Sacred Cheerios

 It happened by accident really, catching her from around the hallway corner. It was early still, the sun not yet up and risen.  Ice flakes surrounded the back windows of our war-time home.  She sat adjacent, beside her craft box, tucked away in our kitchen nook.  Quiet and concentrating.  My daughter, alone this morning, accompanied by her bowl of Cheerios.

At first she didn’t see me watching, and I’m thankful, because in it, a moment was captured much like a candid photograph.  I peaked quietly as I first heard the crunching.  The scraping of the O’s, the slurping of the milk.  Our dog, Molly, came to lie at my feet.  And together we witnessed. 

Her chubby small fingers grasped the large silver spoon.  Cutlery too large for her little pink hands as unwashed dishes bubbled nearby in our kitchen sink. Her face partly hid behind our stoneware crockery.  The 3 and a half foot presence sat atop our dinner bench.  Head barely gracing the table.  Little legs dangled with pink leotard toes just stroking the brown tiled floor.  Humming a song, a self composed tune, as she often does when she’s lost in wistful reverie.  All before seven thirty a.m. on a well treed street, in a simple home, at breakfast time.

My daughter is teaching me about what it truly means to live in the moment.  To be present in all that is right now. And as I watch her, as she teaches me, my head leans a little as she gives her full attention and spirit to whatever is set right before her.  Her big brown eyes focused intently on the river of circles.  How many she has left to rescue.  The ones on the riverbank she has yet to choose.  She carefully positions her hands and the crook of her elbow makes space to ensure she has gulped up each and every last one.  The clanking of metal to the glass bowl is rhythmic.  The slurping of the milk, poetic. 

And after several more moments, her eyes glance up and meet mine.  Her smile breaks now, her toothy grin almost looking for an answer. Her face is filled with complete joy.  She tips her bowl over to show me her Cheerio victory.

She shuffles and tottles as pre-schoolers do, past me to wipe her face as she quickly steals a look at her well deserved mustache made of milk in our bathroom mirror.

And as we drive off to start our days, I press the button to close our garage door and whisper a cold breath of “Amen” to the Father who is part of these sacred moments.  To the Father who knows our simple home, on our well treed street at breakfast time.  To the Father who brings sacred and holy moments to the extraordinary, and the very ordinary.  This morning over her bowl of Cheerios.

 

~Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days

Psalm 90:14

Moon Chasers

It started off as a simple ride home.

To get dinner started. Dog walked.  Family fed. Children bathed.  In and ready for the night.

Mind was elsewhere. Cushioned by the din of the music streaming through our SUV.

The usual route. The weekly one. Left left. Right. And left again..

And then it caught me.  Tires now dead in their tracks. Snow crunching to a halt.  From the corner of my eye. Hung so low and enormous in the sky.  As if it could be chased and touched and personally investigated.

In hues of orange too bright, too radiant for a winter sky. As if misplaced from an autumn painting harvest moon. Tractors and taillights missing. Our moon.  Our January moon. Ever present and as if visiting us more closely than my 33 years have so far seen on our little planet.

A majestic centerpiece in our night sky.  Begging to be noticed. Denying us the option to ignore its unmistakable awe-inspiring beauty.

But my daughter, my four year old beautiful daughter, could not see it from her seat in our car. We tried at angles, and with adjustments, but she was left only to rely on my words.  "It's gigantic Olivia!"  "Sweetheart, I've never seen a moon so big and so close to us...and the orange color....oh the orange!" And as my words continued, her excitement heightened, curiosity piqued, and I knew then that dinner and dog walking was no longer first on our agenda. Tonight, we would be chasing the moon.

We weaved in and out of traffic. Going against the rush hour grain. Unknown streets were entered, new corners and neighborhoods now explored. Giant evergreens curtaining our prize, tall apartment blocks playing peek-a-boo. "Where is it mommy?"  "Is it now?" And with the shifting of my gears, and my golden retriever at my side our family was set on a mission. Our little mission to the moon.

Then, alas, we found the perfect street.  With wide open spaces offering entry and vacancy to the prairie sky. We stopped on the side of the road as my daughter unbuckled her belt to lean forward and see. The victory.

That night my family and I experienced, for a moment, a sacred moment, the joy of a wondrous Creator who loves to take his children on adventures. And though it's not extravagant and it didn't require a passport or a pay cheque, on a regular Monday night our eyes were opened and spirits lifted on an adventure that brought us joy and wonder, and in a strange way, a whole lot closer to Him.  For truly, how can we deny an intimate Creator as we stand in awe of His beautiful, mysterious, artistic creation?

Are there moons He's waiting for you to chase?

~When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers-the moon and the stars you have set in place-what are mortals that you should think of us, mere humans that you should care for us?  For you made us only a little lower than God, and you crowned us with glory and honor.~

Psalm 8: 3-5

Delight



Maybe it’s the frigid January temperatures.  The wind cutting through my cheeks.  Shoulders lifted higher.  Tense.  Abdominal muscles tight.  The air freezing at my nostrils.  Air, when inhaled, pierces my throat.  Causing me to flounder and flop like a fish out of water, begging for a life line. Asking to be free in the waters where it once felt so comfortable.

