A Need for a Father

“He thinks I’m lost. Yup, He has lost me.” The quiet words come from the far back seat, through the praise music, through my two overly loud children in the middle seat and instantly hushes everything,  everything and five obnoxiously loud people are silenced at once by a mere whisper.  All of a sudden our chatter is of no real importance. I turn down the music and ask, “Buddy, would you mind saying that again so that I can make sure I heard you correctly??”  He says “He thinks I’m lost you know. He used to know how to find me, but now he has lost me.  Do you think one day he will find me again?”

I looked through the rear view mirror and see this little boy asking man sized questions. He’s searching for honesty and truth and don’t even think about selling him short, he can recognize straight up, in your face truth,  when you have witnessed and participated in too much of the opposite, it comes as easy as brushing your teeth or tying your shoes. I knew, I knew “who” and “what” he was referencing too. I knew “why” and “how” he was asking these questions.  He had a need- A carved out, chopped up- smashed and over regurgitated need for a father.
“Oh, mom he’s hungry and his teeth are yucky and he’s wearing a girl’s backpack mom! He must be very poor! Help him Mom, buy him food!” Without glancing at the gentleman on the street corner I knew exactly “who” she was referring to. I had been watching and praying for this elderly man out on the cold corner of pavement. The other day, I watched him walk and prop his weary, tired, dirty body behind a restaurant wall. Maybe to get away from the “cut right through you wind” or to just rest for a moment without the presence of curious, judging eyes.  Look close enough, have you really looked at him? Did you see it, the need? The carved out, chopped up, smashed and over regurgitated need for a Father?

Hear those grumbles? That was me waiting in the checkout line. The loud lady behind me making any and all attempt to talk to me. Couldn’t a childless mother at the grocery store have a moment’s peace? Is it too much to ask that I not have to participate in conversations that I deem silly and useless? And as she flips the page of a magazine, she begins to talk about the price of groceries, and clothes and that she’s raising three grandchildren because her daughters hooked on meth and hasn’t really ever been much of a mother and she really doesn’t even know where she is right now anyway, but thank God the state helps or she wouldn’t know how they would make it. It took me way longer than it should have…but I got it. I saw it. The need- She was a carved out, chopped up, smashed and over regurgitated mess in need of a Father.

One more, a teen age friend came over to hang out with my son. His eyes caught mine as soon as he shook my hand. As he was leaving, he came in to the dining room where I was sitting working on a project and stood and talked with me. We talked about little things that worked up to big things, like making decisions to let another couple raise your little tiny newly born girl because you knew that was the right thing to do, but the hurt haunts him. He had a need, he needed peace and grace. He was a carved up, chopped up, smashed and over regurgitated mess with a need for a loving Father.
Have you found yourself in a place that you wonder if you’re lost to Him, if He doesn’t even know where you are? Or you’re so weathered by life that you just walked away and you find yourself in a desperate, unimaginable spot, holding a sign for everyone to see? What does the sign your holding say? Has life’s expectations been so hard, so fast, so vast that you don’t know if you can do it, let alone do it right? Have you placed babies, dreams and hopes down and walked away because you  just don’t know what to do with the gaping hole in your heart? Do you feel carved up, chopped up, smashed and over regurgitated?

Be Jesus-hug the little boy, listen to the worried lady in the checkout line, stop and chat with the man on a corner-bring him a burger, put the Word of God in the hand of the young man so he can find answers on how to walk through hurt. You have a need, I have a need. We all have a need…. for a Father. 

“I need Thee; Every hour I need Thee; Oh, bless me now, my Savior! I come to Thee.  I need Thee every hour”

He's in the business of repairing puppets...

