the beginning...

something in me sparked. something in me lacked. i was dry and thirsty and had no idea how to find a cup or how to operate the faucet. it began with a need for prayer. people in my life were hurting, they were asking, i was being held accountable to these prayers and i was letting people down. not that they knew it because i so nonchalantly threw around the phrase “i will pray for you.” it was a token, a passing thought to fill in the awkward space between news given and response needed. a default phrase that ate away at my heart each time i let the words pour off my lips. I will pray for you, I did pray for you, do you have any prayer requests....oh how it made me hurt and ache. i didn’t even know how to begin to pray, my laundry list of prayers, sickness, regrets, a little gratitude always felt fake and insincere. i wanted to be the girl on her knees, crying out to her father seeking guidance and protection in a broken world. but instead i found myself sitting with my list and with lips that wouldn’t move, frozen before the King of my heart not knowing how to mutter a word.

then i asked for help. and she responded enthusiastically with hard questions and accountability.

the questions came..

getting to know her.

this whole writing process is a search for honesty. for me to rise to the occasion and learn more about me. if i take the time to sit down at this computer then i really am taking a step away from my life and changing perspectives. i am now looking at sarah rather than looking through her. i am forcing myself to be a critic, a friend and sounding board for hopes, dreams, fears and the big what if questions. what if you try and fail. what if you chase after something and find it still doesn’t complete you. what if my hopes and dreams wrestle up more fears than i care to put to rest. what if all of that is just an excuse.

see.
it works.
my questions turn into thoughts, thoughts that keep me awake at night and thoughts that eventually push me to action.

the last couple months have been filled with me asking questions about my faith. my knowledge. my desire for growth. my passion. i don’t have any answers but by putting pen to page i am at least discovering more about me. something i haven’t taken the time to do in a while.

it is exciting. i think i like her.

rest. where do you hide?

The earth seems to be moaning under the weight of all this ice. As the wind blows the branches of our mighty oak tree creek and crack, I can hear the wind coming down the chimney howling and groaning with the cold. First the snow fell, hard and heavy, covering our green grass and dry roads making it look like winter again. Then the rain came and turned the snow to mush and as night ushered in everything turned to ice. We lost a large branch in the back yard, it broke with the added weight of drop after drop. As the list grows longer with school cancellations, churches being closed and businesses opening late it seems that West Michigan is once again waving its white flag of surrender to Mother Nature.

So here I sit in an unexpected day off. No work, hard to travel around town - just me and Lucy sitting in the living room while B sleeps in preparation for working tonight. I got up to make coffee and while reaching for a filter I noticed the cupboard was a mess of tupperware chaos, I was filled with angst that it must been cleaned and organized. I walked by a closet that I know is filled with unfolded towels, boxes of hidden treasures and a mess of hastily folded sheets - another area of my home hidden behind a door, out of sight out of mind. The list continues to grow - mop, scrub the bathroom, start a new “get my house out of the 1950s” project, laundry, organize, sort and add order to our life.

I sit down with my now brewed cup of coffee overwhelmed by my walk through our house. Why is it that when given the gift of rest, when told - don’t come in to work, stay home - I create a list. A do this, wash that, clean up, fix it list that haunts me. It whispers you are lazy, unproductive and will waste your day if you don’t do any of these things. I long to scream back “go back into your closet and behind your cupboard door! I don’t have to work work work - I deserve to rest!” But I don’t - usually I do. Two weeks ago we had a couple snow days, I took down wall paper in our pink tiled bathroom and painted it a more tolerable white. Idle moments are always filled with a task, a list or a job to do. I get anxious if the sink is full of dirty dishes, if the hamper is overflowing, if the bathroom sink has built up enough toothpaste and dust that it is no longer white.

I seem to be programmed with an override on my rest button. Growing up my dad was a do-er. Always productive, always active and always dragging us along. My sister and I worship rainy days. We still call each other when rain is pouring down and giggle at the welcomed day of being stuck inside. But now I seem to always come back to my to-do list. I hate that I may become like that branch in the yard. Broken under the weight of list after list, of task upon task. The branch that now lies in the yard will never again feel the warmth of the sun, it won’t experience the melt of winter into spring and the stretch of the growing season.

