Memoria Arts~ Life in the Making

To see and know...

I never would have thought it would draw to an end like this.

It marks a year, my little scribbling here today. A year since the world turned upside down and right side up and back again.

As I cuddle close Josiah, another baby rests near in my thoughts, cradled in my heart. We said goodbye just as we began to be aware of each other, and it happened so fast.

A year ago, I nearly died.

Three short weeks after that happened, my husband lost his job.

Had you asked me in those intervening days if I had thought we would be here today, I probably would have looked at you askance. I knew in my heart that God was in control, but I remember how dark and scary the way seemed.

Now I look back as I watch this year draw to a close and I see.

Miracles shine like dew drops along the path near the footsteps of the One who carried me through. Grace after grace, mercy after mercy, provision upon provision. In the face of grave uncertainty, every need has been answered and provided for. Every time we thought we were coming to the bottom, our jar was filled again.  I think of all the people along the way too, the ones who loved us, the ones who prayed, the ones who gave of their hearts in our time of need, and continue to bear our burdens with us...I stand amazed.

The blessing journal stands full of stories from this year, too many to count.

...Of health regained

...Of a heart turned towards Home

...Of the miracle of life

In the face of a messy economy and countless other trials, we never went hungry. We never lost our house. We never lost our joy. I watched others I knew lose everything, but we did not. Grace upon grace! I would never have thought that it would be twelve long months of fruitless searches as my husband tried to find a job, that even the gas stations and fast food places and retail stores would close in rapid succession like dominoes. And that he is searching still. I never would have imagined after the horror and loss of last August that I would be holding the most amazing miracle of a baby, counting his fingers and toes and kissing his sweet skin.

And here I stand at the close. What will the next twelve months, fifty two weeks, three hundred and sixty five days, bring?

All I know is this.

My God? He can do anything. He is in control. And I am His. That is all that matters. The rest is grace.

Peace and community...

What a quiet, peaceful Easter this Sunday. I confess in times past I have been so frazzled by preparations and the like that I have not really been able to slow and enter in to what Easter was all about. David woke very early Sunday morning- I think it was 4:30 am...just wide awake and babbling, and managing to rouse the other children from rest. We slipped downstairs and the other kids slipped back into slumber. That half darkness of "o dark thirty" (as my dad used to call it) tipping into sunrise- it was so beautiful and peaceful.

I enjoyed the Easter service at our church. We had what is called "Cardboard Testimonies"- on one side of the cardboard was a reality in their lives, and the back side was what the Lord had done in His mercy and grace. (Click on the link to see another church that did this, to give you an idea of what I experienced.) Different members of our church community shared- most of whom I knew in one way or another. I knew the personal testimonies of a few deeply, and still it brought tears to my eyes to see them witness to God's goodness- and others, it was such an amazing thing to see revealed how truly God had transformed lives- things you would never have imagined. By the time it was done, there were few dry eyes left in the house, I can tell you. I couldn't help but think of the wider community of believers as I watched this- stretching across both home and abroad, from tip of hemisphere to tip of hemisphere. I thought of stories I knew through blogging- stories of loss, reconciliation, restoration, triumph, brokenness, healing...what a testimony to God's amazing mercy and grace resides in the Body! Why do we not tell these stories more often, why do we not share the glory of God's movement in our lives every chance we get? I thought of my own story of this year- from loss and death of a child, from sickness into health, to the miracle of the heart beating beneath my own. Truly, we serve an amazing and gracious God. I feel so blessed to be a part of the global body of Christ. I know when I am falling, hands will reach out in prayer and fellowship to carry me, just I have reached out to them in their times of need. I was so profoundly reminded that we serve a Living, risen God, who lives and moves and breathes through His Spirit within believer's hearts. He is not dead, He is not deaf, He is not mute. He lives, He hears, He speaks. Praise be to the Gracious and Holy God!

Love is a work in progress...

