"I'm Glad..."

It was a moment where I knew... I did it wrong.  What I did wasn't wrong, but how I did it, was.  Every parent has been there... it may not be every parent that realizes that, in the moment, but I am humbly grateful that the Spirit of the Living God does not let me get away with NOT realizing, those moments. 

"Seth... I was wrong.  I am so sorry... I really mean that.  I'm sorry and I need to ask your forgiveness, honey.  Do you need a hug?"  I asked, Seth.

"Seth, I wish they would have never made the word, "perfect," because I know I never will be.  And no one will.  Its sort of funny when you think about it, that in a world where "perfect" will never be, it is used all the time.  You know, I would rather make mistakes and model for you, what making amends and humbly making things right, asking forgiveness, and showing you that I won't be perfect, I would rather do that,.... than show you perfect.  Because, Seth, honey... perfect is when we live in heaven one day... there, everything is perfect... 

 But, it hurts me to know I hurt your heart.  I am going to fail, probably many times... and I wish I didn't.  I never want anything to come between us, and if it does, I want to always make it right."  I tearfully, told Seth.

"You know what I love about you and I honey?  I love that even when we have struggles, we always make amends, and make it right between us.  Somehow, we end up closer after this, than we were before."  I told him, as I looked intently into his eyes.

During this time he had been eating a brown sugar bagel, gazing into the sky's out the window at the kitchen table.  There was a pause....

"Mommy, I'm glad you're the mommy I need."  His loving eyes said with a huge smile.

That paused moment remained speechless for another moment,....


I was so deeply touched and awed by his words.  Words that on the one hand, leveled me with surprise and disbelief.  ON the other, words that fit the deeply revelatory nature of his soul.  Only he could have said something so exquisitely beautiful to my heart.  And so profound.  For so many times I have cried out to the Lord Jesus, to help me be the mommy I cannot be apart from my Jesus, the mommy that Seth needs me to be, and please help me in my weakness's Lord. For it is through my weakness, I find Your strength.

I know that He, my Beloved has been teaching me through those cries.  Teaching me that He knew exactly, what Seth was getting in me as a mom... and that He, my Beloved, knew exactly what He was getting into, when He chose to make me, Seth's mom. 

I, still struggle to accept that.

Through teary eyes, I looked at his innocent and strong, warrior loving face, full of an oceans depth of love in his eyes for me, and I told him;

 "I'm glad, you're the boy- that I need." 

I can only pray that those words will penetrate his tender heart, deeply in a way that would express the same depth of meaning that his words did to me.  I also knew something more. 

Those words for me, held more than he will ever know. 

For I pray that through every mistake, every bend that becomes broken, every tear that becomes torn, moments of doing it wrong...that my world and my character are being shaped and formed into something grander and more desirable, than before I became a mommy. 

That something of my dross, will have forged its way to the surface, having been skimmed and stripped, all my brokenness; leaving only the reflection of His Face.

That one day, standing at the edge of time, overlooking what my life had held, wading through the shores of my heart...when I meet Him face to face, and He opens up that book that has my name on it with all my wanderings and tears, numbered, recorded, kept account of, both in the book and bottle concerning me... that He will speak words that will only cause me to bow again... at His feet.

 For of all things that I once thought I wanted to "be", or "become".... being a mommy that makes my Daddy in Heaven proud... is what I want most.

My Attentive Warrior

"The Lord is my shield, the Lord is my armor.  The Lord is my sword and my shield of righteousness.  Heaven is my chair, earth is my footstool.  You ordain my steps. Where you go I will go.  Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, the enemy is defeated, He has the victory, He has conquered..." 

This was the song I was woken by today.  I heard these words mingled with the tapping rhythm of a little ones hands as he sung the words above.  I wondered, "is he listening to something?  How could he be... the computer is not turned on."  His song must have gone on for ten minutes.

The song of this six year olds little heart. 

As I opened up facebook today, I saw this quote by Matt Redman;

"Most songs come from being attentive. Attentive to life, attentive to scripture, attentive to your heart. Pay attention!"

