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heart of worship.

29 Jan

My heart was heavy this morning. And I wanted so badly to be able to pray through what I was processing and to give it my all, but I just didn’t have it in me. Do you know the feeling?

I trudged through breakfast and taking care of Henry in a cloud. I watched the snow fall in giant, perfect flakes outside and tried to put all of my energy into thinking about the weather. I wondered if I’d have noticed–on any other given day, the way white tufts were piling up like cotton blossoms on the tips of branches out the front window.

Distraction is not a good replacement for going to God.

But I tried anyway. I thought about the eggs as I scrambled them in the pan. I tried to enjoy my coffee and couldn’t. I put the little one down for a nap, picked out something to wear, started the water for a shower. And then it struck me. “All who are thirsty, all who are weak, come to the fountain, dip your heart in the streams of life. Let the pain and the sorrow be washed a way, let the waves of His mercy…as deep cries out to deep, we sing, ‘Come Lord Jesus, come. Come Lord Jesus, come.’”

The words washed over me like a wave. “Come Lord Jesus, come. Holy Spirit, come.” I let myself drown out everything else and embraced each word. The lyrics felt like a deep breath, a safe place to land, a peace offering. I made them my prayer–the one I couldn’t find an hour earlier, and that I so desperately needed. God met me where I was lacking, covered over me in a way I didn’t expect.

Still replaying the chorus of the song in my head a while later, “Heart of Worship” came to mind. “I’ll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required. You search much deeper within, through the way things appear. You’re looking into my heart. I’m coming back to the heart of worship, and it’s all about you, it’s all about you, Jesus…”

“Come Lord Jesus, come. Holy Spirit, come. It’s all about you, Jesus.”

Even in the moment when I couldn’t articulate a request to God, He had already found me and been searching my heart. Gently prodding, He brought me back to what was important, used my vulnerability for good, reminded me that a posture of surrendered worship is a worthy offering. And honestly, it felt like a cool balm, a protective covering over my spirit.

Tonight I’m still singing, “Come Lord Jesus, come,” –still unsure of what exactly to pray in my own words. But my heart is a little lighter, and I know that God is carrying the yoke. “Holy Spirit, come…” Sometimes the invitation is all it takes.

acknowledging joy in the offering…desiring to be more than a song,

mm

love for today.

26 Jan

When I need little reminders of joy, they are everywhere I look. And I am humbled over and over. Thank you for being joy…

BTA: for more than i could ever write in a blog post. for being constant. for always picking up where we leave off. for phone calls on the drive home. for so. much. love.

(R)BW: for photo sessions with our littles (I still owe you pictures), kindred blogging, kindred lives. for four-legged friends and a worthwhile commute.

AdR: for chats about being mamas to boys over coffee, for pups, for fashion inspiration, for friendship crafted over radio spots and marketing meetings.

BWB: for lunch dates and pregnancy conversations, hearts after God and the written word, crafts and craftiness and your amazing ability to find me when i need to be found. and for dinosaurs.

JLR: for history. for wisdom and friendship and prayer and openness that withstands all tests of time and distance. for doing life, and for witnessing life at its very beginning.

KTB(D): for ruby slippers and choreography and a love of everything literary. for travels to coastlines and shorelines, and for poems we understand without saying a word.

LZ: for sparkle, both the kind you feel and the kind you wear. for generosity of spirit, for encouragement, and for adventure. (and birthdays, of course.)

LH & NJ: for loving our little family like your own. for prayers, guidance, reassurance, countless blessings, time, nourishment in so many ways.

AT: for fridays. for target dates. for raising boys in a crazy world with reckless love and abandon. and for being real.

BZ: for thoughtfulness and encouragement and spirit. for talent that goes on for miles. for always finding the good. for fake mustaches.

EV: for phone calls that break up the day. for too many similarities to count. for trading in tiaras and earning new titles as mamas instead. for strength.

EJH: for laughter. for being honest. for finding silver linings and reminding me of good. for celebrating what matters and never giving up.

GDZ: for believing. for cultivating love and family and generosity and care. for graciousness and gracefulness and grace.

TMD: for late night conversations. for cheering on and lifting up and leaning in. for lessons. and for bunches, not grapes.

JMK: for covenant. for building a legacy. for falling in and rolling to the middle. for dreaming and watching dreams come true. for what is to come.

