Weep No More

I've been listening to a song on repeat.  Sandra Mccracken's We Will Feast in the House of Zion is a beautiful and singable song that comes from her new album based on the Psalms.  The chorus goes like this:  

We will feast in the house of Zion.  We will sing with our hearts restored.  

He has done great things, we will say together

We will feast and weep no more.  

When I was ten years old, we moved into a new house.  At the time it was a brand new subdivision and our house was only the third to be built.  For the first couple of years we'd watch as one house after another was built from the ground up.  

That wasn't the exciting part.  The exciting part was waiting to see who was going to move into the house once is was completed.  There were a few retired couples and across the way a family with a baby, but I will never forget when a particular family moved in a few houses up from us.  They had kids around my age. To be precise, the family had one cute boy around my age.    

I discovered this fact when riding my bike around the neighborhood on one particular day.  My Romeo was outside shooting baskets and I coolly and maturely began...riding circles in front of him.  

When I think back on my maneuvers to look "cool," I actually, physically twinge.  Like, what in the world was I thinking?  Riding in circles?  For the love of all things not cool.    

But it got worse.  After riding circles in front of their house, I decided that whatever I was wearing at the time was not good enough.  Though I don't recall what I had initially been wearing, I remember exactly what I changed into:  hot pink shorts with a pair of jelly sandals that I thought were pretty sweet. 

I am currently self aware and I can, with total confidence, declare that I....was a nerd.  

It was pretty bad for a few years there.  

Once I had on my new and improved outfit, I mounted the bike to do what any girl interested in a boy would do.  I began riding circles again while he shot baskets.  And it was clear pretty quickly that Romeo wasn't too interested in watching me or my bike circles, which was disturbingly confusing since I had on my jelly sandals.  

So, I devised a plan (and I am currently twinging revisiting this plan).  I decided that I was going to ride up and down the street in front of him, and every time I rode past him I'd do a "trick" on my bike.  

My tricks included what you would imagine:  spinning the bike on it's back wheel and doing a 360 after flying over a ramp.  

Nope.  

My tricks consisted of things like:  sticking one leg out whilst still peddling with the other foot and lifting one arm to wave while still holding onto the bars with the other hand.  I know, I know.  Pretty cool stuff, especially in my hot pink shorts and jellies.  

Romeo was still not giving me the attention I was craving, so I rode to the top of the hill and decided to impress him with the ultimate trick.  I was going to lift both hands in the air when I passed him and ride using only my feet.  YES.  

I got to the top of the hill and released myself, riding as fast as I possibly could.  Just before I reached Romeo's house, I lifted both hands in the air and I think (unfortunately) I let out some kind of yell. He finally turned, and just in time to see my bike hit a rock.  I failed to see the massive rock in the middle of the street because my eyes were locked on Romeo, and so I flipped right over the front of my bike.  

I'm not sure how long I was laying on the pavement before I noticed Romeo laughing.  I'm pretty sure that I realized one of my jellies was missing first.  I finally sat up and the searing pain in my right knee, which was covered in blood, finally began to register.   Jelly missing.  Romeo laughing.  Bloody knee...

I began crying relentlessly.  My bike stayed where it was and I hobbled back to the house wearing one, lonely jelly and a bruised ego.  

What happened?  I'll never forget my mom looking at me when I came into the kitchen. I mean, let's be honest, I wasn't about to divulge my plan to woo Romeo, so I simply told her, with babbling words and through ugly tears, that I fell off my bike. And I lost my jelly.   

She put her arms around me and didn't ask anymore.  I was glad because while I felt as though I could describe my bike tricks with magnificent details, I wasn't sure I would be able to relive the laughing Romeo.  So, she just let me cry.  And I cried hard for several minutes with my face pressed against her chest.  In the midst of my little storm, I found respite and peace in my mom's arms.  

I'm caught up with tears every time I hear the chorus of Sandra's song.  After some reflecting, so much of my emotion comes from the reality of what this song reminds us is to come:  

One day we will feast together - The heavenly feasting alone gets me excited (I even get giddy about what I'm going to eat for breakfast in the morning). But beyond the food...brothers and sisters in Christ from every nation will sit together and feast.  I will share a cup with those I have loved this side of heaven and as well with those whom I have struggled to love.  We will feast together and without bitterness or envy toward one another.  Our relationships will be restored and we will enjoy, with sincere and utter happiness, sitting around a table together.  I weep over this reality because from an earthly perspective I can only call it miraculous.  