Sometimes I feel like my reckless soul takes me down a path where my strings are tangled, crossed and knotted. I, my sins, created my own restraints. I'm a fugitive -and then He saves me. I think it goes something like this:


Step one: Determine the length of each broken puppet string. If you have the original packaging, it will probably tell you, but if not, you will need to measure with a ruler. Examine the puppet strings to determine the type of material used. Marionette strings can be composed of any number of materials: strong thread, fishing line or even specialized puppet strings. Again, if you have the original packaging, it should be able to tell you about the materials in detail. Otherwise, you will need to guesstimate.

Pretty accurate-painful, truth is sometimes it’s easier just to stay a jumbled mess. But, if you look at our original packaging the illustration shows me to be something very different than I am at this moment. So, I look at all my mess, and evaluate each disaster, each sin. Measure with a ruler..ouch. What I am made of? Oh…at this point Lord are you having to guesstimate?

Step Two: Check to see how the strings are attached to the puppet and to the wooden cross which manipulates it. Note exactly how and where they are attached, and note any knots which hold them in place. Untie the puppet strings you need to repair from the wooden cross.

I may be a jumbled mess—but this I know my stings are attached to that wooden cross. Thank you Lord for that Old Wooden cross-thank you for Loving this Marionette puppet, thank you for your gentle hands and great patience. I may appear to be small and insignificant to some, but when You take hold of the wooden cross, I am capable of taking steps and moving around-to give you glory.

Step Three: Purchase replacement strings of the material and color that match the damaged strings. Measure and cut the length of the replacement strings to match the damaged strings. Re-string the new strings, starting with the puppet itself and then connecting the strings to the wooden cross. Endeavor to tie the knots, connect the bolts or sew the seal as much like the original configuration as possible

He purchased me. He restrung me. He measured and cut and repaired. I am restored to the original configuration.

TIPS and WARNINGS:
A wooden stand for your marionette can prevent the strings from tangling and save you the need to repair them again in the future.

But mine packaging states: My savior died on a wooden cross-to save this Marionette He knew how tangled and messy I would be-but He still saved me. .


Read more: http://www.ehow.com/how_2246591_repair-puppet-strings.html#ixzz2ZAQvGB3C

And after the fire came a gentle whisper

Words-I think about how I prefer to be spoken too, how I prefer to speak to my own children and I know that this is how God prefers to communicate with me. Not the booming, thunderous voice but a quiet whisper. In order to hear Him communicating I have to make sure that in the midst of life-this chaotic crazy life that I am still enough to hear Him.

He whispers “I love you”, He whispers encouragements in my ear, He whispers the very plans He drew up for me before He breathed life into me, through small beautiful whispers. He asks me to serve in small gentle whispers. Sometimes in the middle of the earthquakes and the fires around me I don’t stop long enough to hear the small steady whisper. He is the whisper.

¹¹ The Lord said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by. “Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. ¹² After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. ¹³ When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” 1 Kings 19:11-13

I have ignored those small whispers, focusing on wind, trembling’s and fire. Inevitably greater action is needed to get through this opinionated, strong headed girl and the quiet whisper is replace with a jolting slap across the back of my head or a good kick in the pants reminding me that just because I’m not listening doesn’t make Him any less my God. God’s got a great big hand and wants to make a great big point-

It’s a great big world out there-with great big hurts and humongous needs.  If we are not listening to the small quiet promptings-than who is? Whose is helping? Who is serving? Who is wiping tears? Who is introducing other’s to His whispers?

Who am I, who am I?? That I am allowed to choose who is worthy of my time? Who is worthy of my judgment and criticism? That I am aloud to rack and stack people? Who am I to think that I could possibly understand the man holding the sign at the intersection asking for help? Who am I to judge the mother next door because her children spoke “words” forbidden to my children?  Who am I to judge the single mother of multiple children or the woman who chooses to walk away from everyone who needed her?? Who am I, if I am not heeding to the still small whisper-asking me to be His hands, His feet and His voice?

It’s not always death that claims a father. Sometimes it’s as easy as a choice.

