transPlanted

Some are tired and overworked. Some are colorful.  Some are useful, while others break down quickly. They may be simple or complex, old or new, scientific or artistic. They are part of our uniquely developed human mind, and sooner or later, we all enlist them to communicate what we otherwise could not.


The metaphor.  Who has not experience the relief, after tugging and pulling at the knotted shoelace, of that perfect picture to describe, explain, or teach what we could not before?

Several years ago, as I was exploring new interests and hobbies, I took a pottery class. I had big dreams of beautiful bowls, funky coffee mugs, artistic pitchers, and a Christmas peppered with handmade gifts for all of my family and friends.

We spent all three hours of first class learning to prep the clay and center the earthy lumps on a wheel. 

It turns out that while it's called "throwing", which sounds lighthearted enough, you can't actually make anything on a pottery wheel unless the clay is the right consistency, with no air bubbles, and perfectly centered it on the wheel. Which needs to be moving at just the right speed.

It takes practice and some serious muscle to get to the stage where you actually pull up the walls of clay and start forming anything at all. It has to happen carefully, so as not to throw things off center, or the centrifugal force pulls the whole thing into a wild mess. Carefully, but firmly, because you are after all, coaxing earth into a new shape and it doesn't actually know what it's supposed to be unless you tell it.  All while the wheel is whirling, whirling, whirling. 


I quickly adjusted my gift giving plans. It turned out to be a really fun class, but the things that remain years later don't hold coffee or sit on a shelf.

I could not shake the metaphor. The image of God as the potter and us as clay. (Isaiah 64:8)

It makes perfect sense that God, as the perfect teacher, would know how capture my heart and mind with an image.


God as teacher, healer, gardener, potter, shepherd, father, mother, king, counselor.

He knows how to reach us in our everyday lives, in our everyday activities.


He knows how to reach me, the mother of 3 busy boys, as I try to love my family, and serve my friends and community.  As Joel and I try to discern what God has next for us regarding career, ministry, and calling. As I try to hold on loosely to things that familiar and comfortable. He sees my overwhelmed, confused, just-think-about-it-harder-and-you'll-figure-it-out thoughts.

He knows how to reach me.

This week, it was God and a hydrangea.

I planted one in our front yard last fall.  I was on the porch, studying it absentmindedly while the boys ate popsicles. Wondering if the slightly lopsided shrub may in fact be planted crooked, or just needs some pruning. Wondering if maybe I should move it to the backyard.  


And then I noticed. It has tiny light green blossoms forming on the tips of it's branches. 


It doesn't care about my plans.


I've heard the phrase "bloom where you're planted" countless times. But this is the first time it dawned on me that plants don't just put down roots where ever they are, they do whatever it is they are to do, without care or concern for whether they will soon be pruned, replanted, or transplanted. Plants bloom with no regard to the gardeners future plans.


Do what I am to do in the present, trust the good gardener to create the beautiful landscape he envisions.


I can do that today.














 

Salad & Showering

Do you remember the Seinfeld where Kramer discovered the joys of meal prepping in the shower? I think I need a waterproof computer. That's where most of my uninterrupted thinking happens. Today's excuse for my 20 minutes in shower:

- For the past 7 years my husband has been a pastor. One way I supported his role is in trying to love, encourage, and serve the people in our church and community. In theory, I've known that this is what I'm called to do regardless of his job. For now, he isn't "professionally" a pastor. I'm so relieved to feel the same desire to love the people that God places around us. I'm reminded, grateful, and reassured it has nothing to do with a "job."

- Anger has always made me nervous. It seems so messy and unpredictable. I'm realizing that I've been operating under this false ideal. My recipe for being angry without sinning?

1) Recognize that I feel angry.
2) Stop everything.
3) Wait until all feelings subside before doing anything.

This ideal doesn't fit very well with Jesus overturning tables in the temple. He didn't go away, meditate for a few hours, come back and explain to the money-changers over tea why he was displeased with their actions. This doesn't mean I get to fly off the handle when I'm angry, but it does mean if I keep waiting until I'm not angry to address certain issues, I'm likely to feel "stuck" in ways God never intended.