And there are more, of course, who I don’t mean to miss in the least bit. More who challenge me in the best ways and who build me up–who teach me about blessing and God and what it means to be selfless, generous, willing, authentic, kind, bold. This entry could be a novel, and I sit back in wonder and think, “How did I ever end up here, with so much beauty at every turn?” You are. Believe it. I know it to be true. Beautiful.

there are not enough words.

mm

from my vantage point: nine months.

25 Jan

Darling Boy of Mine,

The days are passing like minutes on the calendar; where have nine months come and gone so quickly? Today you are the same in age as the amount of time you spent tucked inside my belly, growing into that sweet, small, dependent babe we met face to face just three quarters of a year ago. Still the same Henry David we named you in those very first moments, now you are coming into your own in new ways all of the time.

What do I want you to know about where we are in this very moment? I wish I could capture so much more of you who are than I’ll ever be able–wish I had a replay button to catch every little expression you make. But then, who could keep up?! One of the things I marvel at most about you these days is your ability to light up any room. It only takes a moment, but with one funny face or laugh or nod you have us all softened and attentive to your next entertaining act. You pull me out of a bad mood or a sour day like nothing else can: a blessing to my spirit in a way only God could fashion…

On a lighter noter, you are outgrowing all of your pajamas!…and your socks and onesies and nearly anything else you’ve been wearing as of late. Your army crawl is getting to be more of an army run–nothing gets in your way if you’ve set your eye on something across the room. There are still no teeth in your sweet little mouth, but we think they’re very close. I doubt you’ll make it to your first birthday without a few pearly whites to show off when you dig into cake. You’ve added breakfast in the highchair to your repertoire, making that three square meals a day and milk inbetween. You will eat nearly anything we put in front of you, and finger foods have quickly become regular entertainment. Kruger is also a source of interest all day long. The poor dog loves you and doesn’t know what to do with you all at the same time. I hope you’ll both soon learn to play well together, and I trust a best friendship isn’t far down the road.

When dad gets home from work each day, we eat together at the table, play on the floor, splash around at bath time and always make sure to read a story (or stories) before the end of the day. We continue to pray health and safety and faith and joy over you, trusting that God will look after you and care for you in ways we can only supplement as your parents. When we say goodnight, you always look behind you and over your shoulder to see us leaving–not so ready for our time to be over but tuckered out after a busy, play-filled, action-filled day. Life is never boring with you as we mark your new discoveries and celebrate what a delightful little boy you are becoming.

I’m not ready to give up on you being a baby just yet, and as our first, I probably never will be. You are still cuddly and cozy and dependent and hesitant in all of the right ways, while fiercely independent and curious and adventurous in others. The contrast is striking to me as your mama, honored to have a front row seat as you change and grow so remarkably in this all-too-short amount of time. I’m so thankful to have three months between us and your first birthday, because I still want to take in “Baby Henry” for as long as possible. I don’t want to rush it along or wish it away or think too far ahead. You are marvelous just as you are, right at this very moment.

Nine months feels significant, because you’re surpassing the amount of time you lived in-utero by the amount of time you’ve been in the world. Suddenly, you feel bigger to me than I can contain, although I’m not sure why I’d want to try. You get better and better with every day (and I never thought it was possible!)

I love you beyond my ability to express it. So proud to be your mama. So blessed to watch you grow.

on the other side of a different kind of 40 weeks ;)

mommy

everything.

24 Jan

Tonight’s gathering of worship team vocalists concluded with this song (below), the lyrics of which I can’t claim enough over my life. Perhaps I’ve heard it before, but I don’t remember it well. Sometimes things strike you suddenly–as if they’re brand new, when your heart is ripe and ready for them.

God, I invite you into my life in this way tonight. I don’t want to be lost in the rhythm of days and routine so much that I lose you in the small things. And I invite you into the big things too, God. I pray that you will work in my heart in a way that prepares me for your will in my life–in a way that makes room for you in everything that I am. Please help me to hear you, to be open to you, to glorify you in my roles as wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, writer and employee. Continue to grow my servant heart. Shape me to be more of who you are. I love the idea of you as God in my breathing…God in my working…God in my waiting…God in my everything.

