You’re Mine

I promised Little Drummer Boy something the other night that I really can’t promise him. At least not honestly. I promised that Mama would never let anyone take him from me. Who knows exactly where these thoughts come from? Since I usually can’t trace my own thoughts with complete accuracy, those of my 4 year old are even more elusive. But, this train started with a discussion of how he and his favorite lamb had been separated while we were in our living room reading bedtime stories.

LDB: I don’t like it when my lamb is separated from me.

Mama: I understand. I don’t ever like it when you and Squiggle and Baby Girl are separated from me. I always want you with me.

LDB: Well, we would be separated if a policeman came and took me away. [puzzled about where that came from]

Mama: Sweetie, a policeman will never come and take you from Mommy. You belong with Mommy.

LDB: If someone took me away from you, would you tell them “no?”

Mama: Yes, sweetie. Mama would never let anyone take you from me.

LDB: Not even a mean man. [puzzled about that too]

Mama: No, darlin.’ Nobody is going to take you away from me.

LDB: Well, good. Because I want to be with you.

Mama: You will be, because you belong with Mommy.

LDB: Because I’m yours.

Mama: That’s right. You’re mine. God gave you–and Squiggle and Baby Girl–to Mommy and Daddy. Noone will take you away from me.

There it is. “Noone will take you away from me.” That’s the promise I can’t keep. I’m sometimes haunted by the fact that there is always the possibility that something or someone–some circumstance–could rob me of seeing and knowing and experiencing his blessedness.

I could write this post 6000 times and never feel I’ve actually said it. I can never adequately express just how much the existence of this one human being has changed my life forever. It’s Little Drummer Boy only by virtue of the fact that I was a half a miniscule more accustomed to being turned inside out with Bug and Baby Girl, since they don’t bear the burden of being first. It’s true. Having children rocked my world.

Listening to Little Drummer Boy, it’s amazing to me how even being so brief in this world, he can recognize and sense a place of belonging–and that he wants it. The concern of separation from that place somehow made it’s way into his thoughts from who knows where. And, I must acknowledge that it makes its way into mine more often that I care to admit. When I look into their eyes, I realize without a hint of doubt that all three of my gifts scare me to death. And, in seeing them, I realize the strength of the white-knuckle grip I’ve had on my soul since their birth–frozen in fear that I would have to see them suffer and thus witness my own heart shredded beyond repair.

There. I said it. Out loud (virtually, speaking).

Though I’m not one to give in to fear, in the unflenching grip of the last four years, I’ve also realized that sometimes God scares me to death too. His power is too great to comprehend, and his giving and taking is too complex to predict. I’ve always had a strong sense of confidence in God’s purpose and plans, an ability to believe and trust His actions. But, in the last years of watching the most precious beings I’ve known walk around before me, I have found myself shying away from Him. Afraid that He might take them from me, as if they were mine to lose. I’ve gently shielded my heart from Him, as if that were possible. In that doomed shielding, I’ve resisted the rest found in knowing Him more intimately each day, the joy of yielding to the insistence of His presence. And, though I know in my mind that His love is pure and wise and good, releasing my soul to His full molding has been difficult.

With my Baby Girl now a one-year-old and the prospect of Little Drummer Boy going to “big school” a year from now, the last few weeks have been emotional. I’m realizing more and more each day the brevity of that time when they are so dependent on me. And with the shift to their own independence comes an ever-increasing confrontation with things beyond my control, things outside the walls forming my comfort level. I’ve been slowly, but surely, allowing my spirit to catch up with all the changes, the joys, and yes, the fears of the last four years. Little by little, I’m letting go of the strangle hold I’ve had on my own ability to take an unencumbered deep breath, and relinquishing my spirit again to the wooing of my Creator.  And my children’s Creator.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine.” (isaiah 43:1)

I’m learning again that those words, “you’re mine” are the solution, not the source of fear. Just as saying “you’re mine” to Little Drummer Boy carries with it the full weight of everything I have to give, everything I am willing to give up, everything I would move, everything I would hold fast in order to ensure his abundance; so it is with God. In hearing the words “you’re Mine,” I can also hear “they’re Mine.” I am released to the blessed rest of His kind intention, the rest of His unfailing, unending and ever-active love.