- I can't believe Schaeffer will be 1 soon. We're coming up the age where people often ask if we are "done". The truth? I wish it was possible to have 5 more children AND be at the stage of life where Joel and I can take a trip, go on dates, reliably sleep through the night, or have the energy to have fun not sleeping through the night. I love our kids, and yet I know one of the best gifts we can give them is two happily married parents.

- Gifts and privileges do not, on their own, create a grateful heart. Entitlement is the enemy of gratitude. True of me, and true of my kids.

- I've always been able to adapt easily to different people and situations. It's a blessing. But there's a fine line between being adaptable and co-dependant. I need to spend more time asking what God is doing in me, what He's calling me to, and how He's wired me, instead of what a person or situation "needs" from me.

So, that's what I've got. Not as impressive as Kramer's radish roses. But the boys are restless and excited for their trip to the Dollar Store today, and I did, after all, take a 20 minute shower followed by some computer time. Some multi-tasking is better left undone.

Time to go be a momma.

Dust & Spring

Spring is just around the corner.

I've been saying that for 2 months now.

Every year it seems the same thing happens in March. A few warm, breezy, days to run outside, meet again the long lost neighbors...and then, weeks of bitter cold days that make you wonder if winter will ever end.

With three kids, my longing for spring has grown. It means fewer sniffles and fevers, more adventures and parks, and much less laundry. And sun. Oh, the sun.

That golden light is the reason for the spring cleaning. You can just see everything better, including the dust and clutter, when that light starts shining in. It's a chance to start fresh.

And let's face it, sometimes, I need an excuse to start. Something to move me from the planning and pondering to the deciding and the doing.

Spring is just around the corner, and it's just the excuse I need to dust off this blog. Life is happening all around and within, and I've got page corners to bend.

First Day of School

Eli is back at Union this year, and brought along his favorite alter-ego. Here's Buzz on his first day of school.

Joel and I have been joking that if the obsession doesn't let up, we are sure to have Star Trek conventions in our future.

S'mores

A wonderful evening with friends and s'mores. One of those nights that is simple and good and easy, and I am just so aware that I do not deserve this life, this family, these friends, but oh, am I grateful.

"S" is for...

"S" is for Starfall. As in www.starfall.com.

A friend just told me about it, and it's so cool! The website has lots of alphabet and learning games, engaging but simple graphics and pleasant sound effects. No obnoxious, on-my-last-nerve songs or voices...hooray!

"S" is for Sick.

So this is just the thing to help pass the time since Eli's been under the weather for two days now. Nothing serious- a fever, headache, and cough. To tell you the truth, it's not so bad because he's funny, sweet and really cooperative when he's sick. We don't know why- maybe he actually thinks he needs us a little.

Yesterday morning:

"Mama, something's wrong. Something's the matter with my head right here," he whined, pointing above his nose.

"Yeah, honey, you have a headache. I'm sorry that it hurts. We have medicine to help that feel better."

"What is it called again?"

"A head ache. It's when your body is sick and it makes your head hurt. But it will get better soon."

Later:

"Hey Daddy, guess what? I had a heddick and Mama gave me some medicine that tasted like Kool-Aid and now it's better!"

Then, last night, his way of saying the Tylenol had worn off:

In a sing-song voice, "I kno-ow...maaaybeee...I could put on my bike helmet, and it will help those pieces in my head stay together that are falling apart."

stars

Last night, Eli was quietly busy in the kitchen for several minutes while I visited with a friend in the family room. I let it go, without even checking on him.

"Hey Mama, come look what I did!" he proudly called from the kitchen.

I walked in, gazing around the room for evidence of his quiet creativity.

"Look, I put stickers here on the cabinet, and the drawer, and on the oven, and two on the refrigerator, and some on the freezer. I put the stars EVERYWHERE so I could make it pretty for you. That's pretty cool, huh?" He was smiling, and proud.

He'd used the left over foil stickers from his birthday party. Metallic red, shimmery silver, yellow gold were eagerly placed where ever his four-year-old arms could reach. Smiling, I told him it yes, it IS beautiful.

I meant it.