It's personal and it's uncomfortable, but it didn’t used to be.  It’s that one day, once a year, the day we all recognize the man in our lives for working hard, for loving us, for building forts under dining room tables, visits to Yellowstone Park, riding space mountain at Disney Land over and over and over because everyone else was still too scared, sitting on massive pieces of drift wood on the beaches of California smiling as he took pictures before we climbed back into our Brady bunch station wagon to continue our cross country journey. These memories are as real as real can be.  Handing me the keys to company cars as my mother glared on, slipping cash into my pocket, quietly opening the door at night to my bedroom and I would hear “You ok Trace? Something told me to check”. Using his architect skills to help me free sketch George Washington (because he was just that good) on a report cover and having that report make it to the middle of the bulletin board. That report lives on in a box…funny, what survived and what didn’t.

The person, who initiated the beat of my heart, also had the power to stop it. I unknowingly opened my heart and let him in, and someday, maybe, I might get over him.

Until then I deal with my memories as best I can. I deal with memories like the Thanksgiving day when we all made beards and tall hats and sat out on the corner of our house and waved at cars..because he was just funny like that. In my eyes there wasn’t much he couldn’t do. That he couldn’t fix. Words didn’t come easy, but I knew that I was loved. It was understood. That day, the day we celebrate the "him" in our lives seems long ago and  was celebrated to the moon and back. We thought he hung the moon. He had no completion. Favorite foods were baked, favorite candies bought, cards labored over for just the “right” words.

We are so far away from those memories and even that man. There are so many times I would like to tell him hello, or hear him quietly say my name telling me you did good…really good as his eyes shown. He always let me get by…

It’s not always death that claims a father. Sometimes it’s as easy as a choice. Sometimes the

repercussions of that choice flow so fast, so hard and the current so strong that there is no going back or finding the relationship you once had because that person doesn't want to be found. Plain and simple.  I know he loved me, a long time ago and even now but the silence that replaced him, that replaced me, that replaced us..is deafening.

 So glad, so so very glad that my Heavenly father will never choose to walk away.  Aren’t you?

Love your people-tell them. Don’t settle for a text or voice message. Hug them. Love them.

 

 

 

 

 

Mental Snapshots

One of “those” moments, the kind that kick you back to an earlier time and place or maybe it’s a new snapshot, so it’s a twinkling moment when you know right then and there you are going to be jolted back to this place, this moment over and over again to relish, to remember everything…it’s a mental photograph and every sense, every sentiment, every fragment of you halts for a moment.  It’s like you rise above the moment and drink it all in.

We were talking about some trivial thing, of no meaning. He was standing in front of me and I was propped up on the door frame. He was just about to head out the door that I had just entered through a few minutes earlier after a long day. Habitually in our passing the “crazy fog” hasn’t had time to settle yet, so we quickly give our standard greeting of “have a good night-see you in the morning” and a peck on the cheek and head our separate ways.

But…for a flash of a moment, I saw him. He stood against the wall and I saw him. Snap. He was so handsome (and he was in his work clothes). Snap. His facial features etched in my mind, his smile, his love for me all evident in the mental picture. Snap. I knew I loved him then just a little bit more. An image added to the photo bank for me to draw from….Snap. I knew right then and right there..I would remember this moment. Snap.

One more shot? I told him he could go sit on the front porch; while I was finishing dinner. Somehow he and a new flower pot I had sitting on the front porch become really good friends. I called him for dinner, and he kinda slinked in the front door, eyes averting mine. He was covered in mud from head to toe. One little flower pot and one little boy collided and well…SNAP. His eyes saw mine and immediately registered it may not have been the greatest choice, my eyes met his and knew it was a snap shot I would not soon forget, that I would enjoying pulling from the “cob webbed” corners of my aging memory. Snap. It was a small gift he unknowing gave me that would later bring joy. Snap.