We will sing together with our hearts restored - Can you imagine it?  Worship focused only on Jesus. Worship that is pure with no distractions.  Singing boldly and unashamedly to the one who has saved me.  The beauty and anticipation of this day brings tears of joy to my eyes.  

He has done great things we will say together - And I cannot WAIT for this.   There will be a day when we will be able to share with those who have gone before us, and with those whom we have never met, the great things that God has done - the ways in which He has comforted us in pain and the ways in which he lifted us up when our spirits were broken.  There are so many stories about the things God has done that I look forward to hearing.  

We will feast and weep no more - I long for this day with tears in my eyes because in a broken world, tears come readily.  But one day they will be gone forever.  I can't even imagine it.  Come quickly Lord Jesus.  

A couple of evenings ago, my dear mom spent her first night alone in her room. Now that she is in a care center, my step father sleeps elsewhere and her nurses are no longer in the room with her throughout the night.  It has been years and years since she has slept alone.  I knew she may be anxious on this night, so I  had been praying relentlessly that God would grant her a sense of peace and calm.  And it seemed things were OK when I finally fell asleep that first night.  

But then my phone rang late.  It was my mom.  She can't speak clearly anymore, so she just cried. She wept on the other end of the phone in the same kind of way I did when I stood in the kitchen, bruised and bloodied, with my face buried in her chest.  

I began crying as well.  What else was there to do?  I wished I could reach through the phone and touch her shoulders and let her know that it was going to be OK, but I couldn't.  So, I just quietly cried and listened while she wept loudly out of fear and confusion until she finally quieted down and gave into sleep.  The peace didn't come in the untangled way I had prayed for, without pain or difficulty, but life is usually messy like that.  It's in the tangled web of sin and sorrow when Grace is found in abundance.  Sometimes it's only in the storm of grief that we can recognize calming peace. 

   

But there will be a day when we will feast...and weep no more.  I pray daily that these words and the truth behind them will not sit idly in my heart, but that my spirit would know it, believe it, and live by it every single day.  There will be a day when tears are no more.  And until then I can press my face against my Father's chest and find respite and peace in His arms.  

Thank you, Sandra McCracken, for this beautiful reminder:  

We Will Feast in the House of Zion

  

Joy and Gray Hair

My youngest daughter, Lily, is almost seven years old.  My youngest daughter has the middle name Joy. My youngest daughter has given me my first gray hairs.

There was a mild panic in my bathroom when I spotted the gray hair.  There were many possible ways of dealing with the situation, like quoting Proverbs 16:31 to myself:  "Gray hair is a crown of splendor..." But I chose a less spiritually inclined response: I stomped my foot and yelled, "Lily!"

God has blessed us with a unique kiddo in my youngest, but I know there had to have been a snicker when He blessed me with a child who would give me as much of a run for my money as I did for my own parents.

I've heard there is such a thing as a laid back third child; that kid, much like my youngest sister was, who is content to listen to their older brothers and sisters talk rather than fight to speak over them. That kid who you just don't know is even there unless you call out their name.  I've heard these kinds exist.

But this does not describe my youngest.

This describes my youngest:

The table she broke apart doing nap time.   Because what else is a child to do during nap time at age two?

Duh.

And this:

"Making pizza" on her own accord whilst dressed in a blanket.  Because what else are you supposed to wear when making pizza?

Duh.

And then there is this gem:

I snapped this picture right before I over heard a conversation between another mother and her young daughter:  "Mom, can I go under the cart like that girl?"

"No, honey.  The bottom of the cart is for groceries not for little girls."

And so I'll chalk that one up under mom error.  Because apparently the bottom of carts aren't for little girls.  Geez.

And then there is this picture that I discovered after a tough day with my youngest:

Let me interpret:  "To Mom  Kit, Love Lily.  Thank you for being my friend."  And the two girls are labeled "me" and "Mom Kit."  

Yup.  

It's the incessant questions.  I try to be patient with them, but when they start as soon as I wake her up in the morning, I know it's going to be a rough one:  

"Mom, why in the world are you waking me up?"  

"Because you have school."  Like we haven't done this since September

"It's just like...WHY.  I mean WHY do I have to go to school.  I mean they just make me work, work, work, and that's all I do is work!"  

So, I'm sure there is a mature way to deal with this sort of morning conversation, but I'm still working on maturing, and so I simply told lily she had five minutes to get dressed for school, and if she didn't get dressed in five minutes, she would stay home with me and I would SHOW her what work really looks like.  

"It's just that I don't get WHY I have to go to school.  It's just that I don't get it.  At all."    

