Friday, July 19, 2013


In April, He said this.

I was going to pick up my boy and I saw him.  Randomly standing on the edge of the street, spade and spray bottle in hand.  His bright red shirt caught my attention and when he looked up, I knew.

He was wearing sunglasses.

I drove back around the corner and him, the red shirt man, stood up and watched me.  I heard him say, behind my ears, "I am weeding".

There for a few days I had it, the clarity.  The removal of the old, to be replaced by the new.  The choking, toxic gone, to give room to breathe, to grow.

Until today.  When He came there, behind my ears again.  I am reminded of this now and the tears come.

So now my prayer is different. Soften the soil, then.  

Ears full of so many children's voices.  I envision a little house with green shutters and I just saw him hand me a gardening spade.

I'm returning to the field.  And though I've doubted, perhaps my heart always knew.

As I've said before, I have a feeling, perhaps in a different capacity, He will lead me back to it.  

Friday, July 12, 2013

first steps

On the fourth, Judah took his first steps. 

I wasn't even really paying attention, trying to calculate my student loan repayments.  I looked up just in time to see him turn away from his activity table and take two tentative steps towards our entertainment center. 

I screamed and hollered and clapped so loud it scared him and he fell back on his behind.  And then started clapping for himself too.  Big, gummy grin and all. 

So for the past few days, we've been practicing.  A few steps here and there.  One, maybe two, as many as four.  He maneuvers a funny little side shuffle, but always claps for himself. 

I was standing in the kitchen the other night and Judah was standing there with me.  He was trying to get to me, but was using the kitchen cabinets for support.  Shuffling and holding the wall.  I picked him up and stood him in the middle of the room and reached out my arms to him.  He looked around tentatively, realizing all his support and security and safety were at least two or three steps away.  In every direction. 

And as I reached for him, I heard it. 

Just like always.  In the whisper. 

Becoming a parent will help you understand the nature of God in a way only being a parent can.  It's just a facet of him, an aspect of his character.  But I couldn't explain it with words.  The same way I can't prepare my pregnant friends for what's coming.  The same way no one could prepare me.  It transcends whatever language we choose... we don't have the words for it. 

But in that moment, God bent down in our kitchen floor and reached for me.  He pointed to the catastrophe that has been this past week.  The catastrophe, which had catapulted me into the middle of the floor. 

He reminded me, gently, of what it takes to make us grow.  The pivotal moments, the turning points, the inciting incidences, which are required to tell a good story.  To lead us away from the wall, away from the safety, away from the security, to the middle of the floor.  Where the good story is being told. 

And He called to me.  In a voice so familiar.  I am reminded He loves me, and is calling me to Him.