Friday came and went on this one. I started it earlier in the week, but then couldn't get back to it until the weekend. In the olden days, I would have grown discouraged and not finished, but I am really committed to trying to complete one of these each week. I am beginning to make space for this little adventure, even if it means that I'll have to stay up later taking care of the laundry or what have you- it's a sacrfice I want to make. I've been working through The Creative Call by Janice Elsheimer, and I am slowly growing used to the idea that these little attempts are a form of worship. (See link in side bar for more info on this book). I think I have often separated "art" from "life" and certainly "art" from the "spiritual journey", a sort of divided kind of thinking that I have talked about before. I think this is a disservice. I think of friends whose talents are varied and numerous: one paints with words, another with pictures, still another by painting, and so often, these are extensions not only of themselves but also a reflection of the Creator that made them. I am beginning to believe that art is not just for "art's sake" but as a way to consider the journey. The ATC this week is clearly influenced by what has been going on in my journey with Christ, but also with others within my community, and when I started this one, I knew exactly where the end result would lie. The background, which is metallic watercolors using a Heidi Swapp damask mask, is directly related to the background of the slides used in worship at church for the last six months. You can see an example here. The verse, which was both hand written and stamped, was from 1 John, which our church has been studying since September. I chose The Message version because I was so caught by "love has the run of the house" phrase...this is truly my prayer, that love would have the run of the house, both within myself and within my home, my life. As I worked on this card as I had a little snippets of time here and there, I was struck by the process. Each layer of the background had to dry before the next layer could be applied- first gold, then the mask with a custom mixed purple, then the ruby over top of it all, the careful lettering. So often I try to rush love, to push things through, to rush sanctification. But it is above all, a process, careful, considerate steps on a narrow way. I don't think I'll be able to look at this card and not think of it...this has to be one of my favorite cards so far.

Products: Lowes Cornell Watercolors (metallic ruby, metallic gold, red, blue), Heidi Swapp Damask mask, Ranger Industries Andrionack Paint Dabber (Lemonade), Elmer's Paint Pen (white), Basic Grey Rubons (bird), Pens: Sharpie (Berry), Creative Memories (Brown), ATC: Strathmore.

Catching the light...

Every once in a blue moon, Rebekah and I get a chance to slip away for a few hours for some "just us" time. It almost always involves a new restaurant to try, good food, and a hot drink or two (coffee for me and tea or hot chocolate for her). The hours slip away as we talk about everything under the sun. Eventually, the phones start ringing, as husbands caring for kids begin to wonder if we'll ever surface. Poor guys.
    It's pretty much guaranteed that, at some point, we'll talk about blogging. You see, we met through blogging. Rebekah and I both read Elise's blog, A Path Made Straight. One thing led to another as we realized we lived in the same state. Emails begin to fly. We met in person a few times, and it quickly blossomed into a true blue friendship. We've carried each other through a tough year. (By the way, she is a killer cook. Seriously. You almost want to get sick just so she'll spoil you. Almost.)
    This last Saturday, we got to slip away. It was the rainiest, yuckiest day outside, and we were tucked into a booth, warm and cozy. We talked of our kids (we both have four), of our husbands, of the Christmas just past, of family relationships. Sometimes it's hard to trace the map of our conversations- we cover so much ground. I had paused to take a sip of my drink. She had been looking out the window, contemplative. She turned back to look at me. "You know, I think that's why I blog. That's why I call it Beautiful Days. Because I have to make this conscious choice to turn away from the old patterns, to find the beautiful. Like Ann says [The Ann she is referring to is Ann Voskamp, Holy Experience]. To purpose to see it. To know that God is moving. Because it is so easy...so easy...to descend to this place that is dark, that bears no joy." I paused again, drinking her words in.
    Even now, four days later, her words still pass through my consciousness. (It has been on her mind too- she posted almost the exact conversation here. Pure poetry.) Back in September, we all had been talking about why we blog: LL had been wondering, Ann had been mindful of fruitless blogging, and I had been considering the journey. There is definitely a dichotomy, particularly for Christian bloggers. Is what we're doing edifying, encouraging, and uplifiting to the body of Christ? Where's the line between showing everyday life and flaunting it, porn style, as Ann so aptly put it? Are we being honest or are we trying to gloss things over so that we appear perfect? Is the community real, or just imagined? (I argue that it is definitely real. I know it to be true- how much I have been blessed by bloggers who have emailed me, commented here, supported me, encouraged me...prayed for me!) 
    Rebekah's statements are such a valuable contribution to the conversation on blogging, big and small. It's been dwelling with me, making me think, reminding me to catch the light.

