Tag: famoly ties

Of paper and boxes

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

The well runs dry…

The well runs dry…

The last blog for the year is just going to have to be a bit off kilter. I have half-a-dozen in the draft box, and this is the one that is getting my attention.

I learned it is very difficult to concentrate while my husband took the last of this year’s vacation days to stay home from work. Two weeks with him was very nice but my writing suffered a dry ink well. Not to mention that there was two holidays, our daughter’s wedding and all the shopping, cooking, baking, dishes and presents, and people to fill up the days also. Writing is generally something done in solace. Not much for solo coffee moments with other bright cheery souls around me all of the day.

Here is a brief recap of the last few weeks.

Paper wrappings and boxes…

We celebrated the Christ child’s birthday with the great-grandparents. Most of Gavin’s family was present. The sadness of our nephew’s families absence due to feeling “under the weather” didn’t seem to keep us down too much. But the commotion sure kept our little grand-daughter up past her nap times. When this little bundle decided that taking a nap in a strange place was not her choice, we came up with the next best option.

I remember well, her great-grandpa pulling my wee ones around in a similar sled back when they were tuckered up from all the people. It’s a fond memory and glad it could be repeated, even though he did not have the strength to do the pulling, at least he got to watch her little eyelids droop shut as she passed by his chair.

Then we were on to the wedding celebrations.

Boxes galore…

Boxes, baskets, cooler, suitcases, bags, plastic bags, more boxes, presents, cartons, and carriers of all kinds. Wow! I wish I had taken some pictures of all of the stacks. Stacks of paper-ware, napkins, containers of goodies for the “cider hour,” stacks of boxes with lights for the decorating. Boxes with flowers, tablecloths, greenery, candles, and other items to make the day be beautiful and festive filled our closets, then our vehicles, then the entryways, and then began the reverse. It was such a busy time.

The best part was being all in one location for the three days. The weather proved to be a bit of a damper on the numbers of who could attend, but we all enjoyed the time at our “Winter Retreat” camp wedding experience. Our daughter had worked at the camp many summers and for two whole years, so having the event in the building that was such a part of her life was perfect.

More boxes with paper…

We ended our time with the two newlyweds with breakfast and gift opening. While it was hectic to get the place all packed up and cleaned out. We enjoyed all the goings on nevertheless. We took only a few short hours to find all the belongings. My husband packed the vehicle with strategic planning and we went straight to the rental center with those items first.

Now it was time to rest.

Last Sunday of the year…

We went to church just yesterday, and our pastor talked about the old tradition of “Boxing Day.” Many people have their own idea of what this means but the English tradition was the day the decorations for Christmas went back into the boxes. He challenged us last year not to box up the Nativity scene or the joy that Christ brings. The challenge to leave Christ out all year long and not bring out “Church manners” just on the holidays. We ought to keep that childish anticipation of the day’s newness and excitement of unwrapping presents in our daily lives.

There is a saying that goes something like “Today is a present, that’s why it is called the ‘present!'” Yesterday is already unwrapped, tomorrow is still in the box, but today is the present that I have right now.

I think my take-away from our retreat center wedding event is the blessing of being in the moment. I was not really thinking bout tomorrow (except for during our prayer times) and I was not looking back at yesterday. Every moment mattered as to what needed to be done for that moment. The photographer captured so many of those moments and kept us enjoying every minute as the clock moved forward.

Pictures in my mind, and on the camera testify to the beauty and serenity of the days we spent together.

Yes, I recommend having a “retreat wedding”. It may have been somewhat difficult to remember everything that we needed, but going forward, it was a relaxing event for most of us.

“Yesterday is already unwrapped. Tomorrow is still in the box. Today is the present that God has blessed me with. I will enjoy the anticipation of unwrapping each moment that He gives.”

Is today your boxing day?

What child is …

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

This…

This little hand has begun to do. The little sweet thing that only spent a few months being and being such a sweet thing at that, has now begun doing.

While someone watches…

Watching her take a little baby spoon in hand and practice holding it every which way-my eyes are just drinking it all in. I don’t seem to remember my own two girls doing this. Why was I so busy?

Grandchildren. Ahhh such blessings.

Meanwhile

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

I have fallen into the mud puddle

Today is one of those days. The one’s where nothing seems quite right. When I am having a bad hair day even after my favorite happenings of a haircut. When someone is celebrating a big birthday and I haven’t even bought a birthday card. Good thing i was feeling it yesterday, at least the blessings were there then. But today, I could just crawl into a hole, bury myself with grass clippings, and come out next spring.

