Morning Lullabies

Isn't it great to hold a sleeping baby? Or better yet, to hold a baby, and sing that little one to sleep? There is that precious moment right before their eyes shut for a lingering rest where peace and connection are epitomized. OK, some of you may not know that feeling, so you will have to imagine.

Imagine that sweet moment when you put a spoonful of your favorite ice cream into your mouth. You feel the chill, then the flavor hits your taste buds, and wow, it is...delicious. Maybe you aren't a sweet treat freak like me. Maybe it's that perfect cut of meat, that is cooked just how you like it. You cut into and you knife just sinks in with no effort. Once in your mouth, it melts. You savor the flavor and want to absorb each bite. Well, singing a baby to sleep is even more amazing than your favorite bite of food melting in your mouth.

Today, I was able to sing to an infant as I rocked him to sleep. I have to admit, it turned my attitude around. I couldn't maintain the bitterness that was eating at my heart. The sadness, hurt, and pain that I was carrying about my sister, and my friend, dissipated as I looked into his eyes. I was breathing in his sweet scent of innocence and purity. How could I carry the heaviness of the burdens this world forces upon me? I simply couldn't. I had to smile and drink in the moment. So glad I was given the opportunity to experience the moment. The challenge is to remember the innocence in each person with whom I interact. Once, we were all infants, with the same potential as the little babe I held today.

So glad I have songs to sing. I remember singing to my own children, and love that they now sing along with me. I sing with my preschoolers and I love when they absorb the joy of music and share it with their parents long after they have been with me. In addition to enjoying to sing, I appreciate those who share their heart through song. Whether it's my husband who is offering a recital (which unfortunately has been canceled due to illness...or climate adjustment deficits), a student performing a role exceptionally, or a choir synchronizing their voices and mind to share meaning through sounds which will touch a heart; sharing the common language of music through song is a gift.

One of my favorite songs is Ingrid Michaelson's Morning Lullabies from the album, Boys and Girls. I sing it in my head a lot, and I listen to it when I want to remember...

The sun had painted
Patterns on your face
As you breathed Sunday air
You rolled onto
My open arm
I became your pillow; you let me smooth your hair

I will sing you morning lullabies
You are beautiful and peaceful this way
I know you have to close your eyes on everyone
Let me help you, I'll sing you to sleep
With morning lullabies

We all have to close our eyes. Sometimes we have to close our eyes to stay alive in this world instead of drifting off to other places, times, and lives. I am thankful to those of you who sing me to sleep. And, I am thankful to those of you who let me sing you to sleep.

And this is love...

And this is love, not that I have first loved You. And this is love, that You have first loved me. You gave up your life, a perfect sacrifice. And this is love...

These lyrics keep running through my mind. I have been grappling with this miraculous kind of love in contrast to the love I have to offer. I pray that one day I will love in the way Christ has modeled, but so frequently lately I fall short. I have this expectation that love looks a certain way. It is acceptance and understanding. It is forgiveness and accommodation. It is free and ever changing with the seasons.

Maybe you know the feeling of moving forward in your thinking and understanding, but believing that others only see you for your past rationales and perceptions. When once you would have shunned or disapproved, judged and condemned, now you accept and honor because you have realized your own frailty and fallibility. But, when others are not moving with you, they can't see where you are or where you are going. So, they are left only realizing what you once were and how you once thought. No matter how much people believe they can stay detached and just call on you when their need or desire arises, they can't possibly know where your heart is if they stay disconnected.

My heart is grieving this evening as I recognize the reality of this truth. My sister hasn't spoken to me for about 6 weeks. I don't know where her heart is, and she doesn't know, nor does she seem to want to know where my heart is. As hard as I try to stay loving and open, I fall into a place of bitterness. How could she not want to be apart of my life? After everything our family has been through, losing our dad about nine months ago, how can she intentionally decide to disconnect. She is angry, she feels like my priorities are wrong, she is hurt. Though I can't understand the specifics that brought her to the place of disconnecting, I do understand the broader emotions that drove her to the decision. I know anger, hurt, and misunderstanding. I think I have responded negatively to others with the same base emotions driving my choices.

I want to own the parts of the pain I caused. I know I am not perfect. I could make excuses and they might justify my actions. OR, I could say nothing and that may suggest a certain guilt. My heart grieves too for not getting to be a part of my sister's life. Today was her daughter's birthday. I called their home and got to leave a message. But, I didn't get to hear about her party or what she did at school. There is a distance that I can't swallow right now. Being shut out makes me question who I am. Am I so intolerable that my own sister can't stand contact with me? Am I so reprehensible that it is safer for her to disconnect entirely? How very sad it is to realize my family is missing out on relationships that could be very fruitful.