In my fear I’ve come full circle, realizing that the only hope I have is to throw myself fully upon His love and mercy at each hour. And to throw myself fully into loving my gifts and experiencing them at every stage. To live each day, hour and moment without wishing I had.

—————————————–

Programming note: Stay tuned on Tuesday, September 8th when I’m yielding the floor to a writer I’ve just begun to read, Masha Hamilton. I’ve had the opportunity to enjoy one of her essays in preparation for reviewing her next novel, which comes out on that day. Her publisher sent it to me as part of the promotion of the book launch, and I’m eager to oblige in posting it. Of course, it’s only a partial yielding, since you know I can’t resist a commentary. It further extends these thoughts to stages of parenthood I can hardly imagine in my current preschool world. I hope you’ll browse back and take a look.

Holy Convocation

Shabbat. To cease.

In my Bible, it’s intoduced on page two. It has been observed by millions around the globe and through the centuries both religiously and half-heartedly. I think it’s the key to something that I’m only just now beginning to glimpse–something that can only be unlocked by truly observing it with intent and discipline. Yet, the benefits are powerful and rewarding enough for even the then solitary Being, the God of the universe to partake–no, initiate.

“Then God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all His work which God had created and made.” (genesis 2:3)

The fact that the Sabbath Day is a worthwhile, relevant and necessary habit is evidenced most powerfully by God’s own action–or inaction, by definition. Shabbat is translated throughout the Bible as “rest.” However, since God has never, nor will ever require rest, the more inspiring translation I found in my google/wikipedia-supplemented pondering is this:  “to cease.” I can’t help but believe that this stopping holds key principles for maintaining a life in true harmony of spirit, harmony within and with God. In fact, there’s a deep breath rising up in my spirit while I’m only thinking and writing about Shabbat. The simple thought of a designated ceasing brings an inexplicable sense of “this is as it should be.” The Jewish tradition of Shabbat observance may have gotten somewhat legalistic and removed from purpose over the centuries since Moses’ day, but I can’t help but think they got something right in their utterly thorough preparation and observance of this holy convocation.

“For six days work may be done, but on the seventh day there is a sabbath of complete rest, a holy convocation. You shall not do any work; it is a sabbath to the LORD in all your dwellings.” (leviticus 23:3)

Shabbat is God’s own divine and perfect project management system, His omniscient, omnipotent scheduling method. It is a command he demonstrated in His own “work” of creating all that exists. The sentiment, and yes, the words are clear. Shabbat, the holy convocation, should be complete. It summons all my spirit, all my desires, all my actions, all my loves, all my hates, all the places where I truly dwell into the same assembled stop. The same assembled deep inhale and slow exhale that was God’s choice. To cease on the Sabbath was God’s choice to release Himself from the constraints of doing. The joy of Shabbat is to bring my spirit into harmony with His example by choosing to stop, to put down the schedule, to put down the constant pull to do something on my ever-increasing list. Even things that I love to do. Even things that I’m excited about or things that bring me joy. Shabbat is not just about stopping the mundane things or the things that tire me out or the things that distract me. It calls me to put down the need to do something, to put down the need to move along to the next. It forces me to bring everything into focus for this moment–not what needs to happen in the next one or what should have happened in the last one. What freedom!

“You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God brought you out of there by a mighty hand and by an outstretched arm; therefore the LORD your God commanded you to observe the Sabbath day.” (deuteronomy 5:15)

At it’s core, Shabbat boils down to freedom. God commanded the people to use Shabbat to remember how He brought them out of slavery in Egypt. Their liberation brought the freedom to stop, to rest. They were no longer beholden to task-masters to toil at the whim of another. Thus, the freedom of Shabbat is demonstrated, the freedom to allow the moment to take me where it wants, or the Spirit to take me where He wants. The freedom from ought tos, from should haves, from need tos. The freedom to fully, without reservation or guilt or sacrifice or multitasking, make a conscious choice about what I will do (or cease doing) in this moment.

