. . . I will be on an airplane heading over the Atlantic to Germany. This last week at home is largely taken up with Vacation Bible School, and strangely enough, it does indeed feel somewhat like a vacation. This morning was a flurry of activity at the church, but actually as the director my main job is problem solver and general overseer, so I did more watching than joining in. (And what a grand bunch of workers are pouring their skills and enthusiasm into the program!) I kept the rest of the calendar mostly clear so I could give VBS whatever time it required, and my afternoon was leisurely: lunch on the deck (in the company of a Dark-Eyed Junco sitting on her three eggs under the shade of the geraniums and ferns in Mom's planter), updating my VBS list for tomorrow, a run in the woods.
In other news, I recently sliced off the corner of my thumb and discovered it isn't as bad as it sounds (or looks). The new thumb silhouette is interesting, at least. Of course, it had to do with VBS (I'm serious, that's really all I'm doing this week). I was using a craft knife and cutting out some foam board hikers, and I know it's not wise to cut towards your hand, but I was doing it anyway, and now I am newly reminded of the reason behind this bit of conventional wisdom.
We are missing the companionship of John around here; even Peter asked me on Sunday, "Uncle John come to church?" Of course John is very helpful (with dogs and dishes, logs and lawns, technology and tying knots), and he's a great contributor to almost any conversation (except TMI or "girl" topics), but what I miss is the jovial companionship and the open understanding between us.
I'm re-learning the lesson about mind input, or a tree and its fruit. If I fill my mind with even good things (and certainly mediocre or poor things) at the expense of taking the time to input the Word of God, I will not be pouring out the fruit of the Spirit or having the mind of Christ. What seed of laziness convinces me to avoid the even the question of what to do with a free moment? I don't even ask the question because I know the answer. If I know the answer, why am I not living by the life-giving truth? Forgiveness asked for and received; moving forward. Jesus: "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me." So, He knows I need washing.
I cried when I played the piano on Sunday. It's not the same as a worship experience where you have the liberty of letting go of all responsibilities and details, but there is a kind of letting go in the midst of giving your gift back to God. Somehow it helps me to realize the greatness of God and my own smallness when I am trusting Him to direct my physical body in a way that will lead His bride in worship. In the natural way of things, playing in front of people during a formal, sacred service would make me nervous. I am forced to a crossroads between trying to do it on my own and exalting myself or offering up all that I have for God to do with as He will and letting His be the reputation that is affected. The sweet place of surrender was found on Sunday.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Let the Rain Kiss You
I'm loving the sound of the late night rain. Sometimes I'm tempted to be tired of the rain, but it really is beautiful and I might as well let it kiss me since it's here! So, I go out running in it, and tomorrow I'm going for a hike with a friend, rain or no, and I throw open my window each night to listen to the drips and songs of a wet night.
I spent this evening with Mary and some other dear Larsons. Mary and I went for a walk on a trail near her house (in the woods, beautiful with spring green and little spring blossoms) and then made dinner at her house together with Sally. While we worked, Sally was composing a grocery list to text to her mother. Mary and Sally competently went through pantry and fridge, thought of what they would need for their upcoming road trip, and sent a list off to their mother. I smiled as I mused on my mother's carefully planned biweekly shopping trips -- she and Aunt Shar are sisters, friends, and keepers of lovely homes, but with very different methods as housewives! We made delicious black bean and chicken soup, which we enjoyed in style with candles, a pitcher of lemon water, and condiments in coordinating serving bowls. Then we played Speed Scrabble, drank Bengal Spice tea, and ate Theo's mint chocolate. We also laughed a lot, and told stories of our days, and shared our plans for the future. Mary is working as a nanny this summer, and I'm about to begin a job working with children too, so we compared notes. Luke arrived home from a sailing trip while we were arranging words with our Scrabble tiles ("hale" and "available" and "jaunty bovine"). We chatted with him while he ate dinner at the bar and unpacked from his trip. Then Uncle Bill and Aunt Shar returned home; they joined the quiet bustle and there was much puttering going on about the house and garage. Us four girls gathered in the bay nook and chatted for a bit; Mary was looking droopy, so we sent her to bed to rest up for her early and busy day of nannying tomorrow. I lingered with Aunt Shar and then said my goodbyes. Luke walked through the rain with me to load Mom's crockpot into my car (Aunt Shar had borrowed it). I like being family with these folks.
Last night I was looking for something in my Box (of old school papers, letters, and much more) and found a letter I had written to Aunt Shar on a page from a tablet of paper she had designed for me.
"Dear Anut Shar," said my seven-year-old self.
"I must say that I like this paper. This is the first time I've used it, I forgot all about it.
I think your a great Anut. What is going on down there? Is it still snowing?
The signs of spring are slolwy coming. Birds, flowers, showers + spring grass.
We will always be friends. Won't we?
Love in Christ, Julie"
Yes, I think we will.