Listening and liturgy...

I was asked to speak to a small number of people this morning. People whom I deeply respected, people whom have had a profound affect on my life these last six months. I felt very, very, inadequate, and very, very nervous. You see, the question they were wrestling with was: "Does God care? How do we, as Christians, as believers, make sense of the realities that happen to us and around us?" How many, many, many times, have I found myself asking that question these last months? "God? Why?" I have struggled mightily with the inky darkness, and some days, it feels like the darkness will overcome. Grief and sorrow are so unusual in their expressions- so different for each person, but yet so universal in experience. Any mama who has lost a child knows the profound loss another mama is experiencing, but how the loss effects each mama can be strikingly different. And sorrow moves about like a shadow, catching you unawares at the most normal of times. I could hear a baby crying a thousand times and it not affect- but then one day in the middle of an errand filled busy day, a newborn crying in a grocery store will be like knives through my heart, taking my breath away and causing the tears to fall. Sometimes, you just don't know when its going to hit- I tend to think it never quite goes away.
    I could only tell these people what I knew, what I had experienced. In a lot of ways, it was hard to quantify. How to explain the black nights that were so deeply dark that they were almost navy blue? How to explain how many times I have doubted? How many times I have struggled with both anger and inadequacy? How many times I just wanted to say, "God, this hurts so very much, and why can't You make it better? " As if to question His wisdom, His competency. Oh, how I've wrestled with it, so much. I didn't spend much time talking about this wrestling match during my few minutes. I just couldn't look in the face of these people and say that. Funny how God works...but I'll get to that in a moment.
    What I did share was a condensed version of what I've said here on the blog. And how I've had to make this conscious choice to get out of bed each day and cling to the Light and turn back the darkness. Because, it would be so easy, so easy, to just slip off the edge, into the abyss. But I cannot. God has shown Himself so clearly in the pain that I cannot mistake Him. It's like seeing a silhouette.  I can't see Him in His Glory, but I see around the edges, where the Light peeks through, and it's those glimmers of light that I cling to.  Yes, nothing is certain right now. James is entering the third month of no job and seemingly no prospects, the pain of loss is still with me, and the normal every day realities of being a momma to four accident prone kids who test my patience on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. Sometimes, none of it makes sense! But yet, in all of that, God is faithful. Each month, the money stretches, and God provides in the most unique of ways. I have been given companions for the journey- women who've faced the same loss as I have in nearly the same week, and I feel so much less alone knowing they are walking similar paths. Each provision, grace from a loving God who knows the hairs upon my head, who provides for my every need. I can honestly say that I would not have been able to see His provision had He not stripped everything away. If I hadn't nearly lost my life. I would not have had the eyes to see. I feel some days as if I am living on borrowed time. I hope I never lose that feeling, because it keeps my heart and focus in the right place. Knowing that you should have, by all rights, died- gives you this totally different view of things. Each day is a gift. Each day with my children, no matter how frustrating and bad, is a day given straight from the Father's hand, and therefore a treasure. It's true of our normal lives, yes, but oh how we forget! How often do we forget that this is just a journey towards Home, each day a step? How often do I forget, and I have not been long from my brief sojourn towards the undiscovered country?
    I can't wait to be able to link you to the product of this meeting- the worship service and sermon that come out of it- because just the beginning planning stages spoke so deeply into my heart and I hope  that the finished product will speak powerfully into the hearts of other believers. My English and my grammar fail me, honestly...it is so weird, in a good way, to watch and hear the Spirit move. To see how It informs and guides and directs, forms prayers, words, thoughts and places it on the mouths of those willing to listen. I mean, how could these people know some of the struggles I've had? How could they have known some of the questions that have stopped me cold in the middle of the night? And they were sitting there, talking out the format of the service, what needed to be focused on, what they wanted to extend to the Body, and I swear, I felt like I was an audience of one. I don't think they realized how much they were ministering to me- they were just brainstorming. But, whoa. It was again, one of those Light peeking around the edges moments, where I could feel God's hand resting on my shoulder, and showing how much He cared. How He cared that I had been struggling, doubting, grieving, and was using these people to be His hands and feet. Using them to bind up the broken places-they were probably totally unawares of it, too. I wish I had written more of it down...just light bulb after light bulb went off in my head, all the scriptures they listed and spoke of.
    One of the things that just resonated with me was something that the teaching pastor said: If remembering was easy, if the struggle wasn't a struggle, then we wouldn't need communion. We wouldn't need the ordinances to remind us of His sacrifice, we wouldn't need to pray. It would be that easy. But it's not, and that's why God gave us the liturgy of communion, why He taught us to pray. Because it's the process of doing these things that calls us to remember. The hard stops. It's these things that allow us perspective that we would not otherwise have. It just sort of socked me in the gut, and reminded me to stop trying to move on my own power, and start listening.