Some people are just plain easy to photograph..aren’t they? My girl- definitely falls into this category. Her creativity, her innocence, her love of nature and animals ensures numerous mental snap shots. “Mom, it’s called a tiny toe plant, can I have it??” She asks as were standing in Lowes. Snap. “Mom, do you know that a giraffe is as heavy as a truck?” SNAP. “Mom, why did they have to call that new show “Cat’s from hell”? I love cats and I hate hell!” She asks me standing in her crazy colored knee high socks and soccer shorts on with her hands on her hips, the frown lines temporarily replacing her magnificent smile. Snap.

There are too many days; I think in a huff…would this day end? Would this year end already? I’m just tired! I have no time for these messes, this silliness! These things weren’t in my agenda for the day! Would they just grow up! Could my spouse just stop doing whatever he’s doing at the moment I’ve decided is wrong, or just stop getting on my nerves!! But then I would miss it wouldn’t I? I would miss those tiny moments of joy, of loveliness that the people around me, gift me with-the snap shots. SNAP.

 

Can't whistle? I know someone who can..

Darkness, dampness, the smell of earthen mildew, you find yourself at the bottom, the very bottom of the pit and you can’t believe you let yourself fall down, way down into this place, again.  Been there?  Feel like you fallen or a better word would be crashed and burned and you can’t rise up. No soaring with the eagles, your wings aren’t mature enough. On the outside your nothing but a big ball of fuzzy fur, crying out loud your skin is so transparent that everything thing, every choice is revealed to all. Some days you do well just to hop around.  But then, right when you felt you were going to meet your demise-He scooped you up.

 Amazing, isn’t He? More than amazing-He is spectacular. We had just walked into the yard to look at a new small tree that had just popped up in our yard. Yes, seriously!! That’s another story all on its own, but I heard “Oh, Oh, look what I found!” I turned around to face my animal loving offspring and to my delight and dismay in the palm of her hand was a baby bird. It was precious, so was the glowing face holding it close to her already certain that this bird would be her new best friend, hand fed and raised by hers truly, you know a cross between the movie “Fly Away Home” and Disney’s “Rio”. Somewhere in between her oo’s and ah’s I looked up to see the prettiest red cardinal shouting at us above from a power line. I could hear him now, “Humans! Put my baby down now! The baby belongs to me-go away. I’m warning you place the bird on the grass and walk away!”

Wow, it’s a cardinal, Ally. This baby that is so ugly it’s cute-- is a cardinal.  And then she appeared, the mother. She didn’t make the grand entrance that her mate did, nor was she painted in her mate’s flaming color but still she was breathtaking. She was so magnificent to me-my heart went out to her immediately…her little one was out from under her covering. Her little one had fallen from the place of protection to a place of certain demise. She hovered around us squeaking and twittering, or more like pleading and beseeching. Insisting that we release her beloved little precious miracle, my mother’s heart connected immediately. My eyes told her how sorry I was.

 Too late..that’s what we thought. After research and contacting a close “animal nature” friend we realized there wasn’t a lot of hope. It was recommended that we place the baby in an empty nest (another one of Ally’s recent nature finds) and place it back in the tree.

 

 

We did. What happened next was just so God, before we could place the baby in the branches, he started chirping. It was beyond cute because up until that time we hadn’t heard a peep. The mother sang back as she flew in circular motion around her baby. She rested on a nearby branch and continued a beautiful melody. It was a song of reassurance that even when you fall, and hit the ground faster than you can see it coming. I will be there and when you rise up, I’m going to be there singing out a whistle that only you and I understand because that’s just who I am. God.

Are you marching, are you singing? Let me hear you! Shout it loud!

