It hurts too much to care....

"Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? ...Out of whose womb came the ice? and the hoary frost of heaven, who hath gendered it?....By the breath of God frost is given ..." selected from Job

Are there days when it just takes too much energy to care? Are there things that just hurt too much to think about because they make you "care"? Is the burden of caring just too much so you try to shrug it off?

Maybe those questions seem strange to you. Maybe you never felt any of those.

Today I feel like all of those.

Yes, I know that sounds awful. That sounds "UN"- caring.

But the truth is I ...have a lot of times like this.

I started today with being drawn into the little arbor of frosted trees that I shared with you in my photo. There's something about the mysterious depths of a frosty forest that always pulls me in. I want to know the "treasures of the snow". I want to know deeper the breath of the God who made the frost.

But...in knowing more ...in getting close enough to feel the breath of God, along with all the sweetness of joy you also will find something else.......your heart will be broken by what breaks His.

It continued for me with a simple question from a friend's status on facebook, "What stirs you?" I thought about that. It wasn't hard for me to think of three things that stir me: the hopelessness of an addict, broken marriages, wimpy Christians. I felt a twinge as I wrote the last and I felt the familiar tightening of caring about something and feeling powerless to do anything about it.

IF I care enough it stirs me and If I do nothing doesn't that make me a wimpy Christian?

It grew more intense as I read a link from another commenter under that post, a link about the plight of millions of children in deplorable orpahanages around the world.

It grew even more reading another's link on the sin of abortion in our country.

At this moment in time I have little resources to DO anything about most of these things that break my heart.

BUT...am I ignoring it all because it really takes energy, time and commitment to care and yes, it hurts to care?

Am I doing what I could be doing? Am I sacrficing wherever and whenever I can to do whatever I can, no matter how small? Am I spending time passing on the burden of the heart of God to my children to give them a heart to care and prepare them for the time when they can do something about it?

Recently a son told me that he feels like with all the children needing a home he should adopt instead of just having his own. Forget all the questions of theolology or right or wrong of that feeling, was my hesitation because I selfishly just want to see and know MY son's children? Shouldn't I just thank God for that expression of the heart of God in my son? So do I really care if I know deep inside that sometimes I try not to because it hurts too much?

Today I want to know more intimately the breath of the God who made the frost. i want my heart to break with what breaks His and I want to try to show that caring.

This Moment of Time

Sleep refuses to come. The thousand thoughts of the last several days toss restlessly through my mind...

No one ever expects to deal with death like this. My husband's dad is dying 2500 miles away. My mom is dying 400 miles away. We've known it was coming but who knew it would come at the same time. My husband returned home late one night from visiting his Dad and we left the next morning to say good-by to my mom.

You think you prepare for death but you can't; not really.

I have wanted for days to write out my thoughts but it is always too jumbled. It feels far too jumbled now but I must . That's just the way I am.

I know the death of a parent is not the same sharp wrenching pain of the loss of a spouse or a child . It is different but it is still somehow a very strange surreal un-moored feeling. The one who gave me birth lies somewhere suspended between time and eternity.

It seems that sudden death would be ever so much easier than this...this waiting...waiting....watching..... hovering...waiting...

It seems we live in a funny little vaccuum of space where nothing is as it seemed before and where everything revolves around a phone call.

Modern medicine has added in it's own complications to whole big picture. More questions, more decisions, ethical wranglings, comfort vs prolonging the inevitable , sustaining life vs delaying death, too many decisions, too many voices, too many opinions...too much to think about .....

Life seems so fragile. It seems so easy to think ,"What is the point?" But then I remember that because of choices my father-in-law made his children will teach their children about God. I know that because of choices my mom made, her approx 100 descendants now, will teach the next generation about God . Only eternity will tell the impact their lives will have. Life is a big responsibility.

Little bits of songs , pictures, happenings of today , of yesterdays, turn round and round my head. "...I know that my Redeemer liveth..., ...Jesus hath risen and man shall die..., and I no more as now shall stand..." Scenes of home, my old upstairs bedroom, Mom's voice, the long lane, the creak of the stairs,long evenings canning and reading with mom and my sisters.

I hear my voice join my siblings in "How Beautiful Heaven must Be", Come Home It's Supper Time", Someday the Silver Cord Will Break, and "Safe In the Arms Of Jesus" . I cry inside as I hear Pop's unforgettable bass join in on "Fear not , O Child, I Will Take Care Of Thee".

How do you watch your Pop tell his wife goodbye every day, lots of times through the day , never knowing when it will really be the final goodbye?

