of the stitched kind :: A DEEPER FAMILY MONTHLY FEATURE

(image credit :: elsabags.blogspot.com)

It’s funny how three little girls separated by five years can have such differing opinions on the exact same happening in life.  Personality, age, temperament and individual uniqueness all certainly attribute to the differences in response.  Each of my little girls are growing into their own little person.  They see life through lenses specific to them and interpret life accordingly.

Life hasn’t been all that easy for them.

Their little eyes washed of a certain innocence have filled with tears pushed out of them by grief and loss.  When they lost their mother, they somehow simultaneously grew tightly together and stood distinctly apart.

It’s been the greatest stroke of grace to watch much of their lives end, float in insecurity and find current pushing them into a glowing new horizon.

And all in three years.

So if you’d sit with one of my daughters at some point and ask them to describe the last three years or ask them to illustrate emotions in a drawing, you’d get differing, not opposing but layered, responses.

And they’re all right.

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the one thing you'd better thieve from your child's heart tonight :: A DEEPER FAMILY post

The night lingered on and all subsided back to normal.  Excitement cooled to end of night, which meant bedtime.  And then another day. Before the next day’s arrival, I laid restless tangled in bad.

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From the very moment each of my daughters entered this life, they have owned pieces of my heart.

When tears well in their eyes widened or victory swells in their hearts soaring, I am with them attentive to the emotion present.  I love seeing them succeed.  More so, their faces lighting up bright and bold send my heart into the sky.  A smile slides across their face evidencing a flash of brilliant accomplishment in their growing little hearts, and I know they feel good.

Conversely, my heart sinks with theirs when they come up short, get it wrong or make mistakes.  In my head, I know these moments may end up being the best teacher to them, but still, it’s typically harder for me to watch them realize they’re on the wrong end.  Failure on any level is tough whether you’ve failed or the situation has failed you.  As they sink into themselves and darkened emotion they fade momentarily, and I know they feel bad.

These are two states of being both leading parallel off course. 

As a parent, my top priority is to love them as complete as I can.  For me, loving them in this way means to rid their little hearts of both misguiding thoughts and lock them on course to a healthy tomorrow.

Good and bad, defined in our effort and action that lingers, staining, as tomorrow killers and God haters.

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a note to fathers, and one for me to remember.

Unpack.

Unload.

Give up. Stop.

There is One who's valiantly walked a sorrowful path our feet could never belong to, who's shoulders bore burden alien to our own, who's heart swallowed life and death, fear and frailty, strength and worry and owns belonging both now and forevermore.  The role of hero forever defined in victim so there would be no more standing alone, no more holding the skies from falling, balancing plates spinning or attempt at making life better.

That role is taken, and dad, that is not yours.

Sweat of your brow, brawn of your hand, both feeble at best; wrong at worst.

The struggle to a better life is not in your own effort.  In fact, better life is not real but a fallacy we strain for measured in possession, power and position.  The more we acquire the smaller we become, dwarfed amidst maintaining all we own.  We forget value and what really matters.  Your family doesn’t need more.  They need you.  And the best of you.

Sure, we must work with diligence and effort, but God does not bless your hard work.  God blesses the humble of heart, the man whose hands lay open before Him with full awareness of limitation and broken heart.  Effort will never earn you anything in God’s eyes.  He recognizes humble hearts who confess their need for rescue, for help.

The most effective move you will ever make as a father is to stop the struggle and in holy pause, learn how to follow the path Christ pioneered for us all.

Your family needs a leader; one who leads fearlessly and follows close.

Give your family a better life, not in possession piling high and then forgotten, but in grace realized, love practiced and peace reinforced.

Start by letting go of the heavy day you know, the one that owns your time and affection.  Open your hands calloused by the ineffectual strain of earning a better life to a new way of dependence and reliance and following.

The happiest of Father’s Day to you as you rest in His immeasurable ability to give you all that you (and your family) need.

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. (James 1:17, ESV)

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dreams belong to the brave.

The willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time. -Brene Brown

Showing up holds simple meaning.  There’s little complexity to it.  No one mistakes a person’s intent when they show up.  That person is there for a reason, on purpose.  Maybe without most of the answers, but that’s not the point.  Showing up defines us.

:: a person who wakes up :: a person who doesn’t quit :: a person unwilling to accept probably not :: a person who sees past difficulty

Bravery is little more than standing when circumstance demands you sit.  There’s little strength to it.  The bravest of people don’t feel brave, maybe foolish.  You know a brave man when you see him.  He’s probably more bent by life’s weight than others who sit.  Bravery names you.

There comes a time when you wake up enough to stars colliding, the sky lightening enough and betting the farm turns value on its head to actually making a lick of sense.  We all come to this moment at least once in life when what we dream of makes just enough sense to jump.  In that burning moment, we either do or we dam it shut, excused from sensibility and safety.

Why should it make sense?

