Vitamin Be

It's seven in the morning. Despite a raging illness that has placed small lances inside my throat passageway, I've been awake for two hours. A mug of hot coffee reposes on my desk, wafting seductive aromas my way. Lukewarm eggs and tepid toast top my childrens' breakfast plates, long since cooled as I've waited for the first stirs of "Good morning!" My own eyes have gone from open to half-closed as I've busied myself, far too early, in order to get a good start to the day, and now I'm nearly spent.

I perch on my hard kitchen chair, pounding on these keys, realizing that nothing remains for my morning but this solitude. I could go back to bed - out of principle. I could finish some correspondence, study the Word, pamper my hair or my face. But if I am honest, I just can't. And in this pause - this lull between tasks and adventures - my chair feels suddenly soft. It's good - oh so good - to sit simply, thinking thoughts, with my coffee.

Too often, I've blazed on ahead, rousing my troops, forced myself forward, and tromped on others' quiet spaces in the process. How much we need these un-allocated moments! How beautiful to be created as creatures of Pauses, not just Progress. In the blank face of my nine-year old as he gazes out his bedroom window at ... nothing ... in the half-guilty laugh of my spouse as he 'checks back in' during a conversation he'll never remember ... even in the companiable togetherness of my two younger children as they sit and fiddle with toys in their room ... there is undeniable Life.

For it is in these Pauses that a certain sweeping Progress unfolds. Embracing the stops ... the gaps ... the unexpected 'nothing spaces' utilizes them as they were intended, but our bodies and minds will find them, all the same. Sudden illness the moment one slows down. A bout of unexplained fatigue. Mental and emotional breakdown. These may be our soul's only means of crying out for mercy and rest. It's far less painful to provide the mercy and rest by taking it when it comes - but it will come, either way.

I recal an essay I once wrote about the art of Stillness. I was newly married then, wondering how and when I'd start my career. I noted people such as Moses, Paul, and even Jesus who encountered their Pause just prior to an explosion in ministry or service. Not all Pauses creat such visible results, but the Progress takes place just the same. Consider the refreshment we feel after a long soak in the tub or even a long, 'brainless' run. What about 'the year I didn't know what to do?' (don't we all have one ... or more?) What happened during that time could not taken place in a year of frantic activity, could it? We writers are fully aware of the 'Aha!' moment that often occurs on a quick bathroom break. And what, if not Pause, is the reason for the time-outs so steadily inflicted on toddlers, courtrooms, athletes, and even Congress?

Perhaps we should Time Out more often.

In my own culture of doing, reaping, producing, and benchmarks, I choose to stop measuring some things. The weight of my life based on my schedule. The worth of my children based on theirs. The time it takes to savor this cup of coffee, walk a mile with my son, construct cookies with my daughter, or have 'quality time' with my spouse.

But most of all, I will stop this fierce advance into DOING. Instead I will let myself BE, Pauses most of all, and rejoice in the Progress (seen or not) that this brings.

Maybe I'll go back to bed now, after all ...

Sons of Zebedee

Several nets:
Not that many, but they are enough.
We cast they daily, and they,
in turn,
return full, brimming with fish, with contentment.

Flourish? Yes, sometimes.
But even when we flounder, we fish.
The squares of our nets bind our lives
Like so many bricks, so much mortar.
The are our purpose, our way.


Until
one day
He arrived.

He said very little - just watched us at our work
(we were mending the nets, I believe)
Tying the worn little squares back together.
We sat there, silent, both waiting.
But that gaze! In His waveless eyes we felt
The Lake after raising a storm
The Sky when the moon's barely up
The Wind when it blows in the Spring
And we loved Him.

"Follow Me," He said.
So we did.
Left our nets
And our Dad
And climbed aboard this Man's ship -
Oarless, netless
And fearless as if we'd had many.

I still remember the first puffs on the road, walking after Him,
Following Him down His path, toward His purpose
Following Him to the Deep we had craved.

We had found our true Way.

Vitamin Gift

Three kids. That's not a large number. Yet they are who the Lord has given me, and I know they love me dearly.

How do I know? That's easy! They shower me with presents! I receive so many knicknacks, portraits, bouquets, rocks and feathers, and abstract twig carvings that I have created a receptacle for them all. Euphemistically termed "Mommy's mailbox," it hangs innocently on my bedroom wall, collecting all the treasures for which I've no home. Periodically, I slink away and dispose most of them ... in the trash can.