I’m so thankful for the reminder tonight that you are exactly what I need and who I am waiting for. I pray for your help–that I would have the ability to be quiet and listen, and that I would press into what you have for me in each day, trusting and walking faithfully through every high and low.

keeping my eyes and hands open,

mm

God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping

God in my resting
There in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking

Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything

God in my hoping
There in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting

God in my laughing
There in my weeping
God in my hurting
God in my healing

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
You are everything

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
Be my everything
© 2007 Sparrow

Christian lyrics - EVERYTHING LYRICS – TIM HUGHES

oh the weather outside…

19 Jan

…is something. That’s for sure. Can’t say I love it, although I did give it a shot as best I could. I think I made it all the way through the first BIG storm, embracing the grand excuse to stay home and tucked in and cozy. And although I’d like to say that more than a week has passed since then, it hasn’t. It’s been seven days exactly, and I’m ready for something different. I have a terrible attention span when it comes to winter.

It’s mostly the cold, really–and the ice, if I’m getting right down to it. I hate being cold. And I hate the threat of slipping on ice, especially with a little one in my arms (or a growing belly containing precious cargo, as was the case last year). The snow, itself, I’m beginning to embrace. It falls so perfectly and quietly out the window, and before the world gets to it, it’s crisp and pure and without blemish. The perfect metaphor for anything with new life in it.

I know that without the winter, we would likely appreciate other seasons less: the warmth of the summer sun, the vibrance of colors in autumn, life being breathed back into the landscape in the spring. For a long time I’ve considered winter to be sort of grayish and sad–always coming on strongest after the holidays and bringing with it a cloudiness that covers everything, makes the days feel dim. But there’s a perfect stillness about things in wintertime that doesn’t happen in any other part of the year. It’s quiet. Introspective. Reserved, in a way. We all huddle in, bringing comforts closer and nestling into home and family in a different way than we’re prone to in warmer weather.

And then there’s the snow. Some years it comes on like a bear, and others, so subtly you almost miss it for a while. When it gets here, it seems as if to say, “It’s time. Settle down your life for a moment…there will be plenty of days ahead for you to fill to their brim with busyness.” Maybe I notice it more this year because I’m spending less time rushing around and more time tucked inside–staying busy, but in an entirely different way. Or maybe I’m taking note because I’m getting older, and I’m tired of loathing the winter months…desiring to make the most of what’s in front of me as it comes.

I have a harder and harder time taking things for granted these days, and for the most part, I’m grateful. The result is twofold as I see it:

1) I have to try harder to ban worry from my days, for risk of pondering too many what ifs and irrational fears that detract from the life that God is giving me each moment.

and

2) I appreciate things and people and slivers of time so much more than I once did, and my joy is drawn from the small things just as much as it is the big ones, which I love.

There is an inner peace that comes with accepting the seasons we’re in, while we’re in them. Even when the snow is falling, when the wind is whipping, when the chill in the air seems biting and without relent. And even when the world is swirling in a way that we can’t see clearly what’s in front of us, but we trust that there is something, and that it is good. It is in that moment of trusting–in our willingness to make peace with where we are, that we say yes to moving along.

admiring snowflakes in the streetlight glow tonight,

mm

peace for today.

17 Jan

I shared with a friend this morning just how unproductive and frustrated I’ve felt over the past few days. It’s been far too easy for me to dwell on what I still have to accomplish, what’s waiting for me on the t0-do list, what I’ve forgotten or left behind or inadvertently missed. I’m not alone in this, I know, but when I’m in it, in the everyday mix of so many things piling on and too few falling off, it can be tempting to allow accomplishment (or lack thereof) to shape my self image. Instead of feeling good about the fact that I kept a miniature human alive for another day and managed to squeeze in a load of laundry, I’m left staring down all of the things that make me feel insignificant. I know full well that this not what God has for me, but there are days that it’s hard to fight it anyway. 

I’m thankful that, on days like today, there are still so many reminders of what matters, of what’s worthy, of what’s true…if I just clear my head enough to see a little bit past the wall of stress/worry/doubt/fear I’m allowing to take shape around me.

This morning, Jesus Calling was, once again, a timely reminder of what I know to be fact: God can weave miracles into the most mundane day if I keep my focus on Him. He can, and he does.

“Come to me with all your needs, knowing that My glorious riches are a more-than-adequate supply. Stay in continual communication with Me, so that you can live above your circumstances, even while you are in the midst of them.” (JC, 1/17) Above my circumstances, even while I’m in the midst of them…

This is why when Henry woke up from a nap just as I sat down to work (twice) today, I was still able to engage fully in being mommy once I got to the nursery door. This is why we made it to dinnertime and bedtime in one piece tonight, and why a chunk of the work I needed to finish is done, despite my inability to see how it would happen by tomorrow’s deadline. It’s also why I can be here, blogging, and sharing a part of my heart as I reflect on a day that was in some ways wintry and blah and grey, and in other ways still so very beautiful.