As I get older many of my childhood memories seem to be fading out…but one of the few that seem to stay brightly lit-kinda like a Facebook highlight but instead it’s a life marker status. Its summer, we lived in Sicklerville, NJ, I was all of 8 or 9, pick tales in my hair and I can vividly remember marching down the road with my mom and my siblings in a single file row to the small convenient store to get an ice cream, cold root bear in a frosty glass bottle or perhaps my favorite pack of gum. Back then treats were a really big deal! We sang this tune as we marched along, "The ants go marching one by one, hoorah, hoorah! The ants go marching one by one, hoorah, hoorah! The ants go marching one by one the little one stopped to tie his shoe" (or suck is thumb, climb a tree, shut the door, pick up a dime, pray to heaven, or shut the gate..you get the idea!). We sang our hearts out, marching down the road in single file form. It was fun-we were on a mission!

The memory makes me nostalgic, it makes me smile. It also reminds me, my march and song are certainly not over-I march on and I certainly hum a different tune these days. I think it’s more like this:

"Oh when the saints go marchin´in, Lord I want to be in that number, when the saints go marchin´in."

  

At the end of the day, when my marching orders are over…there’s a prize –waiting for me, for us. This prize isn’t some small trinket or object that will soon be forgotten-listen to the next part of my song,

"All my folks have gone before me, All my friends and all my kin; But I'll meet with them up yonder, When the saint go marchin´in. Oh when the saint go marchin´in, I will meet them all up in heaven, When the saint go marchin´in. "

I feel my steps becoming more urgent, hear that battle cry? I press on and march toward the prize. Let me not stay so focused on my steps, my song, my hum that I forget to increase the troops, the force-to multiply the sounds of stomping feet-and humming battle cries. This is what we sing:

"Come and join me in my journey, 'cause it's time that we begin; And we'll be there for that judgment, When the saint go marchin´in. Oh when the saint go marchin´in, We will be in line for that judgment, When the saint go marchin´in."

  

Are you marching, are you singing? Let me hear you! Shout it loud! All you weary, all you worn-push on, look up, the day is drawing close! Those mighty marching steps are going to hear the trumpet sound and we will know that our march was not in vain-we pressed on, we fought hard-towards the prize!

"And when they crown him King of Kings, Then Lord let me be in that number When they crown him King of Kings, And when they gather round the throne :| Then Lord let me be in that number ,When they gather round the throne"

"And on that hallelujah day, Then Lord let me be in that number , On that hallelujah day And while the happy ages roll, Then Lord let me be in that number, While the happy ages roll"

 

It’s enough and it’s all you need

It’s one of those nights, the sleepless kind. It seems that anxiety is the cruel cousin of the sand man. I find myself once again climbing over the ropes and standing inside the ring-mentally that is. Tonight when the bell goes off and signals that the fight has begun, I will face my opponent. Me. It’s me in the middle of the boxing ring; standing there going round and round with myself-there is no other challenger …I am alone.   Boxing is a complex sport with a simple premise: Beat the other man up and either hit him more effectively to win on a point system, or hit him so hard or so much that he can't continue to fight. I didn't know decided what my strategy was yet.

I look around the vicinity of the ring, and around the outskirts I can make out vague faces before me-cheering me on, but oddly enough..they resemble me too-my face multiplied, staring back at me- I was staring down myself. Those void forms were crying out words repeatedly I cannot hear or chose not to. I stop to pull on my gloves and glanced at them, they are faded and worn; rightfully so as they were pretty familiar with this routine-the late night scuffles with me, myself and I. Breathe in, breathe out, shoulder’s up and focus…Ready for the first untruth? Here it comes…”Ding. Ding”

BOOMMMMMM---right in the jaw-You are not a good mother…my thought hisses at me. My natural instinct is to cower and retire to the corner of the ring, but the voices do not relent..You could be so much better of a mom…I double over and tremble. If only you had more time, if only you had different talents and attributes..if only, you just weren’t …well…you. A good mother has more patience, a good mother doesn’t fail, you will never measure up comes from one of the unknown faces in the crowd, their voice is eerily mine. At this point, it’s as if my ciphering system has holes in it and I am unable to determine what truth is and what inner fears I have allowed to surface-Round one-a total loss. 