Maybe it’s the residual effects of debts from Christmas.

Maybe it’s the turning of a new year, and unscaled mountains left to climb.

Maybe it’s age, and with it,  heartaches.  New challenges.  More people to please.  Relationships to balance.  Children to birth.  Elderly to care for.  Sicknesses to heal. Others to bury.

Maybe it’s just coincidence.

But, lately, it feels like everyone’s in pain.

Sometimes I have those days.  Where it feels like the mud and the mire of this world is being heaped on my shoulders.  My own stuff.  The stuff of others whom I love.  The stuff of this world that is outside my doors, but very much inside my heart. The burdens I want to share. The loads I want to shoulder. But in this attempt at shouldering, I'm reminded of my limitations to fix it all, if anything.

I sometimes wonder on days like these, how God can take it all.  How it must pain him.  To watch his children struggle and grasp and fall apart.  How his heart must rip in two.  How he must fall to his knees in anguish and sorrow of a world that feels forgotten.  Of a world that is trying its very best to go its own way.  With the best of intentions. With our fragile human hearts.

But lately, especially lately, He reminds me that He is bigger than all of it.  That He is waiting to lighten our loads. To carry it. To carry you.  Because, he delights:

Yes, delights in you.

Because He tells us that he knows our ways before we move forward.  That he orchestrates the very beat of our heart.  That even in the sludge and the pond scum, he finds exquisite beauty.  In you. In me.  That he whispers and calls you to bring it out and shine for Him. In the ugly places.  In your ugly places.  Because His character is all about bringing you back. And He promises to help you get there.

As we stand on our mountains, and sometimes sink in our pits,  He always calls us forward, upward, back to Him, back to beauty. Wooing.  Pursuing.  Shepherding.  His weary travelers.  And amidst the earthquakes and your earthly “quakes” He, in His perfect, gentle, still small voice reminds you, daily,

“Child, I delight in you”.  He will not let you go; you are not alone in it.

He delights in every detail of their lives

~Psalm 37: 23 

Wipeout

January 4^th and I’ve found myself face down with a mouthful of sand on the sea shore. Grit up my nose and seaweed tangled feet.  My wet hair is wrapped around my face and my bathing suit straps are twisted. I’ve catapulted myself from my dance in the waves, feet slipping, balance lost, surfboard beside me, arms out as if hugging the beach; not hurt, but just feeling like a flat out dufus.

To be frank, I’ve never been surfing.  For realz. But, metaphorically speaking, I’ve been out on the ocean riding waves like nobody’s business these past few days.  I was in the New Year groove. 

Until, alas, I found myself wiping out on the shore. Again.

I’m not one to make New Years resolutions.  I mentally enter a new year with a vision plan of sorts.  Goals for myself that include my mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual well-being.  Most are things I’ve been cognizant of or have already been working towards in years past.  A few are new plans and heart dreams that I want to have at the forefront of the year ahead, with the awareness that they may be birthed in a year, or may take decades to fully come to fruition.  I bring these new year’s visions and goals to God in prayer and reflection.  I am mindful of them throughout the year.  Some are practical, sure.  Most are related to my inner being and character reformation.  I *try* to listen to what He wants from me and my life. I continue to think about the whole idea of submitting my will to Him and His ways for me and my life. No problemo, right?

My friend, Nina and I call our visions and goals WIP’s. Works. In. Progress.  This takes the pressure off the resolutions, at least I think. So, I’ve got a bundle of WIP’s. Some I’ve made progress in leaps and bounds, others have remained static, and a sorry few continue to be proverbial thorns in my side. But I digress…

The point of the matter is this:  I think when we come to this God of ours and turn our hearts over to Him we think the matter is done and dusted.  And that one step is huge and life changing, but perhaps what is more difficult and really the whole point of the matter, is in the daily.  The moment to moment turning to God.  Always.  In all ways.

In Christian circles, what seems to be all a buzz right now is one word.  Reflecting on what one word God is placing on your heart for 2012.  Akin to a verse for the year, it is an area that God wants to develop in you and refine in you to bring you closer to Him. I’ve got a couple that seem to be brewing these past weeks but one I think being placed on my heart is this idea of the “daily”-turning over-it over-my life over to Him daily.  Moment to moment. The peaks and the valleys.  The bank statements and the baggage.  Daily.

So, I’m on the sea-shore, yes, and I will no doubt end up here again and again and again.  I’ll also get back on my board.  But, I’m going to meet with him while I'm here on the shore.  Grit in teeth, sand in ears, and all.  Because he wants to be a part of all of it.  Daily.

 ~We do not have a High Priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses.  Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.~

Hebrews 4:15-16