"When I read the Bible, I get the distinct sense that Jesus wasn’t interested in saving the nuclear family from a windy onslaught of liberal opinions. I rather get the impression that he was concerned with diving headfirst into the unvarnished messiness of the human condition and saving us—as individuals, as families, as communities, as people—from our own unhinged self-absorption and festering lovelessness...
Read moreVintage cursive loops of faith
Do you know what's amazing? Two grandmas circling 90, with a few dozen grandchildren and great-grandchildren between them, remembering to send a birthday card on time - nay - early, even!
Eleanor and Gail, two women who had their own set of dark curls back in the day. One gave me the strong will and the outspoken nature. The other gave me the maternal spirit (some might call it "fretting") and the super sensitive skin.
Apart from the curls they are as different as night and day, but I belong to them. I bear their image and carry their legacy. Resilience and hope, courage and humility, grace and mercy.
I don't think I deserve them. In fact, I know I don't. I don't send birthday cards, I can be ungrateful, I am impatient with my children, and I am prone to wander.
But they point the way. Imperfect and true. Vintage cursive loops of faith.
I open one of the cards and out drop a handful of pictures: me and my grandpa, grandma laughing, matching grandbabies in receiving blankets. Her gift to me on my 34th birthday.
I tell my sister and we sigh together, remember grandpa's laugh, think how perfect and generous it was for her to send them to me.
"Although..." my sister says, suddenly very suspicious, "I am kind of worried she's starting to dole out her precious belongings."
Well, yeah, there's that.
A change of scenery
Sometimes a change of scenery is less about the roadtrip, less about the milkshakes, less about the sprinklers and the playgrounds and the beaches.
Sometimes a change of scenery is about just that: a change of scenery.
A chance to see how things look from up here. A few days to gather one's breath and view things from a different perspective.
From up here, I'm not sitting in front of my computer waiting for good news. I'm not looking at our books or photo albums or Matt's toolchest, wondering what goes and what stays. I'm not clicking refresh on our support account three, four, five times a day.
And I'm not hiding behind curtains, afraid of the sun, or standing in the kitchen wondering exactly how many cookies I ate that day [answer: eight].
Instead, I'm listening to "the grannies" talk about retirement, realizing we all have something that weighs on our minds and our pocketbooks, hard questions for the future.
I'm watching my children play with aunts and uncles and puppies, under the shelter of towering oaks, grateful for families that drop everything for a chance to play catch or build forts at dusk.
Instead, I'm awake in the night not from crying babes, but for a sweet glimpse of sleeping boys, head to head, legs and arms filling every inch of their shared bed.
Instead, I'm digging toes in sand, closing my eyes and praying peace... the kind of prayer one can pray from a safe distance, out of the fray. I'm convalescing this worried heart, rehabbing my tired mind, praying peace and still saying yes and listening for His voice in the quiet of a Wisconsin pine tree.
While I rest these sandy toes, my man stays behind and works. He's still saying yes, too. And in these five short days, a slight shift.
A change of scenery... even if only a step or two.
***
I wrote this earlier in the day, before seeing Sarah Bessey's invitation to share what it is that's saving our lives right now. But I knew this was it. I wrote it knowing that these five days, this gift from Matt, this time away, is saving my life right now. Because tonight I watched the wee lad dance in the rain. And I shared an oh-so-rare bottle of wine with my sister-in-law. And I heard thunder and felt wind and closed my eyes on the shores of Lake Michigan.
This, this moment - here today, gone tomorrow - is saving my life right now. What is saving yours?
The non-lameness of a Family Purpose Statement
Here you have it: our family purpose statement. We'd been reflecting on such a statement for about a month now, with prompting from Organized Simplicity. We made lists, discussed dreams from the past and hopes for the future, reflecting on what we wanted to be like and how we felt God made us to be. We started with a super, simple statement:
Love a lot: Love God. Love people. Love eachother.
We liked this general purpose a lot, but wanted to have some concrete descriptors as to what that love would look like on a tangible level. In the end, we came up with this:
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