 

As I read that, I said, "yes!"  This is exactly what Seth was being, this morning.  His heart was listening.  His heart was responding.  His heart was full of a spontaneous, even might I say, a "prophetic" moment of declarative and victorious worship.  Worship that sets all of us free, if we "pay attention!"

 

These spontaneous moments with Seth usually happen in the mornings, when he first wakes.  It reveals to me a window of his heart.  Maybe even a window into what he may have dreamed that night.  Since he was four, he has had many dreams.  Some, full of evil.  Some, full of light. 

 

He is learning how to battle against that evil.  Learning how to walk in the light of His Word and Worship, and that the Blood of Jesus and knowing his armor, are some of His most powerful weapons.  He loves to draw pictures of the armor of God.  All these things, that he is learning... fill my heart with joy when I hear them declared in his own, battle song.  But, they have also come by way of having to learn them, so as to learn and know how to wage against the schemes of the enemy.  Not exactly what every mommy plans to teach their little ones by age four. 

 

But, perhaps that is exactly what we should be teaching them... 'for we do not wage war against flesh and Blood," Paul tells us in Ephesians 6. 

 

It is one thing to tell your child, teach your child, model to your child, ... things of the Spirit... things of the Kingdom of Heaven.  It is a deeply humbling and honorable thing to hear your child declare all on his own, the very things you have both waged war through.  To hear his heart pour forth speech and song, revealing the true identity of who he is, within. 

My worship warrior.

 

Is he still just a playful, full of energy, not always listening, wonder and joy, six year old little boy?  Absolutely!  But we are learning how to weep, together.  Pray, together.  Mourn and rejoice, together.  Hope and declare together.  How to wage war.  How to move mountains... all while splashing in mud puddles, eating cookie dough from the hand beaters, blowing bubbles in our juice, and slurping up our favorite garlic chicken and pasta. 

 

Isn't this the mingling of Heaven on earth?  Life with Him and in Him? 

 

Yes!  These are the songs we need to be attentive to.  The life we need to be attentive to.  The scripture's we need to be attentive to. 

 

It is our heart we most importantly need to be attentive to.  For it is the wellspring of life. 

 

Thank you, Father... for leading our son into the places that are most important, to be attentive.  May I learn a song or two from him, as well. 

 

And may we all, pay attention!

 

 

 

 

A Sacred Psalm

I love your smile
I love your face
I love the way you laugh and play.

I love your eyes
Such sweet surprise
Sparkling bright like firefly's.

Quickly down the hall you go,
You run and hide
Sometimes you fall.


"Come find me Mom!"
A soothing balm.

In hopes that I first count
To three,
Then out the door behind the
Tree.
Dancing, squeeling,
Mingling free, wading through
The crunching leaves. Sneaking
Up so slyfully, surprised and scared we
Both might be.

I love your gentle lulabye's
Dancing round like butterfly's.
You sing them sweetly all day long,
Sacred offering's-
Sacred psalm's.

So bright and brave you'll
Always shine, like the day
Your life met mine.  You've taught
My heart to breath again, and
How to walk through demons dens. 

Your courage reaches out to me
The will to fight, to be set free.  To understand
The Father's love goes far beyond
This Mother's love.
Beyond any thing I can
Fathom. 

I love you, Seth
My soldier knight.
You've learned to battle
Through this life.

My worship warrior child you are,
My beaming brilliant tender star.
That every night I get to hold,
Rock your heart, your mind, your soul.

Right into the arms of He
Who breathed your life into
My sea.
Where emotions, depths and
Plains so wide,
Drink puddles of love warmed by your side,
Summer's rain melts life to mine.

My heart is full, my heart it aches
With love for you as it awakes,
With joy sublime
I no longer hide
On this mother's day,
For you are mine.

A Sacred Song

Clang, Clang, Clang, Clang, went the symbols in Seth’s hands as I was washing the dishes. Blaring out in his other hand was the reverberation of the high pitched echoing of the triangle, as he stood upon our cement kitchen floor. After asking him to stop the "clanging cymbals" several times, my own sensory overload saturated my ears and brain in an already spent day of, ‘I don’t have to stop if I don’t want to,” choice. Pounding inside my own head began anger melodies of “make it stop-make it stop!!!! “ Though, I can humbly say I did not lose it, I lost it enough to convict my heart of having one too many hits from the triangle clash against my reactive tones of--- “I’ve had enough.”