The arguments could be made this is my choice. We moved to Texas, we chose to spend vacation time with friends and family. We don't write, call, or visit enough. It's all true. As much as I would like to move forward and pretend it doesn't matter, it does. It matters I don't get to have a sister. She is here, alive, real, my family. She is choosing to not have the benefits of our relationship and she is stealing the benefits from me. Some sisters have to say goodbye far too soon, and it is permanent, at least until Jesus reconciles us all to Him. I have seen this reality, and it is so painful.

My sister isn't the first to disconnect from me. It hurts to know the love I have for others is so easily disregarded. This evening I can rationalize all the truths about why, but my heart is aching and the tears are stinging. I feel like I am whining and complaining without offering the great benefits these relationships have played in my life. Again, I can rationalize those things, but I have this bitter view tonight that seems to be coloring my understanding.

And this is love...That is what I have to remember. The gift of love is not what is given in response to an offering. Love is given as the gift. It is given when nobody accepts or wants it. Love is given because we love the person, not for what they've done or can do, but because they are a child of God, and we are called to love in this Christlike way. I am not there. I want to be. I pray to be. But, I still find it easier to love those who respond and accept the love I am offering, even though it is substandard and inadequate. I am sad. I miss my sister. I miss my friend. I want to know her heart, but I can't make her want to offer this. I can't beg, plead, or explain enough to make her want to know me. And sadly, as each day passes, our hearts grow that much further apart. How long will it take before the desire fades entirely? Maybe that has already happened. I grieve this possibility. I also feel very selfish wishing for it to change.

If I trust God, then I have to believe that what is right now will be used to bring His will to fruition. So, not having connection must be serving somebody, even though it doesn't seem to be serving me. I am selfish for wanting this. Clearly I am torn about how to handle this difficult situation. It is not for me to resolve. Ugh, not having control is so...frustrating...challenging...exhausting...painful. In this moment, I will trust God. He is in this with me. He is with those I love, and those who have meant so much to my heart. Thankfully, God knows the sadness in my heart because He feels it daily for all his loved ones who turn away from Him. It's not the same, by any stretch of the imagination. God is perfect, and well, I am...NOT! I know my loved ones have good reasons for turning from me. It just makes me sad. Enough pouting. I must go pluck my eyebrows.

Miners

Watching the 60 Minutes special on the miners who were rescued in Chile. It's amazing the strength and perseverance these men possess. They survived 69 days. Incredible. What is really profound is how these many months later they are still surrounded by the walls of that mine. Men are struggling with depression and nightmares of darkness even as they live. Some would rather be dead than struggling with the reality of life. They are struggling to relate with the life that is, when they were so close to letting go of that life.

I have recently shared with a few close friends that I am ready when the time comes, to go see Jesus. Though I don't want to let go of this life in this very minute, I know when God is ready for me, I will be right where I want to be; in His arms. I imagine many of the Chilean men came to this same place, just to have it ripped away at the moment of acceptance. Now they are left, with a world that is much darker than the mine they survived. Very bleak, is it not?

Many who have never been trapped in the dire circumstances of these strong men struggle in the same darkness. Maybe it wasn't 69 days. Maybe it was 69 seconds, or 69 minutes of hell on earth. Maybe it was 6.9 seconds of realizing a humanity that threatens to steal the joy God promises. Whatever the time frame, the reality of darkness steals from each of us the precious vision that our God strives for our hearts to obtain. He never wanted us to fear, to hate, to struggle with this world. But, here we are.

The hope is, here He is. He is here in our darkness and pain. He struggled with the miners, and He persists with them through the ongoing struggle they now face as light brightens their day, but the night looms heavier than the darkness in the mines. He is here in our darkness. While we face the loss, the sadness, the distractions, the fear and the hate, He is here. I admit, His presence often feels far from the dark moments I encounter in my waking hours. I see the pain of those who are losing battles of addiction, cancer, sickness, and death; and I wonder, where are you Jesus?

Then I remember the smile of my friend who shared her song of suffering and of hope after telling me about being lost and forsaken in this world of danger and abuse. She reminded me of Jesus' unending presence in the darkness. Though this is just a recollection, and I am no longer allowed to witness the Jesus that speaks through her witness, I have the precious memory of our God who lived in that moment with us. I am privileged to see the Jesus that speaks through my dear friend who struggles with the reality of addiction which threatens to steal her family and the precious child she raised. He speaks daily in her life, and thankfully, I see Him in her witness. As I pray for healing and peace in the hearts of those I love, I also acknowledge that my Jesus is speaking through their witness, even in the darkness.

I am reminded this evening of the power of Jesus. For those miners, who lived through the unspeakable, I pray for peace and healing of their souls. I will not blame our Lord for the pain they are struggling to overcome, but I will ask Him to be the healer that promises to bring them light and life, despite their circumstances. I will not be so bold to remind them of the power of His mighty name, because I believe they are far stronger witnesses to His presence. But, I will gladly raise my voice in praise and thanksgiving for the lives He reconciles in the darkness, and the light he offers to those who believe.