Oh, Christmas Tree, Why hast thou planted thyself in the crevice of the front door step?

When I discovered that the “weed” I had fallen to pull at six inches had become a Caesar tree–my first thought was to save it. Oh, bother but that will be a new chore. It is now a foot tall. and that means the roots are two feet.

So what’s going on anyways?

These days have been busy and I haven’t been able to get anything done that I had planned. Well, okay, maybe I planned too much and then did not get to do any writing for a whole month.

Basically, life, like an unexpected cedar tree tree up out of the cracks of the front walk!

First, my daughter’s expected internship was postponed until January. Then my sister’s wedding came and went with much enjoyment. I have so many blessed memories form the weekend. Then, my husband’s vacation days came and while we had planned a trip to Virginia, now we were able to go on our motorcycle ride we had wanted to do the year before. My broken rib canceled that trip last September. So this year the five days of riding came and went with wind gusts and all.

Meanwhile…

Another prayer shawl entered my hands as crocheting “without” thinking is best when there are lots of prayer requests. This one had focus on my nephew.

An unexpected seizure and trip to the ER indicated a brain tumor in my nephew’s left frontal lobe. And today he is undergoing surgery to remove most of the turmour. And while I was discovering the rooted cedar tree during my morning prayer walks around the yard, my mother called with another serious accident report.

My Uncle was involved in an explosion that shattered bones in his face and will cause him to loose his right eye. I’m not sure how soon I’ll be able to go visit him and my aunt. They are in a local hospital not far from me. The prayers will continue to be lifted throughout the day.

So, while the days haven’t been exactly what I had planned, they have flown by. Keeping busy is usually one of my challenges in the alone times. Lately, there has been no lack for my hands. With the weeding, vacation, fall harvest, greenhouse fall planting, cooler weather acreage upkeep’s, and the prayer shawls and petitions heavenward… I think my hands are quite full enough.

Finding time to get the writing plans back has been a challenge. I’ll just have to learn to get up earlier.

Or, Christmas will sneak up on me like that little cedar tree. Oh, no!

Strings of the Heart

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

When love plays it’s song

Love stories can be pretty sappy …

So if you aren’t a believer in things that make the heart sing then this post is not for you.

Being the parents of daughters can be a heart wrenching, night watching , prayer vigilante experience. When the day comes that some young man calls for a supper date with Dad or a breakfast outing, well, it makes mom both excited and nervous.

A few years ago we had the joy of adding a ‘son’ to our family when our oldest daughter was tearfully marched down the aisle on her fathers arm. The joy on those two young faces as they swept out of the sanctuary some forty minutes later was oblivious to the pain of a sister saying goodbye to her playmate. And now another joy has come. That sister who felt so abandoned by the other is now experiencing her own incredible joy.

‘That boy ‘ called for a breakfast date with her father… and so we are blessed now with the hope of another ‘son’ to add to our family. The funny part is that this second daughter time, my heart is not aching for a sister left behind, so to speak. My mother’s heart is not torn by ones joy and another’s sadness. This time I able to feel the full joy of my daughter being engaged. Her excitement over God’s design to their love story is so contagious. And yes, Dad is now able to be excited about another son.

Years ago Dad would often be heard saying- “Girls are nice.” And now he gets to add and “son in laws are pretty nice too.”

The funniest thing in the whole evening of the proposal might was… watching her dad, his son in law and the nervous young man decorating the ‘proposal sight.’ The phone call from the soon to be fiancée with a desperate “I could use a little support here” plea was responded to with laughter and the tender love of a father. Watching the mean get into their romantic” nature was so sweet. I nearly cried just watching them prepare for this special moment.

Strings of the heart…

Both of my daughter’s play stringed instruments, so when I think of the old saying “love plays on the strings of the heart” I often wonder how it sounds. Yet I know from my own experience, it’s not really a song as it is a feeling. Then it’s not just a feeling, it’s a choice. Tugging on the strings of the heart, love pulls people together like the invisible force of magnetism. How this happens is such a mystery. Hearts do not really have strings, do they?

Yet maybe… Because three days back at work, my first daughter could hardly handle the way her heart was being tugged at by her beautiful baby girl. “Stay home” was the song that it was playing. Stay home with your baby girl and enjoy these growing up years. Indeed… She listened to the song and is now staying home with her lovely baby.