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Related: (The story of the loss, surgery, and recovery)
Searching for words...
Waiting
The Lord gives, and the Lord takes...
Resting...
Starting for the High Places...
Hello Fall...
Life...

Emptiness...
A farewell...
The Search for Authenticity
The Gift of Sight
Windows wide open
Stories from the edge
Clarity, Freedom, and A Confession
In the moment
Doodlebugs
A Radiant Hope
Breathe
The Definition of Joy

Breathe...

The first snow has fallen, quiet upon the mountain. It always surprises me when winter falls. Fall is so bustling with activity and newness, work and routines, gathering in, often in the rush to finish before the frosts of winter. Suddenly, it falls, always unexpected and almost like a thief. Things stop, frozen in place. The turning colors of the leaves, encased in ice, paused.

It's a hard stop. A deep breath. And an acknowledgment that the seasons are turning in their endless cycle since the beginning of time. This time, the snow fell when I, too, stood paused. I was on a retreat. A quiet respite from the loud bustle of my kid filled days. Tuned in to nature, to His wonders. To the simple delights of a crackling fire in a wood stove, a good book. Good company, friends to knit with, friends to encourage. Friends to sharpen me in my walk as believer, wife, mother, friend. It's the peace of these times, the peace of the freshly fallen snow, that I carry with me into the difficult moments. It is so important to refuel, refresh, renew.

It's been difficult lately. Just so much of normal life, and then other things besides. Dealing with the grief and loss I have experienced this year, the things that have occured. And standing on the mountain, watching the snow fall, I felt like I was letting it go. I would not have changed for one minute what has happened this year because it has refined me and made me stronger. I cannot help but hope. And breathe.

Stories from the edge...

The dark night of the soul...
swirling and tumbling...
hard edged realities that cut and maim...

Oh yes.

I know the edge well.

I've dwelt on the very tip of it for months...
fingers holding barely to the crumbling rock.

And still, I must hold to the absurd notion that there is very much a Creator. Very much a God. Who loves me, who has ordained that I must walk this dark path for a ways.

I see. I see Him everywhere. Even if there is a storm raging, He is always there.

I will trust.

"I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else."
C. S. Lewis Is Theology Poetry?

Windows wide open...