“For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day; therefore the LORD blessed the sabbath day and made it holy.” (exodus 20:11)

Shabbat is a ceasing God, Himself, infused with meaning.  Although it is most often used for “church” in modern Christianity, Shabbat was not set aside for worship in its origin. It was set apart for ceasing. A fast from working, from doing. Shabbat is a God-given holy day in every week where time set apart for stopping is elevated to celebration status. A time to cease. It was the first holy day mentioned in the Bible, and God, Himself, was the first to observe it by example. If God can set aside His work, can’t I? If God saw value in incorporating the holy into the daily grind, shouldn’t I?

Yet, what is the inevitable outcome of this holy convocation? Yes, it is worship. It is delight. In the Lord. It is freedom, riding on heights. It is satisfaction, fed with God’s heritage.

“If because of the sabbath, you turn your foot From doing your pleasure on My holy day, And call the sabbath a delight, the holy day of the LORD honorable, and honor it, desisting from your ways, from seeking your own pleasure and speaking your own word,then you will take delight in the LORD, and I will make you ride on the heights of the earth; and I will feed you with the heritage of Jacob your father, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.” (isaiah 58:13-14)

May you feed on the heritage of ceasing this Shabbat.

cross

it still sheds rough-hewn splinters
shining with the blood
of human prejudice,
turned and bent,
painted in black
on a red and white banner.

it still heats an angry mob
clad in pure
white hoods
standing in a yard,
set ablaze by the fire
of fear and hate.

it still holds a man stretched,
now in burnished bronze
or polished marble,
hung on our walls
and kept frozen
in dead faith.

yet, it still bears life,
a bloody, skin-shredded back pressed
against dirty beams, His bones
and veins ruptured with rusted spikes
driven by the exchange
of pain for healing, death for life.

“…by His wounds we are healed.” (isaiah 53:5)

8th Day of Thanksgiving: Prayer of Thanksgiving

God our Father, God our Father
Once again, once again
We would like to thank You.  
We would like to thank You.
Amen.  Amen.

We thank You that You have even “taken thought”of us, You whose spoken thought brought the universe into existence.  (psalm 8:3-4)
We thank You for your weaving–intentional, skilled, creative– that has brought us to life, unique. (psalm 139:13)
We thank You for Your demonstration of love–though we are “helpless” to match it–”in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (romans 5:6,8)
We thank You for a place of belonging, the holy inclusion that we are “called children of God.” (1 john 3:1)
We thank You for the “shield” of your mercy through mistakes, and Your glory that “lifts our head” in repentance. (psalm 3:3) 
We thank You for redemption and Your generosity of forgiveness–a favor not doled out begrudgingly, but “lavished.” (ephesians 1:7-8)
We thank You for the distance between east and west and the vastness of your restoration from wrong. (psalm 103:12)
We thank You for your light, for even “darkness is not dark” to You.  (psalm 139:12)
We thank You for the wholeness of Your presence, where there is no partial, no wait and see, but the “fullness of joy” then and there. (psalm 16:11)
We thank You for your shadow shelter, our dwelling place in the mightiness of your refuge. (psalm 91:1-2)
We thank You for Your cultivation, the nurturing of faith and faithfulness as we “dwell in the land” to which you’ve brought us. (psalm 37:3)
We thank You for action, a trustworthy character that will “do it” at the right time, in the right way, to the complete fulfillment of our heart’s desire. (psalm 37:4-5)
We thank you for your nearness, bringing goodness and all things good. (psalm 73:28)
“We give thanks to Thee, O God, we give thanks, for Thy name is near.” (psalm 75:1)

We thank You for the binding of our hearts and lives together, as we are bound to you.  For in You, “all things hold together.” (colossians 1:17)
We give thanks “in everything,” for You are in all things.  So, we are safe. (1 thessalonians 5:17) 
We thank You for the incredible fact of your being.  Through the water and fire, You are “the Lord our God.” (isaiah 43:3)  You are.  Thank You.