The burning flame…

Our daughter’s fiancée was so thoughtful in every detail. From the candles, to the roses, to the symphony tickets on the table, he provided an atmosphere that reflected his heart. Love is like that. Later in the evening, much later as the event happened after the scavenger hunt he sent her on, I took time to read “their verse” from the Song of songs.

“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Loves flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the Lord.” –The Song of Solomon‬ ‭8:6‬ ‭ESV‬‬. http://bible.com/59/sng.8.6.esv

Of course, my old brain came up with a bunch of old country western “burning flame” songs to meditate on as I fell asleep. The Lord’s love as a burning flame is not something my soul settled on until later.

The first of the Ten Commandments uses the phrase ‘”God is a jealous god.” Jealousy is something I always thought of as bad. When it applies to the negative actions of the spurned lover to his betrayed one, yes, there are often some very bad actions that follow the jealous heart. But what about the positive jealous of love that insists on serving the needs of the loved one first?

Now, this is a completely new thought to the idea of jealous love. Perhaps it really fits best into the passage from I Corinthians 13 verse five —

“Love is not rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful.”

This is a completely different way of thinking about jealous love. Love for another that demands a focus on the one we choose to love. Insists on the abandonment of selfish wants and desires and consistently desires the best for the ones we love.

Wow!

I am so thankful that after 28 years of knowing my sweet husband, I can honestly say that the love we share is one of jealous, fierce, burning love that will last until the grave. I hope that like my elderly friend who lost her dear one of 69 years, our love for each other will last past the grave. And be just as strong as when the candle was first lit so many years earlier.

My prayer for my daughters and sons is that same burning flame. Strong and sure, jealous and fierce, never ending flame.

No sugar substitute

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

Molasses, or black treacle, is a viscous product resulting from refining sugarcane or sugar beets into sugar. Molasses varies by amount of sugar, method of extraction, and age of plant. Wikipedia

And here goes the story of Mol, Molasses the black cat with a white belly button. Who by the way is absolutely no substitute for holding a grandchild. After being send back outside, his soft fuzzy and cuddly self still welcomes me home. There is competition however.

Once upon a time there was a pumpkin shell house with a pumpkin shell husband and his little pumpkin seed wife. In the house there lived a pumpkin colored retriever that cared for nothing but frisbee. While the wife had hoped for a companion dog that would want to sit with her and cuddle much of the day, they instead were blessed with.a high energy golden doodle that wanted nothing but to run, chase cats, and chase frisbees. Bother but the little pumpkin seed found herself lonely, alone, and a little like a slime wet unhappy pumpkin seed that missed the drying rack.

The pumpkin shell woman soon grew exhausted from the energy drain and the pain of broken-ness collisions, and desired that once hoped for cuddles. So the search began to fill the shell with comfort of soft fur once again. The pumpkin shell husband wanted only to keep his wife happy. So he endured the wanton woman and let her tame the dreaded cat.

For many days the shell became a temptation of warm milk for the little black kitten. He soon learned to accept pets and purred in response. Then one day the kitten melted like molasses in the woman’s touch. His natural reaction to petting is to flop over on the floor and just take it, thus giving a full view of his little white patch on the belly. With all of the black cats on our acreage, at least recognition of him is easier by that simple character trait. Some of the cats are so skittish that they flee at first sight. Others can be touched during feeding, and still others are friendly only to a point or the need for food.

Choosing to bring a cat into the house was a temporary plan from the beginning. Knowing that my puppy was only focused on frisbee, made me decide a smaller cuddle factor was a good stress relief. Coming up with the name was easy. First Honey, then Sugar, now Molasses. Refinement for a cat is done in stages. Just like how you make the liquid molasses, a cat is tamed in stages.

From a confined room to another and finally to a room where there are few choices for naughty, busy kitten activities. I only lost one plant in the process! I forgot how tempting window sills are for a cat within a shell (house),

After the surgery, Mol was very fearful for about a week. Any new person or noise sent him scurrying back to ‘his room.’ We contained his things to the library for the time. He wasn’t allowed on furniture or beds. Which actually wasn’t that difficult. Turns out Molasses has a genetic disposition to cave dwelling. So his naturally flight fright action is to dive under something.

It has been stated that a dog calls you master, but a cat thinks you are staff. Indeed, within just a short time, I became the butler, the maid, the cook, the entertainment and the comfort zone for Molasses. When my hubby came home, Mol immediately retreated to his room. This behavior was acceptable as we didn’t want to rush allergy problems.