Finishing up those dishes was a relief for me since, we were planning on heading out the door for a bike ride. After finally getting ourselves out the door, leaving behind the ‘marching band,’ I paced myself with a deep breath- in and out- to release the adrenaline thoughts of, "finally, fresh air!”

With each breath, my heart and mind were beating a rhythm all its own.

Sensory Overload!

It hit me as loud as the clanging cymbal's in the kitchen.... “this is what it is like for Seth!” Every day, every moment that vulnerable window of feeling out of control, opens unexpectedly. In his world, where the norm, is too loud, too fast, too cold, too hot, too sticky, too rough, too tight, too loose, too soft, too hard, too big, too small, too scratchy, too watery, too smelly, too....etc.”

In your world, or at least the world unaware, such things don't flash upon your radar. When they do flash, you adjust what needs adjusting, and go on about your business with out a glitch in your routine. For the most part, anyway. Until you are faced with a child who lives with, Sensory Processing Disorder. Then.... every element of your day is planned around that reality. Other’s... don’t get it. They presume you spoil your child terribly rotten, have lost all control, are focused on letting the child run the program and see you as one of those couples where the judgmental dialogue goes, “how did they ever think they were going to be parents?” 
 

You, know differently. 
 

And, many times in a sea swarming with silent and subtle stares from afar...you feel utterly,

alone.

Suddenly, walking behind Seth as he rode his bike, I became acutely aware not only of the bitter winds of 43 and breezy hitting my face in the dusk of evening, but the heat of my face being washed by tears of revelation. My precious was longing for a moment of sensory output in a song of clanging cymbals and twanging triangle's, while Mommy in the midst of it, melted into the music of feeling fully out of control of that "loud noise."
 

Approaching the curb, I walked right in front of Seth’s bicycle bending at my knees to meet his brillant brown eyes looking left, to make our turn.  I cupped his chin.  “Seth," I whispered as he looks at the tears in my eyes with question, "I am so sorry! I know what you are feeling inside, when things are too loud, now. When things inside your body control you, and you can’t find that control. I’m so sorry for becoming impatient and angry about your wanting to play music for me. Please, forgive me, Seth.” 
 

“Okay, Mommy.  Let’s turn left Mommy," he says in a glance of distraction.
 

Grace.

So much grace, our children give to us. 
 

So much grace, He, my Beloved gives me.

Crossing that street, I realized I was having my own, “adult meltdown.”  Inside my heart and mind. Yes, I controlled it to a fair degree, a respectable degree. I did not get out of control. I did not lose "it" in a way that brought about fear.  But, it doesn't justify the melody I did sing over, him. 

My Beloved- has been faithful to lead me to, repentance. And, faithful to lead me to see the deeper lesson in those moments. Faithful to produce more fruit, of self-control.

What was my lesson, in this song? 
 

Was it just about understanding Seth, better? An epiphanic moment about his world, and how my world too, can be altered into a state of tragic meltdowns. 
 

Or, was it more?

As a child, I was living in a realm, no one else around me understood. I would look at objects surrounding me, that were un-noticeable to everyone else, such as a window screen. I would be in a moment gazing outside, peering through the screen while peeking back to my spirit was a deep spiritual truth about, a Kingdom not of this world. I would bring that truth, that ‘object lesson’ to church with me on, “Object Lesson Sunday.”    While at thirteen years old, I was opening a window of spiritual insight into the Kingdom of God, people in the pew had their mouths hanging open...scratching their head, wondering, “how does she see all that?” 

In this moment, tonight with Seth, maybe He wants me to remember.
 

To pause the ringing in my ears for just a moment. 
 

Listen.

 

Until those songs I loved to sing as a little girl to my Daddy, are heard once again. Heard in the hardened soil of memory. Songs of insight and mystery about a Kingdom that is not of this world. 
 

A melody that, as a child--- longed to be listened to. Understood. Invited, to join in such a dance.
 