WHAMMM!! You’re not a good wife, co-worker, sister or daughter. If only they knew who you really were. Did they know that sometimes you have to muster every ounce of courage and strength to push on? Would they rally behind you if they knew about the tears that fell from inadequacies? If only they could witness this battle of the inner self they would surely stand in the opposing corner. My pulse quickens, my heart races..I look on as the hand of fear was raised victorious as the winner in rounds two, three and four. Blood trickled from my face, my nose..and unseen by any others my heart. 

Right before that split moment, that defining moment when I almost decide to lay down in defeat. To be no more..to cease all, end all. My coach shows up-My trainer, my lifeline. 

He leans down, his eyes filled with compassion and wipes away the blood from my face and quietly whispers (keep in mind I paraphrased):

I am your refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. (Psalms 46:1 KJV)

I will cover you with my feathers, and under my wings shalt thou trust: my truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Tracy, do not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. (Psalms 91:4-6 KJV)

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. (Isaiah 43:2 KJV)

Are you battling yourself? Do you find yourself in the arena..staring back at yourself? Are you afraid, of life, of hurt, of choices and consequences and things that are so far out of your reach to change, that it’s a mental tailspin of no return for you? Find comfort. Find hope-find Jesus. He promised to be our refuge and strength. I love this part, He said that He will cover us with HIS feathers-find comfort in that, my friend. Comfort in that fact that we have a father who said, “You, yes you down there..I’m Here. It’s enough and it’s all you need.

YOU Surround Me with Songs of Deliverance: Grace that covers us all..big and small

YOU Surround Me with Songs of Deliverance: Grace that covers us all..big and small: Swish; swoosh…the sound of the windshield wipers heard again and again as I’m headed down the road. It seems it’s been raining forever, not...

Grace that covers us all..big and small

Swish; swoosh…the sound of the windshield wipers heard again and again as I’m headed down the road. It seems it’s been raining forever, not just the rain you can feel and touch and see, but emotionally raining...that’s the bad rain, Sometimes it’s just a mist and sometimes it’s a tyrant downpour, it’s not as visual for others to see or feel and you very much feel like you might drown- that your al...one. But I’m not…because he feels it with me-he knows even more than I do-The little boy in the backseat. We’re driving down the road, just he and I. He says in all the seriousness that a five year old can muster “Aunt Tracy, don’t you wish all the bad stuff would just go away that we’ve ever done from the very beginning, that anyone has ever done and we would just have the good stuff left?”

I pear into my rear view mirror and look at the boy (who could not possibly be any cuter than he was then) sitting in the back..quiet, playing with the zipper on his fleece jacket-running the zipper up and down and up and down. My heart cracks a tiny bit more and I silently ask for more wisdom than my pea brain holds so I can help this boy, this precious boy I love-- make sense of all these thoughts swishing and swooshing in his head.

 In a split second my mind is just full of amazing truth.

Buddy-we can. We can!!! All the bad stuff that I, or Uncle D or you, or nana or mommy or daddy has ever done can be washed away from the very beginning. Jesus washes away all our bad stuff when we ask him too-but we have to ask him. He loves us so much that he takes all the bad stuff away and we just have the good stuff left. That’s what Jesus is…He’s good-He loves you.

He was quiet; I could see his face processing. I knew it was a lot for his already full head-but I also had this overwhelming assurance that indeed He can and will take away all the bad stuff from the very beginning-and only the good stuff will be left-just ask..it’s called GRACE.

YOU Surround Me with Songs of Deliverance: I love you...fight hard

YOU Surround Me with Songs of Deliverance: I love you...fight hard: He leaned on me, and sighed. His red rain boot played with the chair in front of him. The little boy in the corduroy overalls and striped ...