Molasses is no sugar substitute. Literally speaking, Suga was attached to her person. Going anywhere that I went and sitting on my lap. Her fondness for affection is what got her into trouble with Honey. Honey buried her in a snow drift several times. When they told me to quit coffee for a time, the thought of decaffeinated coffee was unacceptable to me. I have never really liked the taste of cheap decaf coffee. I’d rather have the most bitter coffee available, then they decaf. It just doesn’t seem a good substitute

Pets are no substitute for people either. So when my second daughter decided to come home for the summer, I knew the cat would have to go back out. Besides the fact that I do not enjoy cleaning. So being the cat’s maid and butler wasn’t my top priority. I would much rather have my daughter around for a few months.

Proverbs 16:24 “Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and healing to the body.”

Heave you ever had those times when “the cat got your tongue?” Well, for myself there are those days, and then there are the days when it seems I am constantly putting my foot in my mouth. Some people are constant honeycomb never making blunders with their lips. Well, I am definitely not a honeycomb person. While I may have learned a thing or tow about the tongue being capable of a forest fire, I am not easily prone to gracious words. There are days when my mouth fills full of molasses and nothing comes out right. I use find it easier to blunder than to be sweet.

“Enough of this nonsensical treacle- let’s get back to business.” A British saying that means you have spent too much time on flattery and sentimental, feel-good, puffing up another’s ego and there is work to be done. Maybe I should go back to sugar in my coffee rather than cream. Perhaps the cream I added on those blubber-lip days was more like sour cream! This cat often makes me feel like I am just paying home some unescorted flattery and there must be something better to do, like chase a mouse perhaps?

His favorite mouse was an old wooden spool with shoe string for a tail. It was fun to watch him chaie the oddest things. Like the tub plug from the bathroom. Honestly though, watching my new grand=baby fill her diaper is far more entertaining. Sweet little Isabelle!

No Molasses is no substitute for anything. I love my family and would rather have them than a silly cat. But on those days when I am left alone for hours on end, please pardon me if I digress into my childhood for a moment or two. Molasses satisfies my desire for a snuggly hug. Someday maybe Honey will come back to her sweet puppy cuddly=ness. Until then, I will just have settle on the cat. Yeah, not so much.

Seasons

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

About the poem

Saturday was quite a day. We had plans to attend a four year olds birthday party. Then one of the matriarchs of our community passed away and the funeral was scheduled for that morning. However as we arose to begin our day my husband checked his phone and found an exciting message. Our daughter had gone into labor with her first baby. How do you go from a house of mourning to a house of dancing and then a place of joy all in the same day?

Overwhelming emotions can be difficult. A day full of that much excitement. Wow.

It all takes me back a bit.

The turn of a century. One leaves our world, and another is born. The gravity of life. It’s intense moments and fragility chokes me up.

And now is the part where I dive into reality. My emotions have been flat-lined. Since August of last year the doctors put me on a common anti-depressant to help my “change of life.” There were so many days that tears rolled uncontrollably. Wee thought this might be a good option. It did work they about Christmas time. I actually had fun at Christmas this past year. For the first time in many years, I enjoyed the company of my siblings and had a blast ice-skating.

Then the bleak days of winter set in. The cold harsh reality of endless snows. The tip bulb of my soul felt frozen and dark. My spirit aches for some sort of joy.

A lap puppy was on my mind constantly. Then a kitten. Anything soft and comforting that might bring back a sliver of sunshine to my stoney heart.

Then spring outside actually arrived. Two weeks after the last snow, we cleaned the protection off the flower bed and began watching the bulb garden dance towards the sun.

Watching this process and the changes my daughter was going thru as she arrived closer to her due day made me search for feelings of any sort.

Why can’t I feel awful about being old? (Fifty). Why can’t I feel happy about seeing an old friend? Why can’t I think of inviting anyone I’ve got tea? Why didn’t I cry with joy when o heard my grand baby was born?

A heart to heart talk with my second daughter made me realize, the medicine had finally ran its course. It had killed my emotional capacity. Feelings can lie. Feelings can be unfaithful. But Jesus never fails. Love is a choice. A book by that title was a deep read of mine many years ago. Though feelings follow actions, when the actions are forced until there is no feelings left, life becomes a chore.

I am not acting. I love my daughters, my son-in-law, my new graandbaby, my family. But loving my filthy one year old puppy has become a chore. Petting the cats inlu feels great for a few minutes. While I could hold my new grand any for hours, that incredible joyous burst of happinrsss has flown my coup.