Every turning leaf, every wispy cloud, every crisp Autumn breeze, somehow seems more beautiful than before. Every kiss from my husband, every word from my child , somehow seems to hang suspended in time for a fraction of a second longer than normal.

But all of it somehow seems surreal as you know you stand facing something so much bigger than you; some plan far bigger than time or space.

One thought comes incessantly, I do not know how one lives if he says there is no God.

If I did not believe there was Someone who understood this all, I think I would scream and rage at this huge cosmic plan. If there is not Someone who will one day wipe away the tears and tell the reason why, I would shake my fist at a universe that throws together atoms into human pawns and sits back to let us live , die and decay for no purpose whatsoever.

I know some say the very existence of these seemingly endless ,unanswered questions makes them say there is no god , or rage against him if there is.

But I know. I know in part and sometime I shall know fully. I know man was created for life and fellowship with his Creator and that was ruined for time when man chose evil over good. I know that eternity will tell the story . I know that then we'll know how often a loving Father had to step back and let this whole thing work out to the final victory of good over evil, life over death. I'll understand why He chooses not intervene in the natural course of earthly death.

I don't know how one watches a body fight to live and not realize we were created for life, not death.

I stand in hope that one day I shall see the final victory. "O death where is thy sting? O grave where is thy victory?"

I shall one day stand with the One of Eternity and all my questions will be answered

A Little Child Shall Lead Them

The familiar knock came on the bedroom door. Someone neeeded to talk. The teary  voice of our youngest answered our query.

When he entered and came to our bedside, we knew big things were on his mind. He has always thought deeply and asked so many out -of the-blue questions about life and philosophy.

"I just think I need to be saved'. There it was out.

My husband and I both had the same thoughts , I knew.

This child is ...just a child.

I know there are many differing ideas about when a child is ready and they all tumbled through my head. He was not the first to come at the this age ,nor was this the first time he had come.

The first time was several months ago. We talked and determined that he was worried by the sermon and just wanted assurance that he would go to heaven. We prayed with him, told him to keep listening to God and he went merrily on his way.

Should we do the same tonight?

We talked. He was very knowledgable about the whole process , who God is and who he is without God.

He told us he had been doing a lot of thinking and reading. He mentioned that overhearing a conversation by older siblings about their concern for his behavior had bothered him. He mentioned the "Ten Commandment" plaque on the wall.

But after talking awhile my husband still felt some hesitation. He agreed to prayer and thinking it over.

His prayer was simple and sweet. "God, I want to hear You and know it's You and I want to know how to go all the way with You."

My husband and I talked seriously after he left. After eight other children you would think this decision would be easier to truly know how best to lead them through but somehow as always with child-training they each one throw their particular little curve into it.

We rolled over to sleep  trusting ourselves and our child to the wisdom of the Holy Spirit's direction and voice.

.....A knock at the door...

"You know, I just really think I need to take care of it now."

There was no denying that certainty.

He added, "It was a weird thing when I was waiting in the hall and coming into the room, I kept hearing the word, 'someday', 'someday'......I think it was the devil...."

Ah, yes, even a child can know.

Again his prayer was simple , though longer than before. He started " Thank you....God, I pray to be a good soldier for you......I'm sorry.....I pray that I can go all the way with you and never give up......"

Yes, Lord!!!

The "Home-making" Father

Women are known as the homemakers and I think rightly so, but what about all the "home making" that the dad's do? I thought of that as I was thinking of the normal "mom post' and Father's day.  Home would not be home, Mom would not have a home to make a home ,truly a home, without Dad. I know , of course, there are instances when one spouse has to carry on alone but home in God's plan is Mom and Dad.
I was thinking of the two father's in my life.
 My Pop has always been ...well...just "Pop"! He was never a Dad , he was never a Father. He disliked both of those terms and for some reason neither really suits him. He was and is just "Pop"! For those that know him that explains him!
In fact growing up his own children were not the only ones that called him "Pop". Most of the other young people in the church did , also. I thought perhaps it was because we were a small church and everyone knew each other so well. But as we grew older and had friends visit from out of state and meet him for the first time, soon they all called him Pop too! When several years ago he moved from that church to a new area, everyone again, very quickly just called him ..."Pop"!
He is a one-of-a-kind person! If you ever meet him you'll never forget him.
He worked hard for his family. He worked in the woods most of my growing up years. It was hard , tiring work with hardly ever enough money to stretch far enough, but we made it!
I remember surprises in his lunch pail brought home to show us kids. I remember long winter nights of "Authors", "Aggravation", Probe"and building "Lincoln Log" houses. And stories,...always stories.
He believed in firm discipline and hard work. Many were the times as a child I thought he overdid both! But I'm thankful for the things he taught me.
Today it is just him and Mom left in their home and Pop truly is the homemaker. Mom is bedfast with ALS brought on by Lyme's disease. Pop lovingly cares for her every need! Some one of the family is alwasy there to help but Pop is really the one who does all Mom's care.I thank God for Pop!