Aching in longing, to play such melody’s. Reaching into a reservoir of song, full of metaphor and mystery. 
 

As those songs poured forth, I was not met with harmony's I had hoped for. What was sung over me, was not a love song at all. It was instead a very silencing, out of tune mantra--- “Dawn, you need to get your feet back on the ground. You let your head live in the clouds too much.” 
 

To him, it was a song of sixpence...
 

To me, those songs were sacred. My oxygen.
 

Therefore, a song he needed, silenced.


When you shut down the melody of one’s very spirit, very purpose, you begin a slow and subtle death of shutting down one's, destiny. That is the intent, anyway. The intent of the enemy. 
 

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! .... begins the song the enemy sings over your, mind. Loud enough that you will hear it. Working hard to obtain your agreement to such songs, over your mind. So that you will eventually have your own, “spiritual meltdown.” So that your song becomes, “make it stop, make it stop.” And you are silenced to whom it is, you were meant to be. That is his song. His agenda. His processing disorder. To disorder your heart, sending you into a meltdown of confusion. 
 

It’s what he attempted to do, with me.


But, grace.

My Beloved, reached down in an orchestrated pursuit of my heart, and awakened His song--- a love song, within.


Reaches, deep into the reservoir of songs He has long ago played over me, written upon the tablature of my soul, so that, the cooing of doves might once again be, heard in this land.


Inviting me, to come...through the songs of my, son. The songs, ultimately sung, through His Holy Spirit.

So that I might once again learn, to sing.

A Sacred Impression

"Mommy, I need a hug." in his itty bitty longing voice, asked Seth.  "Sure honey!" I replied.

Falling into my arms, he wraps every part of him, stretching himself as far as his arms can reach around me.  And in a very unexpected tenderness I hear him say,

"I love your hugs, Mommy."

As tenderly as the sacrament was given, I felt the vibration of a deeper cry within me, attempt to loosen whatever kept the latched door within my heart, closed.   I began to hear the pulling door, move back and forth over memories far away within me- stirring a well of tears inside. 

Words of a child have never felt so, treasured.  Never felt so, wanted.  Never felt so, precious. 

Why?  Why did my heart feel such a startled feeling of, unconditional love?  Longing? 

"With every breath.
With every thought.
From what is seen to the deepest part.
I offer all, that I've come to be.
To know Your love, Fathering me.

With every step,
On this journey's walk,
And wisdom's songs,
That the soul has sought.
I give myself, unreservedly,
To know Your love, Fathering Me.

Father Your all I need. 
My soul sufficiency.
My strength when I am weak.
The love that carries me.
Your arms enfold me.
Till I am only,
A child of God."

"Child of God"
 From "Hungry"- Vineyard Music
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3r3JAV2r208&feature=share

Drenched in His presence midst the wet heat of tears streaming down my face, I let this song surround my sacred soul.  I remember the first time I heard it.  I was unloading the dishwasher, about a decade ago.  I came crumbling to the floor in sobbing tears then, too.  Realizing, I did not know this love, anymore.  The love, of a father. 

My childhood had many hugs, by my father.  They made an impression on my heart, that shaped it.  Shaped it into a place where, I was indeed his "little girl."  During those years, I fell in love like many daughter's do.  He was my hero.  But like all hero's, they hold dark secrets that are kept from little girls hearts.  Until, they can no longer be kept. 

Some of those secrets, are redeemed.  Some, are left in the closet of darkness and shadow.  And sometimes, they are the very things a daughter is carrying, herself.

It would be over the course of many decades, that the many secrets would be unveiled.  And with each one, a bit of that little girl would die.  Or at the very least, become numb. 

Until one night, unexpectedly, her son would meekly say, "Mommy, I need a hug."

And the next night feel her Heavenly Father give her, a hug.

Streaming through scenes of sacred smiles.  Scenes of heroism, both by him and by me.  Scenes of chilled faces where the warmth of his coat, comforted the frost bit cheeks of a little girl.  Scenes of a kiss, for the dime to get a gumball.  Scenes of a generous spray of gifts beneath the Christmas tree, never knowing we were so very poor.  Scenes of his being taken, far away, for a long time.  Scenes of tear after tear, streaming through so many sacred miles.