When will my spirit be at peace again? Why oh my soul ate you downcast within me? Grief takes many shapes. Mine is a dormant onion bulb right now.

Grandchildren are a blessing and a crown to the aged. He make even the house of mourning burst into spontaneous laughter. Children say the cutest things. Little girls give the best hugs.Especially after receiving birthday gifts.Saturday had all the seasons of life rolled up in a six hour sunbeam. The following is a poem written by myself.

Seasons

God is there in the spring of your life

When others are coo-ing over the awe of new life

He makes sure you have a place to grow

God provides the soil of spring in soul.

And God is there in your summer days too

When Jesus calls and walks with you

He gives the rain and the sunshine so bright

Yes, God is there in the warm summer nights.

There in the autumn each time that you fall

‘Tis God’s hand that catches you

He lifts you up each time you are low

Oh, hear His Spirit each time the autumn winds blow.

Now, as the winter, the winter draws near

Be assured that the Lord is still near

Jesus is preparing a place for you

To rest when your winter time is through.

All through the seasons< The seasons of life

God is there whether day or night

And when the days, The days are all done

Which for us have been written

Be assured, oh, be very sure

God will be there in the end.



Written October 2000 during the last days of my grandmother’s life. When she no longer spoke or communicated much with us as we visited. He ability to respond to our visit turned into not much more than yes or no. She wasn’t receptive to leaving her comfort zone of her chair, and I missed who she used to be. Her passing so close to Christmas just after our move to South Dakota the year after I wrote this poem was so difficult. It marked the end of the extended family gatherings at holidays. Grandma was not there to have all the little ones playing at her feet while she filled out the crossword puzzle.

This photo graph of my first daughter with my Grandmother was taken at Thanksgiving of her first year. We braved some weather to see family nine hours from where we lived at the time.

Ecclesiastes holds the time honored words of Solomon “there is a a time for everything..” I encourage you to look up chapter three and read it for yourself. Reading the fifth chapter as this is May, the fifth month I focused verse fifteen to sum up the day on Saturday so well. Many people have hear the phrase “naked I came from my mother’s womb, empty handed I go again.” Seeing that occur in the same day was so moving. Even if my emotional tank has been dried out like an old wine skin, I still felt the significance of the days events.

Welcome to the world Isabelle Megumi! It will be a joy to watch what blessings God will place in your little hands. Isabelle, God is here in the spring of your life.

The Hope of Spring

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

Guest author Affton Dudgeon

The hope of spring seems to be filling our air and whirling with the anticipation of birth. New life budding from trees well rested under snow’s blanket of winter. No doubt, even in the beauty and rest, there are scars in these great arms of winter’s whippings. Yet that all seems to rise along with the warmth of sun as we are reminded…that wasn’t the end. What once was dazzling with ice and white glitter, moved to the inbetween of grey, will soon burst forth color. Softness of leaves will fill out what is now bare and empty, but not before the grand entrance is announced in lovely blossom’s air..and more..so much more. The birds of the air, both great and small, all seeking a place to lay their young. Nests, from twig and grass woven, cemented to these trusted branches and trunks. Cell filled eggs and hearts beating small and unseen. Buds and womb both swell with promise. Earth begins to soften, as if willing before its Maker, to be tilled open and filled with seed.  What is it about spring that seems to sing hope over us? Creation does not write its own melody but was made to sing back the echo of our Father’s glory. It’s in this song we hear him sing a sweet lullaby over our hearts. The lullaby of hope and redemption, of life and making all things new,  of birth and being birthed.

A mother’s heart is never really something that just happens. Mothering and birthing are connected. We are just as much formed and birthed into motherhood as we push forth into it our tiny babe. My own mother’s heart has been born and is being raised by many mothers in my life. My dear mother that carried me in her womb for nine months and brought me up, giving herself in sleepless nights, feedings, always wanting more for me. And other sweet spiritual mothers, poured out of themselves so that I may drink and live. As Ann Voskamp would say, “They make room for me in them.” Many, if not all, are mothers in some form or another. Some of you are young, watching, and learning to catch and emmulate how to be a mother as you care for any and all smaller than you. You may be single, but you walk alongside other mother’s holding up her arms and opening yours to hers. Some of you may be married and longing for children, trusting the Lord with His plans. Others of you may have felt the first excitement of the hope of birthing only to find you would wait a lifetime to embrace your baby.  Maybe you have experienced adoption, and you know what it is to labor in paperwork and cross miles after growing your child in your heart.  There are those that have swollen with child, labored long, and held their little image bearer still warm from womb. And some of you have faithfully birthed, loved, and began raising your child to have them step from earth to Glory, out of the order of life itself. And then there are those of you whose mother’s heart is in the three dimentional because you’ve brought up your arrows, and now you are also grandmother. Its here a mother’s heart has been formed and beats. Cells brought together, one by one, like any other organ…yet this one is unique. It takes shape and form, but the cause of the beating is unknown. At just the right moment and when each cell is in place, one suddenly begins to beat. Then another follows…then another and another until all beat as one, and the flow of blood and life itself is heard.