How do I surrender my list, my drive and my angst to enjoy the gift of rest? How can I seek out rest in a busy day or difficult schedule?

Genesis 2:2 By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work.

Exodus 16:23 He said to them, “This is what the Lord commanded: tomorrow is to be a day of Sabbath rest, a holy sabbath to the Lord. So bake what you want to bake and boil what you want to boil. Save whatever is left and keep it until morning.”

Matthew 11:28 Come to me all who are weary and heavy burdened and I will give you rest.

Blessed are you who weep now, for you shall laugh...

I will be glad and exult in you; I will sing praise to your name, O Most High.

The gladness in my heart has been sucked out of me. Sorrow and anger have filled the beds that gladness and peace once curled up in. these feelings are not welcome in my place of peace. they do not have an invitation or a seat but it seems they work their way in along with being discouraged, overwhelmed and alone.

I am constantly be served with reminders that this is not our home. That these bodies are merely containers for our souls. We are meant to face things that make us long for perfection. Things that make us know there is a day coming with no hurting, no sickness and where we will walk as one with our Savior – living in a state of completion. No longing or questions of what is next. But where we will live in the present moment, never being able to fully absorb the glory and greatness of it all. And I will laugh and sing praise. oh how i long for the day.

babies

little tiny bundles of coos and yawns and squeaks that are entering my life faster than i have time to prepare my heart. tonight i held the newest in the bayley world. mr corbin. he is so cute. and snuggles right into you and so gently reminds me that someday this joy and treasure will be mine to have too. and then saturday it is baby shower time for a dear friend of mine. our lives were intertwined for so many years and now she is having a baby.

this still shocks me a little. to think that i am allowed to bring children into this world. that myself and friends of mine are here. we have arrived. no longer children playing house with dolls and barbies but women - our plates piled high with expectations, we work, we own homes, we drive cars that we purchased, we make dinner and balance checkbooks (or use online banking...sorry mom, all those lessons at the dinner table are washed away with the ease of a click).

being a mom was something i always thought would come quickly in my life. get married, have babies, happily ever after...right? well being married is a lot more work than i ever thought it was going to be. i love love love b. and i love being married to him. but it took me a while to learn important lessons in our marriage and i think i will always be doing this - for the next 50 years hopefully! but i try to imagine a baby too and i suddenly feel overwhelmed, claustrophobic and very unprepared. so i am taking this as my cue that it is not time. i am not ready no matter how much i love the feeling of a little baby sleeping on my chest, or how sweet the sound of sammy, my nephew, saying sawah in 2 year old jabber or how all my friends seem to adjust so well to this new life.

i am not ready. not yet. we will see what tomorrow brings.

taking a moment

i am starting to cherish moments like these. despite missing my husband while he is off at work providing for our little family i have found a certain peace in the quiet of our home. it is filled with things that i like to do. i can clean to my hearts content, i can eat a piece of toast for dinner, work on a quilt or bake up a storm. i watch gilmore girls and old movies filled with dancing and singing. i sit and read. and read. and read.

but even though all of these things are great none of them are as wonderful as my handsome husband walking across the squeaky floor and saying hi to me when he gets done with work.

tonight i baked. i was excited for this all day. i knew that my husband had picked me some zucchini and it was made to be mixed with flour and eggs and a little chocolate to make the most wonderful summer bread. it smells so good. and i cannot wait to have a taste.

long lost friend we meet again...

i needed you to come. i needed the snow to melt and the green grass to stand proud. i needed the warm breeze to hit my face and send my hair flying. i was longing to feel the sun, to have it warm my frozen bones and turn my skin to caramel. thank you for coming so swiftly. for bringing your blue skies and warm afternoons. you have turned the branches of tired bare trees to crimson and gold with buds that will soon burst to life. you have spoken magic words to your flowers that coax them out of hibernation. i needed to know that you wouldn't forget to come when winter overstayed its welcome. thank you for bringing life back to a barren land.