I spent this evening with Mary and some other dear Larsons. Mary and I went for a walk on a trail near her house (in the woods, beautiful with spring green and little spring blossoms) and then made dinner at her house together with Sally. While we worked, Sally was composing a grocery list to text to her mother. Mary and Sally competently went through pantry and fridge, thought of what they would need for their upcoming road trip, and sent a list off to their mother. I smiled as I mused on my mother's carefully planned biweekly shopping trips -- she and Aunt Shar are sisters, friends, and keepers of lovely homes, but with very different methods as housewives! We made delicious black bean and chicken soup, which we enjoyed in style with candles, a pitcher of lemon water, and condiments in coordinating serving bowls. Then we played Speed Scrabble, drank Bengal Spice tea, and ate Theo's mint chocolate. We also laughed a lot, and told stories of our days, and shared our plans for the future. Mary is working as a nanny this summer, and I'm about to begin a job working with children too, so we compared notes. Luke arrived home from a sailing trip while we were arranging words with our Scrabble tiles ("hale" and "available" and "jaunty bovine"). We chatted with him while he ate dinner at the bar and unpacked from his trip. Then Uncle Bill and Aunt Shar returned home; they joined the quiet bustle and there was much puttering going on about the house and garage. Us four girls gathered in the bay nook and chatted for a bit; Mary was looking droopy, so we sent her to bed to rest up for her early and busy day of nannying tomorrow. I lingered with Aunt Shar and then said my goodbyes. Luke walked through the rain with me to load Mom's crockpot into my car (Aunt Shar had borrowed it). I like being family with these folks.
Last night I was looking for something in my Box (of old school papers, letters, and much more) and found a letter I had written to Aunt Shar on a page from a tablet of paper she had designed for me.
"Dear Anut Shar," said my seven-year-old self.
"I must say that I like this paper. This is the first time I've used it, I forgot all about it.
I think your a great Anut. What is going on down there? Is it still snowing?
The signs of spring are slolwy coming. Birds, flowers, showers + spring grass.
We will always be friends. Won't we?
Love in Christ, Julie"
Yes, I think we will.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
One Moment
It's a moment in my life when all my to-do lists keep reproducing with endless details. Not hard things; not too many things to accomplish in the allotted time; just always more responsibilities, decisions, projects, phone calls, e-mails. Some days I am motivated, and able to work towards the goal; today I just wanted to cross everything off the lists and empty my e-mail inbox and take a break, but the truth is that the list is never totally done (which is probably a good thing, indicating that I am still alive).
I'm glad for the things that fill my days -- preparing for five days of fun and planting seeds of truth into all the children at VBS; making gifts and cards for birthdays, graduations, and Father's Day; trips (the latest one to Texas to help my brother and sister-in-law move into their new apartment); playing the piano at church; writing e-mails to friends; tying up loose ends before moving to Germany for seven months; hosting the youth group at our home for the last meeting of the year; providing childcare for a church event for young families; finishing a quilt. But so often I don't enjoy doing them because hoards of other duties are breathing down my neck, making me feel that time is short and the most important thing is Getting Things Done.
When really, the most important thing is Giving God Glory. And that may have very little to do with how many check marks are on my list.
Tonight, after spending the evening with a group of children, I had One Moment of breakthrough. I love the freedom of a child at play, and perhaps their joy colored my outlook. My own Peter was one of the children, and his sweet love for me can't help but lift my spirits. (He came up to me as the evening was coming to an end and referred to a silly joke I started with him months earlier; then when I scooped him up in my arms he said, "No go home, Aunt Jew-ey. Stay here!" When I asked him, "Are you staying here? Aren't you going home?" he just responded with a long, tight hug.) Then on the way home, there was quiet. I was alone in my car and the stereo was off, but the quiet began in my heart. The sky was pink with the glory of the setting sun, and for a moment I thought, "I wish I was on a long road trip so I could enjoy this beauty, this solitude; so I could sink into it and really make the most of it."
But I caught myself. Instead of wishing for something else, for more or different or next, I could enjoy the One Moment I was living in. I could be sad that I was driving east and the sunset was behind me -- or I could be thankful for a rearview mirror-ful of glowing pink. I could wish for the enforced stillness of a long drive -- or I could relish the quiet solitude on the familiar, beautiful route to my home. I could wish everything on my list were crossed off -- or I could do the next thing, the One next thing, with joy.
I'm glad for the things that fill my days -- preparing for five days of fun and planting seeds of truth into all the children at VBS; making gifts and cards for birthdays, graduations, and Father's Day; trips (the latest one to Texas to help my brother and sister-in-law move into their new apartment); playing the piano at church; writing e-mails to friends; tying up loose ends before moving to Germany for seven months; hosting the youth group at our home for the last meeting of the year; providing childcare for a church event for young families; finishing a quilt. But so often I don't enjoy doing them because hoards of other duties are breathing down my neck, making me feel that time is short and the most important thing is Getting Things Done.
When really, the most important thing is Giving God Glory. And that may have very little to do with how many check marks are on my list.
Tonight, after spending the evening with a group of children, I had One Moment of breakthrough. I love the freedom of a child at play, and perhaps their joy colored my outlook. My own Peter was one of the children, and his sweet love for me can't help but lift my spirits. (He came up to me as the evening was coming to an end and referred to a silly joke I started with him months earlier; then when I scooped him up in my arms he said, "No go home, Aunt Jew-ey. Stay here!" When I asked him, "Are you staying here? Aren't you going home?" he just responded with a long, tight hug.) Then on the way home, there was quiet. I was alone in my car and the stereo was off, but the quiet began in my heart. The sky was pink with the glory of the setting sun, and for a moment I thought, "I wish I was on a long road trip so I could enjoy this beauty, this solitude; so I could sink into it and really make the most of it."
But I caught myself. Instead of wishing for something else, for more or different or next, I could enjoy the One Moment I was living in. I could be sad that I was driving east and the sunset was behind me -- or I could be thankful for a rearview mirror-ful of glowing pink. I could wish for the enforced stillness of a long drive -- or I could relish the quiet solitude on the familiar, beautiful route to my home. I could wish everything on my list were crossed off -- or I could do the next thing, the One next thing, with joy.
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