Take a look at all things too big.  That’s just what those things were before they awed onlookers, too big – a novel, painting, building, poem, sculpture, song - some dreamer pulled down the sky and made what was seen.  After everyone knows them brave and consistent.

I’d be more willing to say that showing up and bravery are of so much more importance than the result of what you can see.  For what you can see, is the historical telling of someone unwilling to let a dream die.

Now you must ask yourself why dreams are so important that we should not let them die.

Dreams – what we wish to do in life and hope to find true – sprout from the core of who we are and can become.  I believe God gives dreams and we awake to them as we live the life given us.  We all have dreams, hopes and aspirations.  They belong to those made brave by showing up.

For me, the dream was to communicate life and faith and their often times strained interaction through story; to write books and author ideas.  The book I just finished, my first, is an exact product of the simplicity of showing up day after day.

I hope to continue the discipline and brave abandon of just showing up.  I’d invite you to join me being brave in going after our dreams.  Wake to something good forgotten, dismissed in simplicity and just begin to show up.

the loss of effective parenting.

I see their smiles now easy and free.  Peace quiets worry at this sight. And joy fills my heart in the deep of night.

Most days lived under our shared roof sprawl out without much difficulty.  Comfort and security exists again.  I remember the days burning hot and dry when we lived a million miles from one another exiled to our own island on fire.  How unending those days felt!  How unrelenting those waves beat against our shore while offering no respite.

The days, weeks and months following their mother's death, my wife then, will forever be immortalized as a graceful metamorphosis on the timeline of our family, the grand redesign of us now, then and ahead.  For nearly 3 years now, we have been learning life again, finding joy in mundane free from extraordinary ordeal.  Finding joy in day unfolding with boring, unassuming regularity; that’s how you know your heart is beating alive and not a shell of yesteryear.

To be clear, happiness is what we pull from the sky, the smiles we try to wear as long as we can bare, but joy ...joy finds us as the sky falls to find us.

Joy swells in white flags waving and in the end of the pursuit of happiness.  It glimmers rebelliously amidst darker days blanketed by fear, worry, doubt and is the praise of screw ups who know better than to trust the feeble strength of their own hand.

The light in each of their eyes dims, their faces hang in heavier moments, and I’m reminded again close to my chest I have no guarantees.  Nothing promised apart from the breath drawn right now; not even the next day as I once believed.

Belief, that’s all we have and the only choice ever really needed to be made.

And that’s what fuels joy: belief.

The folly of the proud is self-reliance, but the triumph of the humble is joy despite all things, anything, independent of day, night, struggle, ease and especially fairness.

Maybe you’re like me in that I worry often as a parent.  I push hard into most days and try to squeeze as much as I can out of it because there are no absolutes or guarantees that my effort put into my children will produce well - adjusted, loving people whose hearts belong to God and affections to the life given soon to them.  I know as many parents who do everything as right as one can do who sit up late at night wondering what went wrong as the others who stumbled about aimlessly trampling inconsistently in selfish and ignorant circles whose kids end up running an honorable bid for sainthood.

There are simply no guarantees in life as there are in parenting.  “Train up a child in the way he should go”* . . . and he may in fact stray.  He may return one day to God’s grace and goodness, but maybe he won’t.  No one saves, save for God.  That’s why we must only believe.

Then they said to him, "What must we do, to be doing the works of God?"  Jesus answered them, "This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent."**

And so in our quest and effort as parents, we must courageously believe in God’s love and plan more than our pocketed strategies and parenting techniques said to tame the heart of the unruliest, liveliest little child.  For when we trust in God’s ability in their lives and despite our parenting, we transcend human effort of dust trying to cover dust and allow Eternity to shape, form and guide into all ahead.

As a dad to three little beautiful girls, my heart winces a little more with each increasingly complex conversation.  I do good in my own effort as their dad, but soon we’ll travel hand in hand to an impasse where my foot will slip and my hand not able to hold.

Right there my heart better be ready to let go and grab hold of God’s grace and ability.  Right then, my heart must be able to believe or all that I’ve done is try diligently to look capable for as long as I could until my hand could hold no longer.

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“The law says, ‘do this,’ and it is never done.  Grace says, ‘believe in this,’ and everything is already done.” -Martin Luther

Believe in the future already owned by the One who purchased a day unable to be bought by impoverished hearts.  Be free.  Belong.  Trust.

image found @ www.ronitbaras.com  ||  *Proverbs 22:6  ||  **John 6:28-29

together, out of good.

Grant, O Lord, that as we are baptized into the death of they blessed Son our Saviour Jesus Christ, so by continual mortifying our corrupt affections we may be buried with him; and that through the grave, and gate of death, we may pass to our joyful resurrection; for his merits, who died, and was buried, and rose again for us, they Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Easter-Even, The Collect.

None of us are good.  No one one is.

As we approached the darkest of this shared season of Lent, we touched the deepest, most intimate wrong buried in of our human hearts.  Good, the lie that we are okay, can make it out on our own and all we need, all we want dwells within us.

