Make Room For Daddy

The news we carried it heavied our hearts and minds, a boulder of unthinkable possibility. His condition we heard, he needed prayers, this was serious and I knew the knee had to bend low, pleadingly, humbly, low. When family is sick, very sick, I get edgy inside, faith turns slippery, oil slick of worry. I found myself fretting, those vexing thoughts they tumbled into words and spilled all over earnest attempts at swallowing whole. Stowed away inside like a packet of thwarted love letters, unfaithful, traitorous. My husband kindly reminded me to "stay positive" and I turned deaf ear at his sage advice. Unannounced tears welled while working out at gym, driving in car, preparing dinner. Doubts nagged, and I wondered why oh why wasn't I a male named Thomas?Long hard months we have prayed, please God, a miracle of healing, victory over this wretched sickness. Stealing furtive glances at cell phone, inwardly dreading all text messages, all emails and phone calls, I continued hot pursuit of One who knows all,  the beginning and end. Feverish prayer, pleading and thanking, petitioning and thanking. And then I saw God's love note, written by Oswald Chambers: "Always be in a state of expectancy, and see that you leave room for God to come in as He likes." In husband's secret language code: Make room for Daddy. On Friday, the day the doctor's predicted would be the decisive day for prognosis, I drove down a street under canopy of pale blue wintry sky. Familiar sound reverberated from inside my purse, message pulsing, announcing, I pulled over to side of road. Hesitantly, I retrieved the phone, flipped open cover. Rush of hot tears spilled, heart beat slowed to steady rhythm, and I laid my forehead on steering wheel. The engine idling, cars whizzing by, and I stayed there, postured in thanks. Is this it then? The trusting thing that opens the door that I nailed shut with doubt? Light now seeped through crack of fear, an eternal glow of  faithfulness. He is breathing now so we catch our collective breath and wait for God's next move. Releasing pent-up doubt, murmuring now familiar mantra, words that spring life into bones, steroids for the heart, thank you, I whispered. And a refrain that often leads me down shadowy paths that curve and twist and warn with a bright yellow Yield sign, it hums me through the recent days now, waiting, expectantly, hopefully:

Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did you leave us on our own
You are faithful, God you are faithful

The lyrics subdue my doubt, and I take that next step forward, wielding prayers with renewed hope, waiting, expectantly, sliding over to make more room for Daddy.  

All You Need Is Love

It began with a toast to the New Year. It ended with a toy bottle of ketchup. This lesson I learned, that I keep re-learning, hearing, and continue to practice. How do I keep the moving forward? Leap into great adventure, abundant blessings, when arrows are flying, old tapes stream through thoughts like off-key solo performance on American Idol. Love is patient. Blonde-haired grandson watched us with those curious piercing blue eyes as we chatted in kitchen, my daughter, son-in-law and husband. We clicked our glasses in toast to New Year, "Cheers!" We said. Click, click. Blonde boy scurried out of kitchen, returning moments later holding a sippy cup, thermos style, wordlessly raised it into air, a solemn expression pasted on his almost two-year-old face. "Cheers!" Our voices rose in unison, reaching down we touched our glasses to his, again, again and again. Dishing up my dinner plate, a Beatles tune played across my mind, soft and warm like, "All you need is love, all you need is love, love, love is all you need." Moments later, after taking first bite of dinner, brown-haired boy silently toddled over, tipped toy ketchup bottle over a portion of my food and gave red plastic bottle a few quick shakes. Love is kind. How to keep moving forward? It's in front of my starving eyes at every turn, sandwiched in between toasts and plastic ketchup bottles. For every step forward, I take two backward, and memories wash over me like a sun-kissed meadow, I am transported back into the sixties. Before I knew pain and frustration, hard choices, loss of loved ones, and chronic pictures of the Kardashian's. The Beatles song crooning, music wafting from plastic double-sided 45 record, lyrics reminding me again and again and again..."All you need is love, all you need is love."

One More Step

 I opened the brown leather-bound journal, hand with pen poised, ready to mark new entry. Standing still, east wind whipping against windows, house rattling and leaves brushing against panes, I gave pause. My mind conjured events from the year past, a year filled with great sorrow coupled with pure joy and delight. Two dear friends left this world, friends and family gravely ill, I counted those too. Chronic pain that challenges, friends who hurt, grandchildren who get sick, I counted those along with. Title to a song arrived by text message, the lyrics supernaturally flying me way high to eastern sky, I-Pod I punched repeatedly, trust deepening, I counted this song too. Grandsons' silly faces, stuffed blue puppy carted around between tiny teeth, Elmo's Play-Hut, and granddaughter who leaves empty space in heart when I say good-bye. All written with pen and gratitude. The journal began as a dare and by year's end I started fresh with new book to count. Which is why my hand housing pen stilled in mid-air, and my ears attuned to wind and trees. I want to count to say thank you, I don't want to race across pages to reach new goal, I want to start over. To begin again. Not to win or gain, but to simply, humbly, keep on going. I closed eye-lids, blessings and graces flitting across my mind like a Zebra Swallowtail butterfly. E.M. Bounds once wrote: "The heart must have in it the grace of prayer to sing the praises of God." Opening my eyes to fresh new start, new year and heart that desires to step forward in praise, to sing in midst of it all, I began anew. #1: Psalm 46 v 10, #2: licking, roaring fire on New Year's day, #3: texting gloves, #4: east wind rattles windows, #5: Ann Voskamp reminds-forward. Don't look back, a farmer does not turn around to look at plow, he keeps moving forward, eyes focused on harvest ahead. The grace of prayer is in itself what keeps me stepping one more time, one more beginning, one more chance, moving forward, don't look back, eyes pinned to what lies ahead. All is grace. All is truly a gift.