all the tragedies in the world and then there’s this

I am reading the online chatter, the tweets and headlines, and it doesn’t take long to realize something bad has happened, again, and I make myself read deeper to discover the tragedy, if only to pray over what I am sure will be many sad and hurting people.

I’m expecting the news before its confirmed. Children lost, people lost, homes lost. All lost to a wind and in just a few minutes, lives changed. Forever May 20th, 2013 will be remembered for the tornado that devastated the community of Moore, Oklahoma.

It’s been all over the place. Photos, tweets, news casts, blog posts. Even without television, it’s inescapable, and I’m drawn in. I’m in tears over the woman whose dog climbs out from under the rubble while she is being interviewed on a news program. I’m amazed by the man who films the scene around him as he emerges from the storm shelter, his house a pile of toothpicks, and utters, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

But I can’t watch the parents. I can’t click on anything with the words elementary school in it. I know it will be bad.

I can hardly go there, to that mother place of not knowing where is the child.

These big tragedies, they overwhelm me. I know people in Oklahoma. I have relatives there. A friend’s daughter was teaching in her classroom full of children a mile from where the tornado touched down. I ache, from a distance, with the hurting.

I’m tempted, in the face of all this big sadness, to fall into despair for what is so wrong. To forget who I am and where I am in the face of who they are and where they are and what they’ve lost.

On May 20th, 2013, I am with my family and we spend the day outside, together, cleaning up from winter and getting ready for summer. Mowing grass and raking up debris and burning up the old, dirty mess left after months of snow and ice, and I’m thankful for the blisters on my hands and the dirty children around me. I fix soup for lunch and we sit around the table, whole and complete and united in our messiness. And when the news filters its way into our day, I weep over the cinnamon buns as I mix them and butter them and roll them out for the ones who are mine, and it all becomes treasure to be held close and carefully polished.

And when my youngest comes to me, a clutch of baby mice in his barely baby hands, and asks what to do, I can’t even speak. They are just mice, left behind from the cleaning of the barn and mice are killed regularly around here. He already knows, but they are babies and they are helpless and he feels sadness for their fate.

It’s okay, Mom, he says, and he goes out to do the thing that must be done, and I am weak for the hard things, big and small, faced this day.

Around the world, on May 20th, 2013, grandparents passed and mothers miscarried and children cried and cars crashed and winds destroyed and there was hurt and devastation and sadness.

Tragedies, some of which were made public.

None of which was ordinary.

Continuing to pray for the hurting, the devastated, and the sad …

 

today I told my kids I need a break

Actually, what I said was that I am so incredibly behind in so many things, and that I really need to take some time off to catch up.

How does a mom take time off?

This mom asked for it, like this.

I am behind, and getting behinder. I’m wondering if it would be okay with you guys if I spent the rest of this week catching up. I’ll still be here. I’ll still feed you and stuff, and if you really need me I’ll stop what I’m doing and help. But if you could work away at the things you know you need to do, and go outside once in a while, and do your chores and such without me needing to ask… if you could do all that and if I could just spend some time on the things I need to do, well, I’d really appreciate it.

And my cool kids said, sure, Mom, and so here I am. Writing my first blog post in a week. And with a list beside me of all those things that are keeping me up awake at night with their undone-ness. And with a sweet sense of relief in my heart.

Yeah, I can do this.

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This post is part of the My Dad and Me series that I write with (surprise!) my dad. (Click the tab at the top of the page to read all the My Dad and Me posts.)

I love hearing his thoughts on all the different things we’ve written about. Dad has been a busy guy his whole life. He and Mom are still some of the busiest and most-engaged-in-community people I know. Wouldn’t you like to hear from him some of his suggestions on how to get it all done?

Looking forward to hearing what Dad has to say about this, or whatever else he decides to write about, next Tuesday.

 

all these mother days

Sunday was The Day, I know. But really, around here, it wasn’t a big deal. Mother’s Day, schmothers day.

I left my sick husband at home and the three boys and I went to church. Just me on the back row and the boys scattered throughout the room and I really just wanted to be done with it and go home, to tell you the truth. Not feeling so joyful and lovely that Mother’s Day, to tell you the truth.

So I sit and stand and sing and pray when I’m told to, and I close my eyes and drift a little, there on the back row with everyone in front of me.