OK

It's been quite some time since my last blog. I have tried several times, but I haven't been able to complete a thought that was worth sharing. Not sure this effort will prove more productive, but, here it goes.

You know how people ask, "How are you doing?" And, you (and I) respond, "I'm doing well." or, "Doing OK.". Do you ever really think in your head, "Actually, I am not doing well today." or, "I am on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. Thanks for asking." I frequently respond with the answer that I think most people want to hear. "I am doing well.", "Every thing's great.", "Doing OK." Either there isn't enough time to really explain where I am mentally, or, I don't really think the truth is what is warranted in the moment.

I recently confronted my own thinking on the subject. The "higher" truth, or the more accurate "global" truth is that I really am OK. Even when my brain feels like it is splitting open, and I am more exhausted than I can understand; I am OK. Part of the reason that I haven't been blogging is because I have had my mind on a few things that are burdening my heart. Unfortunately, there isn't a solution, remedy, or antidote to offer to ease the heaviness. So, when I sit down to write, I think through all the ways that I have fallen short. As eager as I am to write the positives that come out of burdens and heart ache; I linger on the negatives that arise from broken relationships and unresolved conflicts.

My heart hurts knowing that I can't say, do, write, or explain enough to bring resolution to the brokenness in the relationships that feel so distant and withdrawn. Even as I rationalize that all will be reconciled, in His time, I struggle to accept that I am meant to disconnect and accept. Knowing that time is fleeting and life is too short; I feel this yearning to connect and resolve the conflicts with people that I love and miss. Loss is inevitable. I am accepting that truth. My dad is gone, and the pain of his absence is fresh and deep. I guess that is why it is hard for me to accept the conscious choice of friends and family members who disconnect and detach.

The choice to withdraw and cut ties has never been easy for me. I call it separation anxiety. I don't willingly say good-bye or let go. It hurts. But, I am realizing others find this a very acceptable tool for dealing with life and all the ups and downs it presents. In some ways I envy this ability to let go, and to choose it rather than waiting for the inevitable to happen. It's not fun being on the other end of a relationship where a person refuses to respond or communicate. I know it is easier for them to let go rather than deal with who I am, flaws and all. To be honest, there are times when I want to run and deny any connection with myself too.

Thankfully, it is OK. Recently, I went to Seattle, Washington to visit good friends. It was such a relaxing, comfortable, and refreshing experience. Though getting there was not easy, I had this moment right before I landed in Seattle that made me realize how everything could be OK. After getting through the clouds that hovered over Texas, dropping inches of snow in a state barely capable of handling a dusting, we were sailing through blue skies that could best be described as...captivating. As we began approaching our descent, before the clouds attempted to swallow the plane whole, the mountain peaks came into full view. It was the most amazing sight. Above the clouds billowing at the break of the skyline, these mountains escalated and stood proudly. Their white caps jutting forth, unwilling to be shadowed by the clouds.

Soon we were descending through the clouds and settling onto the runway at Seattle's airport. The clouds were thick and hazing the view of the mountains. My dear friends, Joy and Tom were the best tour guides. They were so eager for me to see those mountains, but they knew unless the sun came out, there was no chance. At one point I exclaimed that I could see them. They informed me those were just the foothills of the mountains. They were still loftier than anything that I could imagine having as a landscape in my every day life. Only as I look back at the pictures taken on the plane, and the ones taken of the landscape of the area surrounding their new home did it occur to me how similar life is to those views. I want so badly to see the fullness of the mountains in my daily life. I want to see beyond the clouds to the frosty white mountaintops.

But, just as I am not meant to see the mountains, in all their glory; I am not meant to have the fullness of relationships that only God can offer at the time when I am reconciled with Him. It was OK that I didn't get to see the mountains while I was on the ground in Washington. I knew they were there. I also knew that I was seeing the beauty of so many other wonders; the ocean waters, the huge trees, the rolling earth, and the clouds in the night sky shining brightly as they traveled across its terrain. Many relationships bless me daily. Though at times I am unlovable, selfish, and more than a little difficult, I have friends and family who love me and are willing to walk this world with me. I will not give up on hoping for reconciliation, connection, and clarity in the relationships that today are distant and unresponsive. I won't get to choose the time, place, or circumstance when the fullness of friendship moves through the clouds of darkness that hinder connection. But, until then, it's OK. It's OK to enjoy the beauty of what I do see and the connections with those who are choosing me. It's OK to appreciate seeing the glimpse of the mountain, and it's OK to appreciate the time I am given with those I love.

It is OK.