What is in the Mother’s heart that we hear? We hear rhythm’s whisper for longing…a longing for a postive test, the sound of the heartbeat through the ultrasound, a healthy pregancy, and safe delivery. Longing for that first cry that signals air is moving in and out of newly formed lungs. Longing to stare into newborn eyes of wonder.  Longing to feed, to nurture, and  grow. Longing to always be patient and calm, filled with all humility, for peaceful to be the air of home. Longing for endless energy and steady emotion in sleepless nights. To not be so rushed with what is to be done and pause for what is right now. Longing to know best how to school. Longing to celebrate and capture every fleeting memory that seems to go by even if you gaze until eyes dry and don’t blink. Longing for bedtime stories, family movie nights, real conversation, and hearts spilled. To soothe every skinned knee with a tender smile. Longing to teach them responsibility and prepare them for the world. Longing for manners and poise. Longing to always have the gentle tone and kind smile. To snuggle in slowly and breathe them in deep. A longing to be remembered that we loved them well, and that we cultivated a home for ours within ourselves. That we didn’t mess it up. A longing to give them Jesus and to help hide Gods word in their hearts. And yet it doesn’t take our Mother’s heart long to find this world is broken. We are broken. Singleness is prolonged so marriage and childbearing seem out of reach. Pregnancy tests read negative and void. Heartbeats turn still and silent. We experience complications like gestational diabeties, preterm labor, and spend endless weeks on bedrest. Delivery feels like days of agony and pleading rather than beauty and strength, and our birth plan unwravels. Rather than the cry of health, our baby is rushed to the nicu…or worse. Instead of faith, we feel fear. We lose our patience and tone is jagged and cutting to the least of these. We seek control, and calm becomes fret. We grow weary and ache for sleep. We hurry through our list and push souls aside just to move into another rush of day. We are crushed by the burden of school choices. We move past bedtime stories just to bedtime for time alone. We arne’t always sure how to even prepare them for the world when we are overwhelmed by it ourselves. We fail to soak in every second like we vowed and are bowed in guilt for blinking, and before we know it they have gone…and we wonder…”Will they stand and call me blessed?” We know deep down we fail, and we weep until tears run dry and throat runs hoarse.  This is where we find, if we listen very closely to our mother’s heart…just what it is…deeper still…the true longing. We are longing for Grace. And not the passive kind of Grace that overlooks all our broken as if from a distance. That really isn’t grace at all but indifference. We long for a Redeemer. A Rescuer. The active and alive presence of God Himself. The kind that sees exactly who we are even better than we see ourselves.  A relational God who calls us to Him and makes us to be like him. The kind that tells us where to find our home, to build our nest, and lay our young.

Psalm 84:3 says, “Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young-a place near your alter, Lord Almighty, my King and my God.”