I think of my own husband, the Father of our 9 children. Without him our home would not be a home the way it is.
 He is the steadying. He is the anchor.
 He is the one who works tirelessly to provide food and clothing and a roof over our heads. He is the one who fixes the leaky faucets, the screeching vaccuum sweeper, and the door that sticks. He is the one who gets up to check on the bumps in the night.
He is the fun-loving one ; always ready to show the kids something or play with them.
He's a friend to all the kids. He's the hugger and soother for the little ones and the counsellor for the older ones.
He is the one where "the buck stops" . He is the go to man for everyone.
He is the one who leads the family prayer. He is the one who answers their questions about God.
My man, my husband, my children's Dad, is the one behind this "home-maker"! He is the one who holds me up and gets me through the day.
He's the one who encourages me when things are tough and assures me that we'll get through it.
 I grocery shop. I feed him. I wash his clothes .(sometimes he even does that! ) I pick up his dirty socks. I keep the house clean. I listen when he needs to talk and I give input. I "mother" the kids.
 But.....
It's the man of the house. It's him. It's the father here who provides, the food , the house ,the vehicle, the clothes,even the wash machine!
It's the Father who provides what Mom needs, materially, physically , emotionally and spiritually and to be a homemaker.
It's the Father who is the REAL homemaker!!
Thank you, heavenly Father, for a godly man!

This post is linked at Homemakers by Choice
http://www.homemakerbychoice.net/2012/06/friday-homemaking-link-up_14.html

The Emmaus Road

Luke 24:13-35 "...two of them went...to a village called Emmaus...And they talked together of all the things which had happened....while they communed together...Jesus himself drew near and went with them...."

This is probably my favorite painting. The particular one pictured here is even more special to me because it was my Grandpa's. As a very young child I remember looking deep into it's shady quietness as it hung over my Grandpa's desk. That desk and the corner where it stood was "Grandpa's Space". As a child, that picture drew me in, not only for it's meaning, but also for the glimpse into Grandpa's heart. Why did he choose that picture for over his desk? Grandpa's been gone now for nearly 20 years. I never did ask him and I wish I would have. ...So because of Grandpa it is special to me.
It's appeal for me goes deeper than just Grandpa, though. I have always been intrigued with the story recorded in Luke and I love this depiction of it.
Last night I was looking at this again. It really made think about it in light of the timing of just celebrating the Resurrection. How must it have felt for those men, saddened and bewildered, to talk with Christ? They give us a little glimpse when they say, "Did not our hearts burn within us?" Then immediately they wanted to tell others. Walking and talking with Christ was different than the ordinary walk.
I have also pondered the question of Jesus, "What things?". A young friend made that question even more real to me, when she said that has been a comfort to her. When she is perplexed by all of life's 'things', she likes to imagine Christ asking her that question and inviting her to tell him every little thing, and putting them all into perspective.
It also brings to mind the day my , then 6 yrld, son came to me and wanted me to hear a poem he had made up. His words struck my heart because he had a difficult time with some of his speech, R's in particular, and was often teased because of it. This is what he softly said to me that day-
"On the Damascus road, that was never mowed,
I met God, and He was not odd.
We talked and talked, and I was not mocked,
On the Damascus road, that was never mowed.
His road was the "Damascus"...the men's in Luke was the "Emmaus"..we may be on just any road..and still it is the same. When He comes we do not feel Him strange and He does not make us feel uncomfortable. He just gently says, "Child,tell me about it".......When He comes, wherever we are, let's just tell Him about it... and let Him take it from there......

Through a Window

It is finally Spring! Or...at least Spring-y enough to let me pretend it will last.

We were able to work outside today. As I was working with all the kidlins and hubby, I was reminded of a Spring-time memory that I had recorded a few years ago on my xanga. I want to share it with you!

I named it then "Through a Window". Kinda reminds me of one of my favorite book names "A Window in Thrums" by J.M. Barrie. I like the book but not really as much as I like the name. yeh, I know I'm kinda weird like that. I like Paint color names , too! :)

Anyhow let's take a peek through my window that Spring ....