The serpent hiss, perverted benevolence ringing in hearts rooted in choice.

We are all okay, good from beginning, innocent - a diseasing lie eating us.

Their eyes widened a bit and ears tuned in to words undoing us.  No good in us.  There is brooding wrong within each of us demanding surrender, lording desire; a problem sitting heavy on the chest of mankind.  Sin that won’t leave us alone and a scab that we won’t quit picking at.

For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.  (Romans 7:18, ESV)

An illuminated reality in my role as parent has become apparent: just as I accept that there is no good within me, there is no good within them either.  None.  Their hearts live just as displaced as mine always choosing that which the heart wants rather than what it needs.  My daughters lie to protect themselves, hate when their offended and hurt, take what’s not theirs, whine, complain, grumble and ignore others in need for the sake of comfort.  Despicable hearts dirty in sin no matter how we pretty the outer.  We stink the smell of offense.

And this particular realization and confession delivered us properly to the darkness of Lent, the eve of redemption evermore.

Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.  (Romans 6:3-4, ESV)

My approach as dad now broadened focused on uprooting good from their hearts to give way for grace properly, set but then, that night when our Lenten discussions crescendoed well to redemption, the release held greatest importance.  As our devotional book closed, our hearts opened floating free.  Their little heads bowed as if looking dead into their guilty hearts and with quiet words Grace displaced good.

Like the good thief hanging guilty next to Jesus, grace and forgiveness found them readily and easy.  With gratitude and solemness we looked ahead to the remembrance of Good Friday and the promise forthcoming on Easter morning.

Praise the Lord, grace has come.

together, in the branches.

 

Nothing beats late nights with amazing friends meandering through conversation of all that was, is and hopefully will be.  Of equal irreplaceable delight is waking up late into morning with family and those friends to another day of snowy mountain adventure.

And this is vacation; a definite break from busy, from striving and reaching and worry about not being formidable enough for the dreams swirling inside.

When we leave the Colorado mountains, nights return to earlier endings and my alarm sounds annoyingly before dawn waking me to another day, I will be rested and ready after more than 2 weeks of vacation and time away to reset and heal.  But for now, I write into a quiet morning beside a steaming mug of chai tea awaking me even more, all while lost in the view of snow capped mountains whispering adventure both now and into life ahead.

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As we continue together into Lent, discussions of the heart deeper unfold.  Words of challenge and grace fill our conversations together throughout our days away in the mountains.  I anticipated a break.  In the weeks leading up to vacation, we followed a pattern of reading and praying together for grace to help us engage in giving up of conveniences to grasp a greater understanding now of God in our day to day.  Instead of our pattern completely vanishing in the snow and easy days, each of the girls asked how and what we would fast and more importantly, when.

In their asking and reflecting of our togetherness in this Lent journey, a conversation from before the mountains, snow and rest, returned to me; a conversation of heart and words with Elizabeth, my eldest daughter.

There we sat.  The two of us words hanging in grace sheltering our weakness and covering our mistakes.  The greatest erasing of wrong leaving no sign except what we redraw in our effort earning unbelief that God could possibly be that good and undeservingly accepting of our human hearts.

She sat in sadness judged by her own heart, tangled in thought.

“Dad, ...sometimes I get so angry and frustrated at life.  I feel confused and lost.  Sometimes I say bad words in my head, really, really bad words, Dad.”

I allowed for the pause between us to encapsulate the moment, her helpless sinking knowing that scripture reading, prayer and conversation all shared together had been raking over her heart ...and finding her.

“What words do you think when you’re angry?”

“Uhh ... really, really bad words.”

“I see.  They must be really bad if you don’t want to say them.”

I sped up our conversation out of her lingering words suspended in guilt with a hopefully lasting image lifting her sinking.  Often I describe our life together in terms of journey, a landscape of rising mountains, descending valleys and sometimes treacherous impasses.  This image lifting her out of guilt and mistakes was one of a towering tree stretching substantially over us.

Grace like a tree shelters us from guilt striking down from darker skies and together we are safe in its impenetrable branches.

“Um, what?”

All three of my daughters deal with my words dragging romantic and descriptive.  They are used to just staring at me until I’m done and I’m used to their blank looks lost in words loaded with meaning.  I like our conversations that way.  Questions are sure to ensue giving way for their ownership pulling understanding into little hearts.

I pulled back the curtain a bit and assured Elizabeth that emotions exist very real in our hearts and our responses, even the bad unrepeatable words, don’t separate us from God’s fierce love.  To her surprise, I told her that often those words, even the worst offenders launch from my heart, too.

“...and that’s okay, Elizabeth.”

Grace’s strong branches will always hold us up and cover us wholly.  As a parent, no greater gift can be given than the assurance that all will be well and all, despite emotion and weakness of heart.

Grace given. Grace received.

...all in the branches together.

*image copyright inmenlo.com