This is the good news we need to be washed with as snow washes earths decay. Before hope’s blossoms bloomed, Jesus hung on winter’s tree. The one who bears the marks of sin’s whippings. Whose blood alone has soaked this soil and gives the growth to seed and water, buried in earth and raised to life. We need to know that one who has born us first. Who was King and yet entered into womans womb, cell to infant, boy to man, and knows this journey well. Who is aquainted with grief and able to sympathise with us who are dust, yet is able to claim victory rather than defeat. Who was first born among many, and who makes us born into newness of life. Who longs to take us under His wing and carry us on His hip, remembering us as a nursing mother. For we are never too grown up to need Him. We need to know that our being a mother was never meant to be the end itself, but only to point us in our weakness to the one who has come to fulfill every longing in Himself. The one whose breath breathes soul into flesh. Who did not abandon Eve in the curse but was her help in delivery and being delivered. The one who marries us in our single state. Who can grant even aged womb laughter born, yet even if not, promises his heartbeating into ours as we rest ourselves on his chest. He, who crushes giants and commands winds and wave. Who is our Great Teacher and schools each family where he wills. Who never sleeps or slumbers. Who proclaims to us his story of stories.  The one who has fearfully and wonderfully made us as well as our children. The one who has overcome the world, after all, he created it all. Does it not bow and exist at his voice? Are not all things by him and for him and through him? I AM who engraves our names on his hands and writes us on his heart. I AM whose word is sword of two edges, to heal and to cut, and will not return void. The one who IS love which is always patient and kind. Who never grows weary but renews strength like eagles. Who has made every day for his glory and our rejoicing. We need to know he accepts our tainted works with hearts postured towards his because he holds the basin, to wash our dirty hands and feet, and teaches us how to be more like him.  Even our righteous works alone are filth, and our tears need to be washed. But weilded in the hand of Jesus and bottled for his glory, they are called good. For we cannot add or take away from his love or what he has done. We need to know where to lay our children…where to find our home…were to lay ourselves. Its the altar of winter’s tree-the cross. The holy dwelling where we can lay our burdens and control, our idols and our longings.  Planting and growth for our good and our children cannot be done in our own strength, and our Mothers heart knows. It weeps and mourns behind closed doors because of how well it knows. Just ask me how I know. We need more…we need more than our mother’s heart. We need our heavenly Father’s heart. and for those who are trusting in Jesus alone receive just that.  Jeremiah 32 promises,

“And they shall be my people, and I will be their God. I will give them one heart and one way, that they may fear me forever, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will make with them an everylasting covenant, that I will not turn away from doing good to them. And I will put the fear of me in their hearts, that they may not turn from me. I will rejoice in doing them good, and I will plant them in this land in faithfulness, with all my heart and all my soul.”

We hear the song of Spring in this sweet word. We hear it straight from the lips and heart of Grace. We are His planting. This holy ground is for our growing as much as it is our children. The earth breaks forth because his back was tilled so we could flourish into His Eden. Because Jesus felt the turning away of His Father, we can breathe deep the breath of his face set a flint to do good to us. A mother’s heart, poured out and dying to self, is only one filled with the heart of God poured forth in his Son. One that can say we can count all loss compared to knowing Jesus. To know Him and be known. To be made like him. This is where we find our longings turned to joy rather than crushing burden. Our desire to be the good mom resting in our Great God.

Treading this narrow path with the flesh of our flesh is both dangerous and amazing. There are summits of unimaginable view our limited eyes could never fully take in, and valleys not deep enough to truly feel and hold the grief we will endure. There are wolves and witches waiting in shadows. There are jagged rock, slippery slopes, and bone chilling storms.  There are also green pastures, a river flowing from streams of everlasting, and Spirit’s fanning flame that winter’s air thrusts us into.  Matt Redman sings it best,”Never once do we ever walk alone alone.” Isaiah 42 assures us, “He carries the lambs in His arms and gently leads those with young.” He who calls out, “let the little children come to me,” is a good, good shepherd.   So as we journey together, Dear Mothers, may we hear together the words of C.S. Lewis in the hope of spring,

“Courage Dear Heart…
Wrong will be made right,
when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar,
sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth,
winter meets its death,
And when he shakes his mane we shall have spring again.”

(The above writing in full was written and read by Affton at my daughter’s baby shower on April 29th. The photos taken by myself were take the week before and the week after said shower.)

Adopt-a-sister

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

Introducing a guest author

My family has four girls and one sister-in-law. We are spread across a state and one lives in Texas. The tree oldest have married children, while the one sister-in-law has little children under the age of five. And the baby… Well our little peach is finally engaged and soon to be married, this year!

This weekend my baby sister went wedding dress shopping. Because there is such an age gap from the three older sisters to the youngest, there are no sisters her age to go shopping with. And then there’s the “if you invite one and not another…”. So her adopted sister took my mother to the airport and went shopping with her. This friend is a part of my sister’s adult life more than I because of her age proximity. They did college and adult life in more sequential moments. While my little sister was a flower girl at my wedding some 27 years ago, I doubt she’d let me do anything but pin flowers on the proper vests and lapels. So the adopted sister it is.

My expectant daughter will celebrate her first Mother’s Day this year. She has a dear older “sister” friend that we were honored to have give a devotional at her baby shower.

Many of us have adopted grandmothers, adopted mothers, and adopted uncles, some of us are blessed to have friends that become as close as a sister. Affton is this for my daughter. Her children are ages 10-5 and she can fill in that motherly “gap ” that exists between when I had children and when my daughter will soon have hers.

