Sunday, March 23, 2008


Today is easter. i feel little, yet i know that His death has given me life. i still feel like i am trying to muster emotions to try and give today more significance. today is something because it is bigger than me. and though i don't feel its depth in this moment, the truth is that i believe that God's Spirit weaves His way into the threads of my being- and in his grace and providence leads me, calls me, and draws me deeper into Himself- into His love. so though i feel little i am okay with that. i remember how i was blind and now i see. that he saw me. he saw the heart i had so hidden, the room where i became so silent, he saw me weeping on the floor of my college dorm room, saw me starring out the rainy window, he saw me when i waved goodbye, he saw me sitting alone in my car in the dark at the beach, he saw me when i said yes, he saw me spill open my heart when i was so afraid, he saw me when i thought no one else could.
and he sees me today-
even if i can't see Him very well.
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Wednesday, March 19, 2008

My son is one.

I love him because...
he is as adventurous as anything
he loves tangerines
he dances to any sort of rhythmic sounds (including his dads singing)
he loves balls
climbing stairs is his idea of a ride at disneyland
he can throw an ugly temper tantrum
he is a human vacuum cleaner, eating anything in sight
he burrows his head into my lap when he is sleepy
he loves veggie tales
he is happiest in the dirt and mud
outside is like a kingdom of the unknown which he must conquer
he loves waking up unexpectedly in the middle of the night for no reason
he is a gift

he is Manoah

happy one year buddy!
thanks for spending it with me.
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Friday, March 14, 2008

my band aid heart.

it was as though i saw my heart... deep, thick, and pulsing. there it was in a messy fleshy sort of way. and on my heart were band aids. they were there holding together the parts of my heart that had been ripped apart. yes- one friendship, one rejection, one loss, one walking away, one no goodbye, and one never had. yes, the parts of my heart that were once filled so beautifully by these loves. attachments so deep into my soul, ripped away and now replaced by band aids. band aids corroded, wet in blood, and hanging on by their last ounce of stickiness. i feel my powerless efforts to force the band aides back into place- i pound and i pound the flailing flaps of the band aids to stay down. the littlest stimulus will puncture my band aid and the blood comes gushing out uncontrollably. i replay the incessant arguments, imagine different scenarios, practice endless dialogues, or defenses that may have worked or might work to change the way things are now. yes- i am desperate to plug up the holes in my heart.

and all the while my heart beats away, even stronger, ever louder.

maybe my band aids aren't working anymore. maybe my wounds are deeper than i like to realize or feel or admit. maybe i hate that i still hurt and hurt and hurt from these lost loves. maybe i am afraid that if my band aids fell off... i might bleed my heart away.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

washed feet.

i sat hunched over on the kitchen counter with my feet dangling in the sink last night while sam baked oatmeal cookies. Warm water running over my feet is one of my greater comforts in life. in the moments when i am most overwhelmed with 'me' you can find me with my feet submerged in a tub of hot water. after a long and difficult week of fighting off the flu my body craved relaxation. as sam and i were chatting i realized a familiar feeling rush over me, guilt. what am i doing? i should be the one baking. after a whole week of sam caring for me and sick manoah, being double duty at work and at home, here i am just sitting here while he is baking (of all things- baking- the stereo typical women's role). instead of experiencing or seeking to understand my guilt, with all of its frightening roots i said this, "thanks for making those cookies, they look so good." here's the funny thing about me...

i said thank you, not because i am truly thankful (bc i am) but even more than that, i said thank you because i didn't want to feel guilty. by saying 'thank you' i free myself from my guilt. i do this all the time. all the time. i feel guilty. guilty when sam gets up with manoah in the morning or the middle of the night, when i don't play with manoah enough or watch tv when he is awake. i feel guilty for letting him cry to sleep or when i go and pick him up. i feel guilty about driving too much and getting my 'list' accomplished with little manoah just strapped into his car seat or a shopping cart, or stroller. i feel guilty when sam comes home and i don't have a clue what to make for dinner. and when we finally decide what to eat he ends up cooking most of it. i feel guilty when he changes diapers or cleans up around the house. and for all these 'guilts' i brush them away by saying "thank you." somehow thinking that if i can say "thank you" first or fast enough then sam won't get upset or angry. my 'thank yous' pardon my guilt. and for a moment i think i am free.

a wise sage once told me that the only thing i am guilty of is not receiving the love of God. and although i still don't understand this fully in my heart, i believe it to be true. if i believed that God loved me i wouldn't live in fear. if i believed sam loved me, just being me, than i wouldn't be afraid of not pleasing him and losing his affection. love is hard to receive. love is a gift and sometimes i just don't believe i deserve it. perhaps if i can earn or deserve love than i can also take credit for it, and so creating in myself an idol of 'me.'

jesus washed the disciples feet. each of them, including Judas. peter couldn't not receive the gift of love. Jesus replied to Peter, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." Jesus continues, "i have set you an example that you should do as i have done for you." unless i receive God's love for me- His entire and deep, abounding, unending love for every weak and glorious thing about me, i am not free of my guilt and the 'shoulds' that haunt me.

jesus washed the dirty feet of his friends. he knelt down on the dirty ground and dipped each foot into a basin of warm water. his hands held each foot, receiving them as they were. he had a towel tied around his waist and dried the remaining water off of their feet. he stood and moved to the next disciple, one after another, after another. he held them in all of filth of who they were, in the most unworthy places of their bodies. he knelt, came low before them and washed their feet. jesus washed their feet... all sinners, and yes- one murderer.
he knelt and washed feet.

a lot to say a little thing... i resist so deeply my feet being washed...really it is my heart pleading politely to sam and to jesus, "don't love me. thank you. and please don't wash my feet."

the truth is i am tired of saying "thank you."