AdventWord::Hope

Hope

Converted anxiety is hope. Anxiety is dreadful expectation; hope is expectant desire. They are like cousins to each other. Pray for the conversion of your fretful anxiety into promising hope. If you are anxious just now, you are almost already hopeful.

– Br. Curtis Almquist

What could be added? We plant, anxious to see fruit (or in this case, flowers), fret for the bud to bloom and then, well, we breathe. It really was always going to be fine. I choose converted anxiety.

AdventWord::Light

We will be a more luminous epiphany of the love of Christ not only when we love, but when we recognize Christ present in the loving hearts of others, whatever their beliefs or understanding of God.

– Br. Mark Brown

Light your lantern but do not look for love. Trespass into the dark. Bring light where darkness reigns. You're the answer you're looking for.
- John Patrick Shanley

So, from the words of my childhood worship, the language of my heart: Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in heaven. Matt 5:16 KJV

I love the thought then forming in my head from five or six as our Episcopalian pastor spoke those words. My light, coming from the very Light of the World, can shine. With joy and grace and peace, the light from within me isn't my creation, but a further expression of Christ in me. His response, his responsibility. My job is to allow the glow and not to extinguish it. Oh how simple it could be.

Day 2:: Simply Yes -- My cold, dead hands

Well, from hello to heavy with joy I go.
Krissy got off the phone this morning saying, go watch Glennon's video on cold, dead hands. Go! And write.

I take direction well (sometimes). So I cozied on to the comforter on the couch and watched it.

First: wow.
Second: yes.

Being unwilling to live one more minute carrying shame for any offensive move is ridiculous. Even if you haven't forgotten or forgiven me. I've seen it. I've acknowledged it. I've repented to God. I've apologized to you (and you, and you). And, I've been forgiven by the only One who could count it all against me. So, yea, I'm choosing to walk away from it. Dropping the stuff that I've been willing to hold on to as an eternal penance. But what Glennon said is so, so true. The whole point of my faith is that someone else took on the darkness of my dark behavior -- I'm through with it if I'm willing to accept the GRACE and let the shame go.

Done.

For this moment, those things, like my volume, my disagreement, my forgetfulness, my being unlovable, my dismissiveness, my messiness and my unkind words are all left at an altar.

Whew.

I don't have any reason to go back and pick them up. My hands are filled with grace. And when I'm able to fill my hands this full, just try keeping me from joining the dance.

I already knew all of this. I just had to say the simple yes.

Yes.

The Other Moms ~ Michelle ~ The Name is Mom

The mom journey for me has been lightly dusted with great girlfriends. Could we live without them? Oh no, we could not, nor would we want to.

So, let's talk about Michelle today, shall we? Michelle came with my first child. She and her darling husband were in our Lamaze class. They were expecting their numero uno and so were we. Somehow in the two classes I attended (read: bed rest) they decided my dear and I might make good friends. And she was right.

We both ended up having boys, eleven days apart. They boys consider the hospital visit to see our new baby the first real play date.

Mich and I were invited to join a mothers group when the boys were a couple of months old and the treasured friendships solidified.

Many, many years later, this gal, her husband and two boys are practically family. When my daughter celebrated her birthday a while ago, she expected to meet the G's for dinner. We did. My girlie is the only daughter in the bunch, so she's well celebrated and loves it. Michelle "passed on" beautiful 14K gold ladybug earrings. Practically family.

What's in the friendship? Well, fun frankly. And strength and courage and capacity to do things beyond anything I've ever been called to do or continue doing.

In the time we've been friends we've shared many unexpected experiences. Together we have laughed hard (at Michelle's urgings) over the ridiculous ways people complicate parenting, cried over marriage issues, lost her precious mom way, way to soon, learned to let things go, moved (us to a city 30 miles away).watched our men changing jobs, learned that her youngest had a brain tumor, walked through the what and how and surgery of it, giggled in restaurants, changed careers, played at the beach, played in parks, watched tons of movies, walked through the loss of my dad, celebrated a Bar Mitzvah, wondered how we got here and remain grateful for the grace of a friendship made of very strong fibers.

She is absolutely remarkable. When her youngest was diagnosed, I was on a business trip in Washington. She called me and I sat in the airport millions of miles away unable to do anything but listen and love. The words were incomprehensible. But Michelle knew that we'd walk through it, me praying fiercely while holding her hand and her doing what she had to do. We did just that. Her little dude is fabulous. Riding bikes, telling (bad) jokes. Seeking the start of his acting career. He celebrated his sixth surgiversary and stares doctors in the face, like obstacles in his path.

His mom has shown him how to size a situation up for what it is. To laugh at the impracticalities and complexities and to keep moving.

She's good at it. The night I had surgery for my broken shoulder, Michelle was there with my husband. She was the friend with her hand on my forehead when I came out of surgery. Gently stroking my, oh so very out of it, head.

Really, could we live without the mom's in our lives? Not this one. She's grace and humor and dignity and joy. Oh Happy Mom's Day to the friend who is Michelle.

Guest Blogger, New Blogger, Meghan ~ The Name is Mom

There's a new blogging gal on the block and this musing on motherhood is her inaugural post.
I hope you'll stop by and visit Meghan at The Brain Frame:

~.~.~

My little Ella is 9 months old. She's lived as long outside as she did inside. I've heard a comedic statistic: "90% of the population was unplanned." Ella is one of those 90%. My husband and I were in the crucible of life: differentiating ourselves from each other, moving through personal past pains and how they were affecting our married life. We had divorce pounding at all doors around us: my husband's brother as well as his mother were in the midst of divorce proceedings. The terror and guilt (yes, guilt) I felt at discovering I was pregnant still leaves me jealous of those moms from whom I hear jubilant and tear-filled excitement over their announcements. I look forward to the day when I am that expectant mother.

A close friend jokingly suggested that we name our daughter-to-be Phoenix, a beauty rising out of the ashes of life around us. We decided (not only do we live in Arizona, and felt that it would have just been too cliche) that it was a bit too 'out there' for our little one. While we chose a more traditional name, I still see the image of the mythical Phoenix as a picture of her. She is strong, independent, fiery, full of life and of a spirit that absolutely amazes me. As she moves into life--which is destined to be full of her own pains and struggles--she will come to a place where she will build her own pyre, step into it, and emerge reborn, stronger, more beautiful, and more determined than she ever imagined she was capable of being. She is my hero.

Although the anticipation was full of fear, stepping into the roll of mother was just perfect. Having Ella has changed me in so many ways--ways that I didn't even know I needed to change, needed to discover, or had the capacity to do. For many years I have hung onto Psalm 27:13 as a life promise: "I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living." Years ago I found this and wondered what it actually might look like for me. And with Ella, every moment of my days is that promise, fulfilled to the fullest extent that I couldn't have even imagined. She is the goodness of the Lord in this land of the living, and at times I can't even bear the joy that fills my heart. She is the beauty grown from the ashes of my life.

My Phoenix, my Goodness, My Ella.