"My daughter, I see every scene of your soul, dripping with unfathomable pain.  I want to help you learn how to receive, My hugs.  I want to Father you, in all of who you are.  I want to unfold and enfold every part of your heart, that you might know My Fathering love for you.  In those cracks where courage, stood alone.  In those secret sacred places where hope, stood alone.  In those strands of tangled and tormenting tugs of war over who your father was, and who he wasn't...I want to show you who I AM.  I want to Father you, my beloved daughter.  Will you let me?" 

"Can I be your sufficiency?" He whispered.

And I feel all over again, a feathered breath of my sons words against my neck, "You give the best hugs, Mommy!" 

Inhaling deeply while my chest heaves up and down I reply to my Heavenly Father as this song streams over my soul, barely uttering words, "You give the best hugs, Daddy!" 

With every step on this journey's walk, I am learning to let my heart be hugged, again.  Wisdom's song the soul has sought, is being sung through the voice of my son.  While every day I give myself to him, unconditionally, unreservedly, he gives back.  Over and over, again. 

With every breath, with every thought, from what is seen to the deepest part, Seth offers all that he is coming to be, in the safety of my love, nurturing him.  In that privilege offered me daily, I am asked the same of my Heavenly Father, "will you offer Me, all that you are coming to be?"

With each and every sacred hug he gives, my Heavenly Father is hugging me.  He is allowing me through my son, to fall in love with Him again.  To become, my Hero.  But unlike earthly father's, He holds no dark secrets.  And the secrets He does hold, are revealed in sacred shadows of beaming love through, Seth.  So that, those kept in the dark, can be broken.  Where once again I become, His little girl. 

His strength, when I am weak.
His love,  that carries me.
His arms, enfolding me.
Till I am only, a child of God.

And how do I know that every one of Seth's hugs, are making a sacred impression?

I am being shaped by them.

The Sacred Dance Of "Daring Greatly."

"In its original Latin form, sacrifice means to make sacred or to make holy.  I Wholeheartedly believe that when we are fully engaged in parenting, regardless of how imperfect, vulnerable, and messy it is, we are creating something sacred." 

"There's something sacred that happens between a parent and a child when the parent says, "Me too!" or shares a personal story that relates to their child's struggle."

From: "Daring Greatly" - Brene Brown

"Seth, it's like this.  Shame is like a cage." I explain, while sitting in front of the "jail" made out of Lego's on our living room floor, holding a Lego man captive within it.

"Shame tells you through the lies of Satan that, you are so bad that there is nothing you'll ever do that is good enough.  Everything about you is, bad.  You're so bad, you will never have a good attitude, make good choices, because you are just too bad." I explain, while the Lego man is held in the "jail."

"Then," Seth begins to say with thoughtful conviction, "Jesus comes along and breaks the cage open."

In one quick swooping movement my head goes from looking down at the Lego man to a beaming light bulb of blissful joy, as I utter with a full exhale, "Yes!!!" that's exactly right Seth.  Lit up with a grin, he smiles back at me as if to say, "You were thinking what I was thinking, weren't you Mommy!"  One of our favorite lines to say, often.

"What is the cage made of?" I ask, with pondering inquisitiveness.

"Evil, darkness, lies and sin, Mommy." in a very matter of fact kind of way, replies Seth.

"What happens when Jesus breaks the cage?" I continue, in searching thought.

"Jesus comforts the man, and tells him not to be sad and tells him, "I love you." he replies, in a very childlike faith kind of way.

"How does this make the man feel, Seth?" I ask, in anticipation for the climax of such a conversation.

"It makes the man happy, ...and thankful." he replies, with a smile.

In the sacred moments of our day, pulling back the curtain is not something that just always comes naturally.  And for some, it's the last thought upon their mind.  It takes a very intentional, committed and persevering path, paving past the pit stops of our own past mistakes.  Mistakes that many times creep along the canvas of our current situation, causing us to carry caverns of shame, for decades.

