
and my eyes shall behold, and not another.
My heart faints within me!

Job 19:23-27

Precious in the sight of the Lord
is the death of his saints.

Psalm 116:15

For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he delivers the kingdom to God the Father after destroying every rule and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death. For “God has put all things in subjection under his feet.” But when it says, “all things are put in subjection,” it is plain that he is excepted who put all things in subjection under him. When all things are subjected to him, then the Son himself will also be subjected to him who put all things in subjection under him, that God may be all in all.

1 Cor 15:16-28




-------

If you are curious, I did not pose the above picture! He likes to have a book so he can read himself to sleep. A hymnal was all he could find that day!

The hymn this young son of God is resting under is called "Thine the Amen, Thine the Praise."
What a perfect triumph song for us to sing as we remember our saints and look forward to our life together with them.

(Click here for lyrics, tune, and explanation from Pr. Weedon.)


Thine the amen Thine the praise
Alleluias angels raise
Thine the everlasting head
Thine the breaking of the bread
Thine the glory Thine the story
Thine the harvest then the cup
Thine the vineyard then the cup is lifted up, lifted up.

Thine the life eternally
Thine the promise let there be
Thine the vision Thine the tree
All the earth on bended knee
Gone the nailing gone the railing
Gone the pleading gone the cry
Gone the sighing gone the dying what was loss lifted high.

Thine the truly Thine the yes
Thine the table we the guest
Thine the mercy all from Thee
Thine the glory yet to be
Then the ringing and the singing
Then the end of all the war
Thine the living Thine the loving evermore, evermore.

Thine the kingdom Thine the prize
Thine the wonder full surprise
Thine the banquet then the praise
Then the justice of Thy ways
Thine the glory Thine the story
Then the welcome to the least
Then the wonder all increasing at Thy feast, at Thy feast.

Thine the glory in the night
No more dying only light
Thine the river Thine the tree
Then the Lamb eternally
Then the holy holy holy Celebration jubilee
Thine the splendor Thine the brightness only Thee only Thee.



This week I am sharing pieces of my All Saints Scrapbook.

Why not make your own?

It can be as simple as this:



Need help getting started?

For a text file of my favorite Scriptures, quotes and articles click here.

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Who are you remembering this week?
Share a photo and (if you like) some words with me (via facebook or email
and I'll publish them all on Saturday. 
Then, I'll randomly choose one of you to win a free copy of my newest book, 
Between Seasons.

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If you liked this article, you may enjoy Emily’s newly released book: 

It is available for purchase on Amazon, along with her other books: Tend to Me: Devotions for Mothers, and Weak and Loved: A Mother-Daughter Love Story.




Emily Cook is a tree-climber, child chaser, author and blogger.  She is a woman growing backward, a mother-child, messy with sin, but rejoicing in the constant love of her Heavenly Father. She lives with her husband and their six children in the arms of the church where he is a pastor.  
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