August 19, 2015

God's Eye View


I used to picture a God's-eye View like looking down on the world. I thought, how silly and zippy and small we must look to God. And to think that never seemed condescending or anything. He's God. 

But I realized the other day, with the clouds descending over the mountains, that His presence is more like a mist. It's a fog settling down and seeping through all the crevices and even into the secret parts. We don't look little and silly because he sees us messy and up close. Nothing is hidden and nothing is insignificant. There is nothing He cannot touch. 

Two things distinguish a God's-eye View from mine: He can see everything all at once, so it all makes sense. And He can see everything through a lens of grace, so it's redeemed even when it doesn't make sense. 

August 11, 2015

Claire Margit



I used to go over to Claire's house in yoga pants and with the craziest bun on top of my head. We would walk in the door without knocking, say hi to the girls, including Winnie the Great Dane, and then I wander through their gorgeous home to the kitchen: Claire always had a French Vanilla latte--bowl sized--ready-made when I arrived. She has a sixth sense about when to turn on the Nespresso. 

At Claire's house, there were always toys on the floor. Everywhere. She would not mind my telling you this because, for her, it is a point of pride. And for me, it was the marker of a safe zone. My kids could call this place second-home and run wild with their friends. In fact, Claire's house is so safe, I would go with nothing. No snacks. No diaper bags. No water cups. "Use mine. Leave that at home," she would say. So, at my house, Lucy and Iris would simply share their water, and at Claire's house the girls knew which shelf held special forks and spoons for them to use at lunch.

Claire is basically a gourmet chef. If the play date was at my house, I made sure to have a box of mac and cheese on-hand; but if the play date was at Claire's house, she would literally prepare a feast. I might remark on how unbalanced this was and she would scold me. "It's my joy. Don't take my joy from me." 

We would let the kids stay up past nap time if they were playing well. We'd brew second coffees. Then I'd curl up and sink back into Claire's enormous couch and I would simply bask in her presence. What a selfish friend I am! But just to be near her invigorated me! Revived me! Set something right in my soul.

Claire is what you call a walking testimony, and if you know her story, you know that's quite literally true. She's sharing her story right now, on a new blog--it would be your privilege to read her words. She's bared her soul and told of how she beat cancer twice and how she's overcome addiction and how she's made peace with being human. 

When I meet the Lord someday, I think he's going to tell me that Claire was actually an angel on earth. That's what knowing her is like. But Claire would think that's a funny thing to say because she's been through so much and still finds the good in being human.

All Claire wants out of life is to share the truth of Redemption. 

And maybe that's what I miss the most--just to be near her and to feel it running off of her and how good it felt to cry for no reason other than that until I walked through her door, I'd been striving for an unattainable perfection, and then she'd hand me that oversized coffee mug and hug me tight and cuss when she dropped something on the floor and just glow with the actual love of Christ.

On a day that's hard, I think of Claire. And not because I need to compare my pale problems to what she's overcome. She would scold me for that too: "Your pain is your pain." But instead I think about how she calls things out, face value, no holds barred; and then she stops, takes a deep breath, and says, "God loves us so much." 

Claire has about 13,891 talents. Not just things she's good at; things she does expertly. One of these things are her beautiful floral arrangements. She used to cut plants from her garden or ours and then she would make professional bouquets for us as gifts--again, because it is her joy. When we moved to New York, it was a parting almost without tears. It was like her soul was talking to my soul without us actually saying the words, and she knew to come was what I needed. (I'm convinced she communes with God in a way that most of us don't. He probably let her in on His secrets for our life here.) She smiled as we walked down the path from her house, through the gate, for the last foreseeable time (thank the Lord I've since been back!). She said, "Send me photos of the florist shops. Think of me whenever you see a pretty window!"

Oh, Claire, I do. I think, "Claire would love this." And then when I snap the photo, I think, "God loves us so much."

July 29, 2015

1,000 Words: Apartment


I've always been more a words person than a visual person. I like things in my mind's eye. But I've also always enjoyed the phrase"a picture is worth a thousand words." I'm not a photographer, won't even pretend to be. But I want to be better at telling our story with pictures too.


Other 1,000 Words:

July 27, 2015

Eden


"If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world." --CS Lewis

Next time I am unable to lose myself in the moment; next time I am anxiously dissatisfied and I cannot understand why; next time a subtlety reminds me of something familiar and sublime that I never actually knew--I will stop. I will remember that, though I am called to this time and place, this is not the world for which I was made. The insatiable yearning tugging at my soul, a gut-feeling of longing that cannot be shaken, it is beckoning me home, hinting that, here, I am a foreigner. I am transient. I was created for something else.

I will relish the glimpses. The moments when my nakedness does not feel shameful; and my heart feels indescribably at peace; and my mind only is, not jumping forward or wandering back. These are instances of desire turned realization. The day will come when I can bask in the plush green of Eden, surrounded by the songs of birds I've never heard of and smells I've never before inhaled--but I will know them. The day will come when I can lie on my back in velvet grass, the breeze blowing over my body and the sound of rushing, living water beyond--and it will comfort me. The day will come when I will no longer hate my ruined soul but will instead be at total rest. 

One day I will return to the home I was made for, to the place being prepared for me. 

July 21, 2015

Spontaneous (Or Indiana 3)


She still had the sheets pulled up over her head, relishing the morning breeze blowing through the room, when he said, "Do you want to go to Indiana this weekend?"

And she just said, "Yes."

Because of course she could have thought it through at least three times. She could have made packing lists and scurried about. She could have crunched numbers and calculated travel times. She could have considered the grocery order on its way and the irresponsibility of abandoning fresh food. Her heart yearned to be reckless. She loved the idea of spontaneity. Her head was pragmatic. This was her way.

But she would be with him. And he could always do that for her: Make her wild in the best and smallest ways, the kinds of things that declare, "Every day of our lives holds adventure and surprise."