I love you...fight hard

He leaned on me, and sighed. His red rain boot played with the chair in front of him. The little boy in the corduroy overalls and striped shirt asked “Why, why Aunt Tracy only an hour? Who makes this rule and why do we have to listen? They aren’t the boss, right? “He was mad, and he had a right to be, and he desperately needed someone on his side, someone on his team to ag...ree with this injustice. Been there? I placed my hand over his and we sat in silence-in this aspect we were perfectly paired, both of us content to figure “it” out in heads until we trusted our words, or maybe it was…the words were” too big” and we knew people might make “too little” of them with their answers or solutions. 

 We watched the girls score a basket and everyone cheered them on..and another sigh. “Aunt Tracy, they are still not going to win..look at the score.” I went to reply with the standard winning’s not everything and stopped myself. Wasn’t that the game I had been playing…isn’t that what I had fooled myself into thinking. Yes. I had supposed that if I could get enough people to join my team, to hear my injustices-To grab their pitch forks and join my angry crowd (think Little House on the Prairie for me here) that everything would work out and I would win-I would win!

  I played this game long and hard-- for so long-determined that I would be victorious to save the little people I loved, one of them sitting right beside me holding my hand…for a long time. Battle wounds, scares had incurred, the inside kind. Relationships had been lost or altered…but the game continued. I had the hardest time getting anyone..someone to join my team! I would win! I would conquer or plow you down in the meantime.

 The day came…someone joined my team. All my persistence and recruiting had paid off and I just knew that I was going to win now.
Winning felt so different that I had imagined, not at all like I had planned. I looked down at the small boy still holding my hand and knew…there wasn’t a winner-no valiant warrior. No, only hurting people, broken hurting people. I was one…the small boy beside me was certainly one..and the other team..my completion was broken-completely shattered. I didn’t expect the empty shell and far away looks, I didn’t expect that I would care so much about the other opponents…but I did and I do-horribly. I had expected my emotions to be those of victory and redemption..and they were, mixed with despair and fear of the unknown plays, strategies and positions that laid ahead of us all on the court.

 I said it then…”buddy, winning’s not everything”, they played a good game, and everyone’s learning. We cheer them all on. Even the other team…I now stand and cheer them-that other team, with everything that’s within me I need them to play hard, rise up from their broken smoldering ruins-and play hard. They score board has been against them for so long. Everyone in the stands is counting on them to make a comeback.

  I’m hoping we can be on the same team now, I’m hoping to win-winning is everything in this next round. I knew it, and he knew it…

 After the game is over, my daughter’s team shook hands with the opposing team some of them said good game. Me? I locked eyes this afternoon with my opposing team member and hugged her shaking frame..and whispered in her ear.. “I love You, fight hard.”

I knew you were coming! I knew!

My blinker hits the old gravel road and my stomach does this twisty turvey thing. I try to avoid the potholes and my van stops and I stare through the windows. There’s this boy, this beautiful boy and he doesn’t belong to me, but my heart tells me otherwise sometimes.... He’s not mine, yet the little boy with the golden hair and quiet smile comes announcing to the world that his Aunt Tracy is here... and he knew I would come-He knew! He knew I was coming as he flings his body into mine. That voice that I have stilled, that incredible love that I push down into the quiet place in my soul, releases…it releases and I hug this boy child. He smells of dirt and boy sweat and his hair is in every which direction and that smile, that smile melts me every single time. I know that if it were within my doing this boy could have anything he desired. He climbs in my van already telling me all the things that we are going to do-and aren’t my kids going to be so excited to see him? And isn’t my dog going to be so happy? Uncle D, is Uncle D home? Uncle D loves me...Do they know? Do they know I’m coming??
The next morning in the space right between night and morning, that few moments of quiet right before the ruckus of my home begins- I was thinking through His words “I knew you would come, I just knew” and I understood for I hold onto those words too-don’t you?

