A Spring of Joy

I sat beside her for 35 minutes. Violet was her name. She was in her eighties and was leaving her nursing home in 3 days, and she couldn’t stop talking about how ready she was to drive a car again. We had come, our small group of college students, to sing in a local nursing home. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound… Brian’s fingers picking his guitar, voices lifted up. She sat behind us, listening. Coarse strands of gray hair tangled around her face; her toothless grin welcomed me as I left my group to chat with her. She told me her story, and tears filled my eyes as I felt her hopelessness. And it made me think.

Okay, so I know ya’ll are just dying to see if Micah actually wore his pirate costume and walked backwards down the aisle at the wedding this past Saturday, but you will have to wait with bated breath a while longer. My sweet friend, Beth, is in town, and spending time with her is a much higher priority than posting pictures of the two most adorable ring bearers that will ever grace this Valley. CUTE doesn’t even begin to describe it! But back to Beth…

My favorite Beth conversation so far was this afternoon with Micah.

…that make me thankful.

66. First licks of ice cream in a pink cone. Delight. Joy.

67. Warm snuggles after bath.

68. Vacation Bible School. Learning about Jesus. Worshipping together.

69. Cousins.

70. “Funderstorms!” Watching hail bounce. Awed by God’s power.

71. The way Grandma’s eyes light up each time she sees a grandchild.

72. Watermelon bites and drips and messes and fun.

73. Chick-Fil-A. (Need I say more?)

74. Late night talks with Sam & Alan. Sharing hearts. Crying together. Eating yummies. Laughing together. Praying together. Being together.

Finally, time to sit and write about the past two weeks, which have been crazy (pronounce that CUH-RAAAY-ZEEEEE) with a high pitched squeal and you’ll hear what’s been going through my head for a while. Kind of sad, isn’t it. Not much going on in there, huh?

We’ve had Brian’s parents and sister’s family visiting, Vacation Bible School this week, and Drew & Em’s wedding coming up in a couple days. Good times were had by all, and in the midst of trying to get accurate measurements for tuxes for two growing boys, driving them to and from VBS every day, visiting with the fam, and trying to detox sweet Audrey who walks around the house looking for Edison, I am tired. But everywhere I turn I think, I should write about this. (Does this mean I am becoming blog-obsessed?)

Last week I picked up a copy of the Vacation Bible School CD for my children to be listening to in preparation for this week. I put it in the player in our van, and out belted the theme song for their “Power Lab” excitement. Then came on a song called Thankful. And I sat in the car in the WalMart parking lot and wept (and not because of how much I hate WalMart). My chaotic heart stilled hearing the sweet words of this song, a song my children have quickly memorized, and we sing it together all day long. I love children’s music for this very thing. It’s easy for me to get lost in the theology and the bigness of songs and forget the sweet simplicity of walking with Jesus. And being thankful.

Have you ever tried to put together a thousand-piece puzzle? With no box or picture to show you where the pieces go? There’s this jumbled pile of hues and patterns and images, and some of them are obvious while others might be miniscule specks of color. It easy to begin the puzzle, organizing the shapes, sliding together the edge pieces that make up the framework of the picture. Then you have hundreds of mismatched patterns that you know fit together somehow to create a beautiful artwork. But you don’t know what it is supposed to be. What does it look like? How do these pieces work together to create a masterpiece? Looking at that pile is defeating and sometimes you want to grab the whole pile and throw it back in the box and give up. Sometimes you want to take all those pieces and shove them haphazardly on the floor in frustration. Sometimes you press on and manage to match two or three parts and the beginning of a picture forms, and you have hope. Some days you just sit and stare at the pieces trying to figure out what goes where. Some days you stare at the pieces blankly, just a jumbled mess in front of you. Some days the puzzle sits dormant and you don’t even look at it. But you press on, because at the end you know there will be something beautiful.

I’m spluttering! This is preposterous! In Canada a superior court judge ruled that a 12-year-old girl was “excessively punished” by her father when he wouldn’t allow her to attend a school camping trip because she broke the rules in her home. How did she break the rules? Well, she posted pictures of herself on the internet on a dating site. And her dad said she couldn’t go camping, so she sued him, and the court ruled in her favor. Read Albert Mohler’s blog for a great commentary on this ridiculousness. I’m speechless.

I can’t believe it’s been twelve weeks of Wednesday Worship! I just want to let ya’ll know how much I have loved hearing the ways God is teaching you through music, and my heart has been ministered to by you. Thank you!

This week I heard a song I hadn’t heard before by Jill Phillips, and I’ve listened to it over and over and over, because, well, I’m obsessive like that. It has really spoken to me of the truth of trusting in Jesus. The Door can be found on her Nobody’s Got It All Together CD. Frankly, anyone who titles their CD Nobody’s Got It All Together has become an instant friend in my mind. Jill just doesn’t know it yet. Written by her husband, Andy Gullahorn, Jill sings about reality with simple melodies and strong lyrics that speak from the heart.

The words fly out of my mouth before I think, a response of frustration to the pesterings of my six-year-old. “I am trying to nap, and I’m getting no sleep because of YOU.” Big eyes search my face questioning, a hesitation, a quavering voice, “But Mom, I need your help.” My irritation breaks. My words have pierced the heart of my child. My tone critical. Once again, I am broken. Drawing him up onto my lap, I whisper my sorrows to him, apologizing for using harsh tones and accusing him. His head melds into my shoulder, “I forgive you, Mommy.” How humbling those words are from my child.

The day after I was diagnosed with breast cancer, there was a knock at our front door. I opened it to see the beloved face of my father, eyes full of tears. “I just had to see you.” he said, throat knotted with emotion. And I threw myself into the arms that have held me so many times before as I cried. My daddy.