But don't tell! A deep part of my mother-heart feels shame and remorse at not being able to receive each of these treasures with the joy in which it was created. I think this is due, in part, to the fact that my own childhood memories don't include a feeling of 'overgifting' my parents. To my recollection, my gifts were each so thoughtful, so artful, so apt! The truth that they were probably the same slips of paper and bits of string my own children offer me seems irrelevant - and maybe that's the beauty of childhoos. All our treasures are priceless - all our creativity is gold. In our minds, our parents have enough room to store every cherished offering indefinitely, pulling them all out and admiring them without end.

And this is as it should be. Our parents, human replicas of the Divine, are created to respond to us with the same open-handed joy as our Father. True, their receptiveness has an end, but our childish eyes don't perceive it.

And isn't it lovely that, in God's eyes, we all remain children? No matter how mature we may feel, we still function as kids, endlessly offering our bits of glitter and glue for His pleasure. And pleasure they bring! He delights in our offerings, filling up on the tidbits we bring. He wants it all - and He has no secret dumping-ground for these gifts! He savors them, displays them with pride, and gives us the encouragement to keep on creating - all out of His deep parental pride in our existence.

Thank You, God, for accepting my gifts. Thank You for being my Dad.

Vitamin Cuttlefish

I've never thought of sea creatures as "cute," much less "cuddly," but that's just the adjectives the cuttlefish brought to my mind the other day. I'd never seen one of these puppy-faced fish, but the aquarium in Sea World boasts a loveable little collection. The children and I stood and stared at them, marveling at their friendly appearance, and then I read their information sheet.

Cuttlefish are remarkable because they can change the texture and color of their skin when they sense danger. If the threat persists, they release a cloud of ink to confuse their predator.

Wow, I thought. Not only are they cute, but clever, too. I spent the rest of the day imagining myself as a a cuttlefish, able to dimple my skin and change its hue at the drop of a ... a ... fishhook. What a marvelous skill!

But then I grew concerned. To exhibit this trait in my real, on-shore existence would mean blending in with the crowd and the culture in order to avoid any conflict. And as a Christian, I know that being 'of the world' is the last thing I should aim for, even to avoid persecution.

But what if my backdrop were changed? What if, when threatened, I were able to become more like Christ ... so that my life was 'hid in Him' and my Enemy were unable to find me? Now that's a defense strategy I can aim for! Those sweet little fish have a lesson for me after all.

Vitamin Sole

It's amazing the pounding our feet take in a day. And especially, for our family, these days. We're visiting San Diego, and each day the kids and I seem to trek miles across concrete, following little paths that never look like they do in amusement park maps. Why is that, anyway?

In all this wandering, I've watched my kids' feet go from pink and puffy to achy and raw as their shoes find their weak spots; but I've pretty much ignored my own set of soles entirely. That's because they feel great! I have delectable, if geriatric, pair of Chacos that have seen me through travels both foreign and domestic ... and have themselves been resoled once already. My arches have not ached, my instep is intact, and my toes are feeling terrific in this lovely choice in footwear.

Isn't it wonderful how we don't think about the parts of us that are working properly - the articles of clothing (or shoes) that we own that do their job well? I'm so grateful for that - grateful for the little thing, today, that is a pair of nicely-formed shoes. The Bible mentions that shoes of the "good news of peace" will help us stand strong, and I can see why. Without a trustworthy foundation, every step is an agony of distress! How many times a day do I find myself distressed in spirit over things that could be laid to rest if I truly put on those good news shoes? It's not called the good news of peace for nothing! -- And I have determined to set my wll to remembering (and wearing) that peace every step of my day. No, it may not make the lines at Sea World any shorter, but it sure will keep my fuse from shortening while I wait! And that's good news for everyone ... not just me!

Vitamin Birthday

I woke up at 5:20 am this morning, which is highly amazing since I was born at 5:20 am exactly 32 years ago. My eyes just popped open and directed themselves to the clock, and I thought, huh.

The sun was just rising, and through our window the clouds showed pink against the dusky sky. I thought Huh again in an ‘I-never-knew-I-could-see-the-sunrise-without-leaving-my-bed’ kind of way, and I thought, That’s beautiful.

Then I went back to sleep.

But later, when the day really started, it turned out to be just as surprising. The night before, we’d been gifted with a mountain of freshly-picked raspberries, which we smothered in freshly-picked peaches and freshly-picked honeydew. It was the breakfast of champions – completely only by my first ever “Sarah’s Choice” gift-giving arrangement.

“Would you like your present from all of us now or later?” My husband innocently asked me as we concluded our meal. Well, I’m no dummy: Later gives me less time to enjoy it! In a few moments, I was swathed in the girly pinkness of a cozy robe, amidst the oohs and ahs of my children. “That’s from us?” They asked in amazement. They didn’t know they had such good taste.