Seriously?  And she was still in bed whilst talking.  She has a bunk bed, so I can't just pull her out (I've considered all the different ways this is possible and have concluded that all my various tactics would seriously injure one of us).  Therefore, she remained in bed.  

And, of course, we were late getting out the door for school.  Somehow on the mornings my husband drives, he manages to get them all in the car and out the door with plenty of time to spare.  This is not one of my spiritual gifts.  So, while I know I share in the fault, on this particular morning I reminded my youngest that because she did not get out of bed, we were now going to be late.  

That information resulted in a full body sprawl across the kitchen floor:  "But I'm the child of the day at school!"  

"And you will still be child of the day when you get to school."

"But I'm never going to get there now because you're driving and then I'll never be child of the day again because I'm going to be late.  Always when you drive we're late!"  

Oh my word.  The drama could have won an Oscar.  I let the commentary on my driving roll and peeled her off the floor.  Our late drive was a non stop commentary from our youngest alone, and we're in the car a good hour on school mornings.  And I kid you not when I say she filled each minute with words.  

I have no idea what all she said; survival calls for me to tune some of it out.  I do know she about did in my two oldest, along with their mother, and I do recall a particular line of questions (complaints) regarding the smoothie I drink:  

Mom, I just don't get why you drink those gross things.  It's like eating grass or dirt or something. MOM! They are so gross that they make me want to puke.  MOM! I mean every time I see that smoothie, I just want to puke.  Mom, if I puke in the car, what would you have to do?  Like would we get a new car?  MOM! Can I puke in the car so we can get a new car?  But what if I puked on my clothes, then what would I wear to school?  MOM!  I mean what would I wear?  I don't even know if I puked on my shoes.  Then I wouldn't even have shoes.  MOM!  But, then would I have to go to school?  MOM!  They don't let kids go to school when they don't have shoes.  MOM!  I mean, do they?  What about kids in those other countries?  You know the ones with EBOLA?  MOM!  Do they have to wear shoes?  Do kids with EBOLA puke too?   I just hate that smoothie so much.  MOM!  

To say I was undone when I dropped her off would be an understatement.  I called my husband at work after listening to an afternoon commentary on the way home from school on what songs are good and what songs are bad and why we can't just sing Taylor Swift in church sometimes.  I told him she had successfully used up my capacity to listen to words.  I had no words left to hear from anyone.  Not my oldest, not my son, and not my poor husband.  I just needed him to understand that if words were directed my way that evening, I would not hear any of them.  Lily had used up my ability to process words.  

He got it.  But Lily didn't get it.  The night unfolded in a less than peaceful way after I found doll hair under her dresser as well as several other treasures from her brother and sister's room.  "But I was hiding them to wrap them up for them for gifts!"  Nice try.  And, of course, after being in trouble, she "rearranged" her art picture, posted above, and left it outside her door for me.  

The next morning conversation went like this:  "Mom, today is going to be a good day, right mom?  Mom, you were in such a sour mood last night.  Like the sourest I've ever seen.  But I think you're better today, right mom? MOM!"  

It just takes me a few minutes to answer right away in the morning.  It's a firewall of questions that just take me a minute.  

But eventually Lily and I had a talk.  We talked about her middle name: Joy.  I told her that she is a delight to me, and even when we have really bad days together, she's still a Joy. Just like her middle name.   

"Oh, so it's like you have to decide on joy.  Like today...I'm going to be joyful today."  

Out of the mouths of babes.  Decide on joy.  I think she's right.  I think there's a lot of rather difficult days here on earth, but man, oh, man, there is no doubt that if we are in Christ, we can choose joy no matter what the circumstance.  No matter what the circumstance:  A kid who won't listen, a rambunctious toddler, a pile of bills, or even a terminal illness.  Lily's right:  I can decide on joy.  It doesn't make the difficult go away, but it certainly changes my perspective. And sometimes it's all about perspective.   

Lily ran through the common area (ran) in the care center where my mom lives yesterday.  It was like watching a video game where the goal is for the a kid to make it to the room without running into wheel chairs - but unfortunately it was real life.  She jumped right on the hospital like chair and began using the remote to lift herself up and down.  And then the chair literally catapulted her out. And then it was the chair's fault and thus began the commentary on why Ya Ya needs to get a new chair and why everything was wrong with everything.  And thus the new gray hair.  It has been a long time coming.  

Today, my friends, I choose joy.  In the midst of the gray hair.  

Lord, You have chosen me and redeemed me, crowned me with love and compassion.  I can do nothing less than overflow with joy at Your great love for me, for those I love, and for the world.  

Our Daily Bread