And the piece about weaving miracles into the most mundane day if I keep my focus on God? There was a perfect miracle waiting for me this afternoon that stopped me in my tracks as if to say, “See? I really AM that attentive to your heart, Mol.” I know this to be true, and yet it is still so amazing when God makes a point of performing His work so apparently in the day to day. In the mundane.

There is nothing mundane about God’s peace. Nothing at all.

So instead of going to bed tonight as defeated as I’ve been feeling, I’m going to “search for all that God has prepared for me, anticipating abundant blessings and accepting difficulties as they come.” It wasn’t easy for me to do today, but as it draws to a close, I can say that there were very redeeming moments shining down on the day when I looked for them. I have a lot of praying to do, but that’s ok. Tomorrow is going to come, and with it, more miracles in the mundane…

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.” phil. 4: 6-9

considering the good,

mm

 

whispering thank yous.

16 Jan

After leaving the pediatrician’s office today with the simplest possible diagnosis and a smiling boy, I realized once again just how blessed I feel that Henry has been and continues to be so healthy. I don’t take it at all lightly that he was born without complication, that he proved to be well from day one, or that he has moved through each day thus far without any significant health hiccups or snags. Lots of babies are born healthy, but so many are not, and while a lot of our decisions as parents play into the wellness of our children, it is no small thing when we are privileged to watch them grow without major incident.

I know that there will be scraped knees and plenty of bruises in Henry’s time. Perhaps even a broken bone or two, and colds and viruses galore. Those issues though, are par for the course as we grow up. No one manages to escape them all, and I don’t expect Henry to be any different. When I say I’m thankful that Henry is “healthy,” I mean so many aspects of his development that, for many children, are bumps in the road early on. It is truly something that a baby is born perfectly healthy when so many factors (both controlled and uncontrolled) have an impact on our growth in-utero.

The reality of all of this is so striking to me as a mom. When we get pregnant, portions of our baby’s health have already been established through the gene pool–then, even more of his or her future wellness begin taking shape at conception. As every aspect of an embryo (and then fetus) develops, each cell and nerve and organ and vessel must shape and grow in the exact right way in order for a healthy baby to enter the world. Does this not amaze at every turn?!

At five weeks along, an embryo has a heartbeat. At ten to twelve weeks, that same, tiny heartbeat is most often audible by Fetal Doppler to those of us outside the womb. Cells multiply at rates we can barely conceive, and only nine months later, an entire human being enters the world. How can I not fall on my knees in gratitude at the thought of our Creator, who has done such good and perfect things!?!

And then, to consider that He has entrusted one such healthy and joyful tiny person into our care. An entire being. A soul. A life that, in many aspects, we are responsible to sustain. A perfect blessing from God.

In moments like today’s, re-acknowledging the ways that God has met the desires of our hearts seems somewhat trite, but wholly necessary. For every day that Henry has been a part of our family thus far, he has also been the impetus for countless prayers of gratitude and thanksgiving. When he laughs, my heart whispers thank you. When he smiles, thank you. When he cries and I get to be the one to comfort him, thank you. As he grows and learns and changes, as he sees and feels and tastes and hears and touches the world around him, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

As a mom, I will spend my whole life doing this. I marvel at the thought.

whispering,

mm

quote of the day.

11 Jan

I love this. Wish I knew where the art was from in order to give proper credit…found it on Pinterest. Ahhh, Pinterest :)

 

such wisdom, yes?

mm

stirred, not shaken.

8 Jan

Yesterday around lunch, I grabbed my bags and headed out for some much needed time with four of my favorite women. I had anticipated the weekend away in both good and challenging ways…looking forward to the chance to let my hair down around friends who have known me for nearly a decade (some longer:), and wondering how I’d feel about being away from my favorite little person overnight. As I prepped to go mid-morning, I struggled unnecessarily with the details of feedings and outfits and schedules for the babe, trying wholeheartedly to remind myself that 24 hours would go by in a blink. And then blink it did.