Next, I got to open a gift card for my first-ever facial: It was shaping up to be a whole day of firsts!

Then I got to play piano in preparation for my first-ever involvement in our church’s praise and worship tomorrow.

Then I got to sing silly songs with Raffi (and my five-year old son) for an enjoyable hour as we drove to a neighboring city, the enjoyment of which was considerably heightened by having just consumed my first stout cup (and a half) of coffee in many weeks. The caffeine, I think, also aided in my propensity for tears when, after another, less enjoyable hour, I found myself still driving in circles on the wrong side of the big city. Thank God for letting someone (and you k now who you are) answer their phone and look up my location on the internet, or I’d still be asking directions … and crying … on my birthday.

But all’s well that ends well – and before long Ethan and I had our errands completed – I’d bopped my way back home – and who should show up but a friend, eager to buy the behemoth fridge that’s been sitting on our front porch, reminding us of our American excesses? How lovely to send this beauty to a good home where it’s really needed – and equally lovely to recoup a decent part of our expenses in purchasing it! Now I can dream of a porch swing … or at least a clear view of my driveway out the front window. Hooray!

And thus, the day began to wind down … but not before my kitchen rose up and created some masterpieces under my caffeinated instruction: Whole wheat, virtually sugar-free donuts (which were, by the way, phenomenal – especially since they were shaped like hearts) – Really Good Potato Salad (also vegan) – more fruit and veggies, including corn on the cob – and apple cider. Wow! We decided the donuts had only 32 calories each, so that puts me at a mere 128. I’m pretty proud of that!

Oh, and did I mention the dinner company? A row of four smiling young faces – we added in my nephew Levi to the mix – and another of smiling older ones – Charley and Rachel came along, too. They brought flowers with them that smell like heaven, and music, too – the completed version of a song I’d written for Charley many years ago. So again, another first: I’ve never been performed for on my birthday!

We topped off the day with a sunset walk and a brisk game of tag. Levi motored around the grass flapping his arms and squealing … and the rest of us did about the same thing in varying degrees of adultness. My husband read the Bible to me before I fell asleep, and this is what I heard: “O God, You are my God; earnestly I will seek You. … Preserve my life from fear of the enemy … You crown the Year with Your goodness, and your paths drip with abundance.” (Psalm 63-65)

Today was a love note from my Savior. I count myself amazingly blessed.

Vitamin Lockout

It was late. Too late, really, to be proud of. My seven-year old son Jared had been asking me all morning if I could please watch his new trick on the tree. Daddy had given him a length of webbing, and after fashioning a makeshift elevator, Jared rapidly progressed to Trapeze Training 101. His body flailed and flapped at the end of that rope like a flag in an afternoon breeze.

But now it really was afternoon, and in the hum of my busy day, I hadn’t yet taken the time to oblige him. “I’ll be there in just a minute,” I’d murmured more than once. But this time, I really meant it. I set down my knife, left the tomato half-sliced, and sauntered out the front door.

“Here I come,” I announced feebly.

“All right!” Jared hollered as he sped past me toward ‘his tree. My arrival garnered far more enthusiasm from him than I inwardly felt: I’d been at the grindstone all day, and my energy reserves were shot.

Jared’s, however, couldn’t have been better. He performed a stellar Ropes routine on his webbing, beaming at my coveted attention. When it was all over, I gave him a round of applause and a short wave, then gathered my two younger children and headed back toward the house and my work.

But this was not to be. Ethan, my five-year-old, had dutifully closed the door behind him.
Sorry, Mom, his blue eyes seemed to say as I struggled with the unyielding doorknob. I guess you taught me too well.

We tried the back door. We checked the windows. And soon, it was official: Unless I wanted to walk barefoot to the nearest neighbor’s house, we’d be stuck outside until my husband came home.

I could have screamed – but I just did not have the energy.

Instead, I sat down on the back porch – gathered my four-year old daughter into my lap – and gave her a squeeze. I lay on the grass and watched the boys on the swing. I stared at the sky – and I felt my blood pressure go down. Later – much later – when my husband finally arrived home – he found a much-improved wife from the one who stepped out the door a while earlier. The kids, too, sensed the difference, and though our dinner had to wait due to unexpected delays … no one really seemed to mind.

Could I have prevented this hour-long delay? Perhaps. But sometimes ,I think getting locked out of my ‘normal’ life is a blessing. Maybe I could have gotten more done that day – but who would have suffered in the process? Maybe I’ll schedule in a few more ‘accidents’ like this: They could be good for my health!