"Yes, spiritual practices are ways of exercising intention regarding the kinds of people we are becoming at every turn. Yes, they are ways of habitually waking up and discovering Life. But the capitalization of Life points beyond life itself: spiritual practices are also and truly about the Spirit. They are about somehow driving with our windows wide open to God, keeping our elbows in the wind and our hands surfing besides the side mirror. They're about tuning our radios to the frequency of the Holy, turning up the volume, and then daring to sing along. They are about staying alert so that our eyes see the glory of the coming of the Lord, and our ears hear the Word, and our skin feels the warm touch and gentle pressure of the Presence."
- Brian McLaren, Finding Our Way Again

I am taking the rest of this week to take some time off and 'turning up the volume' so to speak. I've been doing and going constantly since the loss of our child and subsequent surgery, and I feel the need to be quiet and rest from all things technological. I should be back next Monday. Please be sure to check back then, as there are some great things coming! The last installment of the "authenticity" Word study will be up tommorrow night. Please feel free to comment...here or there. Thanks to each and every one of you for your friendship. I can't wait to "see" you all again soon!

Hello Fall...

It was with some shock that I discovered that today was September 1st! (Oh I know...but I am seriously doing well to remember what day of the week it is, let alone the date!) Nine days till my birthday. Whoosh...there went summer. Did you hear it fly by?

As you all can imagine, this summer has been just a wee bit jumbled. Disconnected. If we had a rhythm, it probably resembled cacophony! This is hard for our large family, and our children. They thrive when they know what is coming next, and flounder when things are unexpected (Isaiah especially). This summer has been a trial for my family in that regard. My mama's heart has been puzzling it over with many prayers as we move in to the fall. Quite simply, things still aren't "normal" (even by our kooky definitions) due to my surgery. I cannot lift my children or carry them about. I have a hard time bending and moving (which is getting better daily) in all the functional ways that us mamas must move. I get tired easily. I can't manage and care for my household in the ways I am used to, and my children miss their mama's involvement in their life. I realize that this is a season. But I also know that my children really need some rhythm and 'sameness' to their days. Needless to say, my Father and I have been talking about it a lot.

I kept feeling like I just couldn't find the center from which to start. In an almost audible way, I heard God say: "I am the beat. Listen to my heart. Follow My ways, and the rhythm comes naturally." I have been focusing on my weaknesses, the things I couldn't do. But all my Lord asks of me is to walk with Him. To walk with the companions he has has chosen for me at this stage, to trust His heartbeat of love and care. I need to rest in gratitude, instead of fear. Loveliness, instead of shame at my weaknesses. In trust, instead of pride that I can do everything on my own.  This is the lesson I have been learning this last week. Isn't the quote from Hinds Feet so poignant?

It was with some delight as I read through my blogs this morning, to find this entry by Ann at Holy Experience, and a companion one by Tonia at Study in Brown. Ann's post, in particular, just seemed to go right to my heart, as if God had inspired her to write straight to me. It gave me such a peace. Such a gentle, loving reminder of what God had been teaching me. I will praise Him, because He directs my path. I will rejoice in the every day, because He has chosen it for me.

Starting for the High Places...

    When the last note had faded into silence, His voice said very softly, "Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee" (Cant. 4:7). Then he added, "Fear not, Much-Afraid, only believe. I promise you shall not be put to shame. Go with Sorrow and Suffering, and if you cannot welcome them now, when you come to the difficult places where you cannot manage alone, put your hands in theirs confidently and they will take you exactly where I want you to go."
    Much-Afraid stood quite still, looking up into His face, which now had such a happy, exultant look, the look of one who above all things else delights in saving and delivering. In her heart the words of a hymn, written by another of the Shepherd's followers, began to run through her mind and she started to sing softly and sweetly:

Let Sorrow do its work, send grief or pain;
Sweet are thy messengers, sweet their refrain.
If they but work in me, more love, O Christ, to thee,
More love to thee, more love to thee.

    "Others have gone this way before me," she thought, "and they could even sing about it afterwards. Will He who is so strong and gentle be less faithful and gracious to me, weak and cowardly though I am, when it is so obvious that the thing He delights in  most of all is to deliver His followers from all their fears and to take them to the High Places?" With this came the thought that the sooner she went with these new guides, the sooner she would reach those glorious High Places.

- Hind's Feet On High Places, by Hannah Hunnard