And then the older kids’ class is called to the front, two of my boys with them, and they stand in a line to share a Mother’s Day poem with us. Carter had been practicing his lines that morning, and he’d debated with himself over changing a word or two to make it a little less mushy. Whatever you want, I’d said, and when it was his turn to speak he included his revisions. That’s how he rolls.

Then it was Colton’s turn, tall boy up there at the front, and he didn’t say anything but only looked up from his paper and his eyes glanced around the room.

He’s nervous? He’s lost his place in the poem? He’s holding the wrong paper?

My thoughts immediately went to what’s wrong and oh no and I fretted for him.

But then his eyes found mine, and he spoke his lines deliberately, one by one, straight across the room past all the other people and directly into my mother heart.

And love found me, there on the back row, on Mother’s Day.

my Colton on a spring morning

 

from Dad: thoughts on Mother’s Day

Grandma making buns with Carter

Mother’s Day: We got up early because she was doing what mothers with loving hearts often do – getting ready to serve others.

We went to bed late because she was doing what mothers with loving hearts often do. We were visiting friends. He’d received word on Saturday that his brother had unexpectedly passed away. There was a need to visit, to eat pizza, to look at an ongoing project and to just be there.

In between we went to early church, worshipped, visited with people and came home to finish preparing dinner. A friend who’d had surgery on Friday to remove a brain tumor was our guest. As our family and his family sat around our kitchen table we were blessed by his wonderful attitude, enthusiasm and faith.

Mother’s day:  It was busy. She did receive some flowers from a daughter. There were some texts, cards and a phone call, but the mother in our house was busy serving others. These are the things I learned:

God is good and family is important.

He doesn’t keep us from experiencing difficulties but He extends His grace if we do –  often that grace is extended in human form.

I am blessed by the “grace extender” that lives in our house.

 

thinking about mothers on Mother’s Day eve

I’m blogging over at How to Homeschool High School today, sharing some thoughts about this whole mother thing. Hope you’ll join me there.

 

for when it seems a little stale

I’m packing up the notes and the clothes and the hairspray, laundry on the go and a list running through my head, and I have twenty minutes, barely, to sit down here and scatter a few words on the screen. And all I can think to say is … help.

I know you know what I mean. I know you’ve been there, too. Maybe you are there right now?

It’s one of those times when there is more to do than there is time to do it, but I still want to do it all well.

There are women giving up their tomorrow, their Saturday – a day of doing whatever else they could be doing – to come and hear my two friends and I share a message of story and community and women working together, and I’m feeling a little scattered.

It’s not like I haven’t shared this before. I’ve stood behind other microphones in front of other rooms full of women, but this weekend, can I say, it feels a little stale.

I’ve said these words a thousand times already, is what it feels like.

And I don’t want a bunch of women giving up their Saturday for stale.

And my husband is sick and the yard needs to be raked and there are a pile of things that will be waiting for me when I get back home on Saturday night. A busy, busy Sunday and a Monday class for which I’ve not finished my reading, and the kids have their big drama performance in Regina on Wednesday. And to borrow an expression from my UK friend, Fay, the house is a tip. And, and, and …

I know you know what I mean. I know you’ve been there, too. Maybe you are there right now?

Might I ask, if you have a minute, that you say a little prayer for me? And I will say one for you.

A prayer for fresh words, fresh life, fresh ministry.

A fresh breeze to blow away the stale. Sounds nice, yes?

 

a from-Easter-to-Pentecost thought

I am reading this story for, oh, about the seven thousandth time in my life, but this time I don’t get beyond this first paragraph. My eyes stop here, and my heart stops, too.

I know this story. I’ve listened to countless sermons that have emphasized all manner of different points along this Jerusalem-to-Emmaus journey. The unknowing travelers, the request for Jesus to stay longer with them, the irony of speaking face to face with the man they thought was dead, the immediate return to Jerusalem once they realized who He was.

Today, though, I can’t get past the first paragraph…

 I am guest posting today on Rob Still’s blog, where he has been doing a series of devotions during this Easter-to-Pentecost season. Please stop in if you have time, and read the rest of this post and Rob’s other devotions in this series while you are there.

Rob is a worship guy. Its what he studies and workshops and blogs about. You’ll enjoy getting to know him, I think, at RobStill.com.