Just as my sister’s friend fills in the generation gap in our family, Affton has filled in the gap for my daughter. This gap is not to be feared, but rather embraced. You see, I have always decided that a friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine. So I am excited to spend time with this young mother whenever that i can. Her mentor ship for my daughter is blessed and beautiful.

Affton has been a friend of my son-in-law’s family for a number of years. She was a close friend before Yolanda came along. Their friendship blossomed during the courtship years and her family were the host couple/family at the wedding just two years earlier. Affton has been home schooling her three children and her involved in many leadership roles in the young church that they all attend.

I am so excited to share this devotional with you, my readers. “The Hope of Spring” will follow up this introduction in just a few days. I hope that you all find some special friend that is like a sister to thank this week. Siblings are blood blessings, but adopted sister’s can fill a need where generational gaps leave voids. I have several close friends of my own that are as close as sisters to me and my life would not be the same without them.

Sweet Sixteen

Published on by yvonneannetteLeave a comment

Of pretty dresses

What blessings we have held,

What beauty we have seen

Today is a day of reflection once again.While the rest of the world rises early to begin their work week, I am vanquished to home and must find things to occupy my time.

First I shall clean up from the weekend.

Which for me really is the strong end. I spend my weekends being pulled about like the little red wagon. Places to go, things to do, people to see. I stick my hand out like the little black handle and someone pulls me up curbs on sidewalks, past cashiers in grocery stores, down aisles of auditoriums. The little red wagon spins her wheels and squeals in protest as she stumbles from one thing to the next. Then she sits empty all the day long as the people who were once on the other end go about their work week.

It was so enjoyable. All the goings on. Now I shall sit and ponder.

We went to several music events that my daughter played cello in. One of which she had a solo with a bass singer in a Requiem. It was beautiful. but I was a bit unprepared. Yes, she had complained about her sliced index finger and the string placement just under all that super glue and new skin polish. But she hadn’t said specifically that she had a solo! It was so moving. There was no new dress though.

The social media was alive with the young boys and sweet girls in their pretty prom dresses. My girls had recital dresses instead of banquet dresses. I remember when my daughter was born half my life ago. Her dad went right out and bought her a pink dress to wear at her baby dedication a month later. He has always loved buying dresses for his girls. I still hear him say “do you need a new dress for…” whenever their is some event ahead.

This year is especially significant as I turned 50, my first turns 25 and she will give birth soon to her first. My mother , great-grandma has also celebrated her 75th. Wow will that ever be a good four generations picture to take. Numbers while not being my forte, have suddenly become important this year.

When I was sixteen, I would never have thought what life would be like at 25, 50, or 65. Life was it’s own day to day existence. My first was recollecting that when she was 16, we had done a video questionnaire and considered those 5 and 10 year goals. Yes it would be interesting to see what they thought back then.

So this sixteenth blog is not about anything in particular, but just an update on the goings on in my life.

Yesterday was the baby shower for my new grand-baby-to-be. What an enjoyable day. My favorite memory is of all the little girls in their little dresses sitting cross legged on the floor. They were the honorary gift bearers for the day. It was their special duty to retrieve the gifts from the table and lay them at the momma-to-be’s feet. Teaching them to serve and be patient and to be joyful in another person’s joy. What fun! Their exclamations over the gifted dresses was lovely.

We had an overnight guest of the younger daughter’s in our home for the weekend. An adopted daughter is always a blessing to hug also. Even if she belongs to me only because she is a friend to my daughter, I sill spend much time in thought, in care, and in prayer for her well being. A friend of my child’s becomes a friend of mine in no time at all. Love those hugs and kisses of blessing also!

The baby shower was a bit overwhelming and my instinct to care for my own, makes me want to go put everything away and help prepare the nursery. but i am not the parent this time and cannot be over bearing. I’ll wait until I’m asked or offer and see if a time is suggested.

At sixteen, I would never had thought that by this time in my life I would be thinking about what my grandmother name would be. Am I a nana? How about Granmy? Or maybe Oma? Yes as a nod to the remembrance of our Jewish holocaust survivors, I will be an Oma. The little girls that wanted to keep their dresses pretty though the concentration camps, think so fondly of their grandmother’s who lost their lives. Those grandmother’s who loved them so . Oma. The adopted grandmother’s in the camps. Oma. The greatness of grandmother’s become it great grandmother’s. Oma.

I shall be Oma Von.

And when whis little girls is sweet sixteen, I shall buy her the prettiest dress ever.

Even if I cannot see it. She can describe it to me and what blessings we will hold, and what beauty we shall see.