  I chanced to glance out the window, across the tiny stream, to the children's play area under the arbor of plum trees. An old bench sits under the lilac bush.The swing set is bedecked with a red sheet across the support bars of the seesaw. From under the sheet small bare feet and the hemline of a yellow jumper is showing. The sheet trembles......
Wait....I am looking through the window into a grand old hall, the high overhead beams of a towering cathedral ceiling frame a rich wine tapestry sweeping the marble floor of the stage. The curtain trembles....
...then is thrown aside with a dramatic flourish. Poised , there she is.... in a shimmering yellow gown of the finest taffeta with matching slippers. From my vantage point, even outside the window, I can hear the gasp of the audience. She tips her head , smiles, steps out from the curtain, down the step and bows in a dainty curtsy.
Stepping softly, she begins a slow pirouette across the stage. She is speaking now, though I can't catch all the words, I know it is an old tender ballad spoken in tones clear and low. The audience leans in to hear her every word. She is the favorite, the one whom they all have waited to see and hear.
She continues across center stage and seats herself gracefully on a tufted settee under the hanging draperies. Now the sweet low tones of the poetry give way to a song of tinkling bell-like notes. She is singing. Again the people hang on every note....she finishes the song with one last flutelike note....
The spell is broken.... my small barefoot daughter rises from the bench, all make-believe gone and slowly crosses the old bridge across the little stream toward the house. I let out my breath and sigh... then smile..
Oh, for the imagination of a child once again.... for the ability to turn the ordinary in to the extra ordinary....to take a swing, an old sheet , a grassy spot.....and turn it into a place of beauty and grandeur.....fit for royalty!!!
... Or to take a mop, a tea towel, a livingroom carpet.... and turn it into a place of beauty and peace fit for royalty ... my husband, my children.....
... Oh, for the faith to see that I must take my sin stained heart....my weary spirit... my unworthy soul and give it to the One that can turn it into ROYALTY!!!
Lord, give me the heart of a child , able always to see the beauty in the ordinary and imagine the impossible....

"Special" Date Night :)

Yesterday afternoon when my husband and I returned home from town, our 13 yrld daughter said she and her two younger siblings wanted to make and serve supper for us.

As she worked in the kitchen, her younger siblings whispered down the hall. At the "appointed time" she told us all was ready and we should wait at the top of the stairway to the basement.
Our young waiter , in black pants, white shirt and tie , appeared and with an elaborate gesture motioned us to follow him down the stairs and into the library.

There we found an alcove formed around the library table with tablecloths and curtains. Behind the curtain was a beautifully set table with silver candlesticks and flowers. Goblets of ice water, placecards and a molded chocolate rose were at both settings. We were seated and after assuring us dinner would be served shortly, he disappeared.
Music began to play in the back ground and a pretty waitress in white ruffled cocktail apron appeared. Pointing to two small bowls , she told us to start with our appetizer and she would be back. The appetizer was apple slices and honey peanutbutter.
The kitchen overhead was full of hurried footsteps and quiet voices. Occasionally footsteps came part way down the stairs, paused and hurried back with a whispered observation.
Soon the waitress appeared with our full plates. Dinner was served. It was delicious; perfectly seasoned pork strips with green pepper and onions served over a bed of fluffy mashed potatoes and topped with a fried egg. (I'm sure this was a spinoff of a recipe older brother brought back from Thailand, usually served over rice) :)

Our waiter appeared to refill our glasses and ask if we would be wanting coffee.
We ate in privacy except for a quick "duck-in" from the waiter who smiled and said to me, "The cook wants to know if you're on a diet." (A little late for that. The plate in front of me was heaped! I assured him I was setting aside any dieting for the evening and to tell the cook the meal was delicious.)
Soon the waiter appeared to take our plates , quickly followed by the waitress with coffee.
They reappeared with Chocolate,Vanilla Ice Cream garnished with chopped peanutbutter cups , piled high in sundae glasses.

After awhile the waiter returned to take our plates .Then the cook with the waiter and waitress all came to our table while the waiter as elaborately as possible around his dancing dimple, told us "We hope you enjoyed your meal and do you have any words for the cook." :) After profusely thanking them,they prepared to leave us. The cook whispered behind her hand,to the waitress "curtsey!" She daintily obeyed and they left our alcove.
Silence ...then the waiter reappeared and told us "You can go upstairs whenever you want to". :)
We left them all a tip and exited our romantic restaurant.
Sometimes you know it's all worth it! :)

This post is linked at Raising Mighty Arrows