One day, I will see my father and run up to him and say..I knew you would come, I just knew and I’ll fling my body into His and He will look at me like I look at that little boy, with incredible love for me! I hope my smell, my actions and my appearance are pleasing to the Lord. I’m going to enter through those gates and see the beautiful place He has prepared for me and when I get there..I’m not going anywhere! Are you coming with me? Do you know??

Listen

Did you pick up all those wooden swords in the front yard? Why did you and the neighbor boy throw them in the front yard tree, again?  I yell to one of mine as I run around the house getting ready for a family dinner and I’m not quite sure why I ask this question because I’m for sure that the answer will be “I don’t know” or “I don’t remember” as this seems to be the standard answer of a twelve year old-soon to be thirteen year old boy.  It’s New Year’s Day and I’m having several family members over for dinner. When I became a full time working mom ( I was already a full time working mom-but I became a full time working, working mom)one of things I had to let go of was being a home perfectionist.  So, picture in your mind all of us scurrying around preparing for company. We were cleaning bathrooms and sweeping dog hair off the floor, lighting candles (vanilla, my favorite and plus it covers a multitude of other smells) and putting the finishing touches on dinner.  Today in itself is a big deal..It’s a big deal that we are all getting together. Lots of pain the last few years, lots of hurt that I found myself in and I needed time to deal and heal in my own way with the hurt before I could figure out what to do with it all, but here I was…ready or not-I was the host.

 

And as they all poured into my home, it was loud, happy and crazy. Everything that I had done to prepare was undone…and it was ok.  I had a nephew who just turned one with big, wonderful chubby cheeks (who I love dearly) that loved throwing apples to my dog, so for the remainder of the night we found apples- under chairs and lamps and one in the bathroom-it was laughter and memories for sure. Plus the girl’s bunny (Cupcake) reaped the blessing of half chewed on apples that night (not sure if the one year old or the dog chewed on them…but hey)

After dinner I was packing up leftovers for one of my sisters. This sister is close to my heart as life is not easy for her but she always, always perseveres. I would say, comparing her to a punching bag would be accurate, yet, she pops back up-every time-without fail.  She’s learned early that you get nowhere waving the white flag of surrender, so I rally behind her as she fights life with all the valiance she can muster.  I packed up leftover cheesecake, ham, mashed potatoes and rolls and she in return thanked me several times letting me know it would be lunch for the next few days at work. As I was finishing packing her things I had this overwhelming feeling that I was supposed to give her my lunch bag. I walked into my pantry and placed my hand around the handle, picked it up, and thought no….I need this, I use it and placed it back on the shelf and went on my way-but still felt like I should give it to her-but….I didn’t. We said our goodbyes and I kissed the cute little apple throwing man goodbye.

A few minutes later another sister I love dearly was also getting ready to leave with her brood and said “here…I have a Christmas present for you!” What do you think was in that beautifully decorated bag? Yes, a lunch bag…a beautiful lunch bag—so so much like the one I had just pondered giving away! My sister and I hardly ever give each other individual gifts on Holidays, it’s always a family gift…and this is year, the gift was solely for me, and it was a lunch bag.

Later that evening, after a wonderful time with people I love- I was picking up the remnants that were left in their place and I asked myself …why is it that I didn’t listen to that inner voice? Why didn’t I step out? I know it wasn’t a million dollars, or my car…it was my lunch box, but why the delay in my response I asked myself? I don’t always think that He necessarily gives us signs every time but He knew I was getting that lunch bag before I ever did, and He was prompting me-this time he was giving me a sign.

You thought my little story would end differently didn’t you or that I had some great earth shaking revelation? No, It doesn’t ..the truth is, the lunch box is in my van this very moment, just waiting to go to work with my sister-just waiting to carry her lunch-just waiting to make her smile.

 

My reminder in all this-simple, it’s to listen…listen to the still small voice when it speaks quietly to me and that I in return seek to hear His voice. The still, small voice that raises questions in my heart, that challenges me to discover there is peace, and joy, and calm in that still, small voice. Listen for it.