Arriving at my weekend destination with snacks and the like in hand, I joined an already budding catch-up session in the kitchen–each of us picking up where we’d left off weeks or months ago, laughing and crying and reminiscing straight on through the afternoon, then the evening. And conversation never skipped a beat–not once. Stories poured out into the middle of the room over crackers and dip, wine, dinner, banana bars, pj’s, bedtime. Long after we’d gone to bed we were still catching up, still sharing our hearts with each other like only the best of friends can do.

I saw the clock at 4am and remember little after that until morning. And five hours later, when I woke up without worry about feeding times and diaper changes and the like, I felt as though I’d slept for ten. Refreshed. Rejuvenated. Recharged.

We gathered at the kitchen table. We laughed. Sipped coffee over coffee cake, laughed some more. Then we each sat quietly for a bit and wrote a letter to ourselves about where we are now and where we hope to be when January 2013 arrives. It was the most perfect way to wrap up a visit I never knew I’d so badly needed.

Getting ready to face the day was reminiscent of college–all of the girls chatty in the bathroom, hair dryers and curling irons busy while we eeked out every last minute of our time together. Packing up and promising follow-up conversations over coffee and dinner before too much time passes by, we recounted 15 straight hours of conversation from the day before. You know you’re friends when…

There is something so sacred about friendship when it has withstood (and battled and weathered and triumphed over) the test of time (and distance and circumstance:). And without a doubt I can say that these women, the ones I trust implicitly with my heart and my scars, my absolute imperfections and worries and hopes and aspirations, are among those whom God has used in countless ways to bless my life and to draw me nearer to Him.

I left home yesterday worrying about what the next 24 hours would hold, letting the mama in me tug at all of the places in my heart I haven’t put down since last April 25th. And those places didn’t disappear overnight–in fact, they probably grew in the healthiest ways while I was gone. But as one of my dear friends reminded me this weekend, I needed the space to just be Molly for a little while. Still “Molly, Henry’s mommy,” just not, “Molly with the diaper bag and stroller in tow.”

On the drive home today (and really from the minute our mini-getaway began), I felt an amazing sense of peace. Of joy. Of God clearing out the clutter of the everyday to open my heart to all that He had waiting for me, among some of the most beautiful people I know. And when I came home, that precious, smiley boy was having a fine time with his daddy, grinning ear to ear as I came into view and making my whole self inhale in a different and perfect way.

My heart is stirred tonight. Lighter. My spirit, uplifted.

filled with gratitude,

mm

pressed, but not crushed.

3 Jan

I don’t know what to say, but I still want to say it. I’ve pushed an emotion quite far down for the better portion of a week, and now, in the quiet of the living room tonight, it’s all welling up in a big way. I feel vulnerable–more than I’m comfortable with, and uneasy–more than I’d like to admit.

What do you do when someone you love so much…someone who has always been strong for you…is suddenly frail? And not in a way you can ignore, but in a way that breaks your heart as you face it? It’s inevitable, with time, and you knew it would be. But for all the years you leaned and shared and laughed and cried and dreamt and honored and admired, this time–this season, isn’t one you ever wanted to admit would come.

It’s not that there isn’t hope, or that medicine and time can’t heal. I know they can. But age is still age, and the more things change in this case, the less they stay the same. My whole self is aching, and I just don’t really know what to do with the wave of frustration I have for my inability to do little but pray.

Pray.

It feels like a small thing right now, when I know that it’s the very biggest thing I can do. And I know that God will hear me and that He’ll answer in His way, but when there’s hurt or wavering hope, it’s just not as easy as we’d like it to be sometimes. At least for me, tonight, it’s not.

I’m not saying much–not being specific, because I want to protect the situation at hand and the people I love who are close to it and hurting, too. But I still needed to share tonight that there’s a little bit of air working its way out of my spirit–like a balloon with a pin prick of a leak that’s hardly visible, but impacting nonetheless. I’m not deflated, yet certainly unwell and uncomfortable in what has always been a very safe and secure part of my heart. I don’t like it. I won’t. It feels like nothing can fix it right now…

So there is discontent. A bit more of a distraction than I’d like to admit, although I should. There’s worry where prayer should be, and discouragement where hope should set in. I’ll keep working towards a different set of eyes for the situation–for peace and/or resolution to come swiftly for the people I love. And for me. Somehow it’s so much easier to imagine that peace when it’s someone else’s story, someone else’s family, someone else’s heart.

I hate how I’m feeling, but then again, God knew that before I did. And He sees me. Sees all of us. Thank goodness.

processing,

mm

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