Shame is something that I have not spent a lot of time, learning.  It's something however, that once I began to understand what it is, and isn't...unveiled insight regarding my own, childhood.  Thus set me into a place of asking, 'am I passing this on as a parent, now?"

What I haven't told you is that prior to this little theologically based lesson, was that we had one of those moments where the behavior and the sensory collided into a war of the wills. 

Seth, has Sensory Processing Disorder.  It is a neurological disorder causing difficulty with taking in, processing, and responding to sensory information about the environment and from within the body.  Information is registered, interpreted and processed differently by the brain, resulting in tremendous difficulty on every sensory level both externally and internally.

At that tender age of 2 1/2, independence kicked in.  It continued, and like every parent, you both encouraged it, while at the same time, struggled through it.  That tug of war that continues to challenge how everything has to be done "by them," in "their way," in "their time," at "their pace," goes into full swing.  Welcome to the land of patience!  But seriously, it is a wonderful time to watch them begin to take that "next step" towards growing up big!

But, it also challenges us as parents to enter that same realm, but on a different plane.  A "growing up big" for us, is presented with a full blown body size mirror.  Shuttering at the shame that is revealed from our own parents style with us as children, comes into full view.  Shattering pieces of glass as our image of what we thought we were, before children comes crashing to the floor in shards of shameful images, more quickly than we might like to admit.  I know it did for me. 

In another post "His Daughter, My Worth, on my blog titled, Daughter Of The King, I write about a moment where the Holy Spirit posed a thought for me to ponder: 

"You can't impart a truth to your son, you don't first believe for yourself."

I had no idea how much shame I carried about myself, till I became a parent.  And, I had no idea how much it had the power over me to impart that same thing, on my son.  Sigh...

However, early on, the Holy Spirit began to speak to me, each and every time my words would even hint toward such a washing. Though I have always committed from the beginning never to use the phrase, "you are a bad boy," or ever calling him bad in anyway, I think sometimes there are cheap subtle shots made in anger, that can still wash ones heart over, with shame. Thus began the journey of, refining.

Each night as we lay our day down to rest, I sing to Seth.  Mostly, my made up version of "Twinkle Little Star", with words about Jesus, and a few other sacred songs.  However, this other day after we had a day of, more challenge, I felt something rise up while rocking Seth.  I just went with it.  And...it was the most sacred moment in a long time within the context of song. 

"Mommy," he says, through quivering tones midst tears, "your song makes me cry.  I feel it very deeply, Mommy."

"Oh sweetheart, I'm sorry.  I'm not trying to make you cry.  I am singing a song that I have never sung before.   This is something that the Holy Spirit just gave me for you.  I think that the reason you are crying, is because the depth of where you are feeling this, is in a place only He sees.  He wants you to know that it is His presence, touching you, letting you know how much He loves you.  Values you.  Do you understand?"  I asked, as the presence of the sacred sacrament, surrounded us.

He pulled even closer to me.  And I...could not believe how naturally that moment in such a sacred song, so unexpected, happened for me, as well.

Just again tonight, I hear Seth say, "Mommy, don't sing that song again, it makes me feel too deeply and I'm afraid I will cry."

"You know what honey...I understand.  Did you know that sometimes songs about Jesus make me cry, too?  And did you know that He wants you to feel that deep feeling of His love so that, you can know how valuable you are to Him?"  I reply, stroking his hair.

"Really?" he replies, in wonderment.

"Yes!...Oh Yes!.  See Seth, you are a King's Kid, the son of The One True King!" I say, in absoluteness. 

When he heard me say, "a King's Kid," the smile of worth flushed over his face. 

"And you know what else?  When you get to Heaven, you will be given a crown, filled with beautiful jewels like rocks, and they will be a symbol of all that you have done here to show other's the love of Jesus."  I said, in waiting anticipation for his reply.

"Can I play with it, Mommy?  Will they be in the shape of snakes? he replied, in longing hope.(Reptiles being his passion right now.)

I smiled at the marveling wonder of his tender heart, the vision he has for all things made for children, as I replied, "I think Jesus will have it be exactly as he knows you will love it."

Laying side by side, he drew as close as he could wrapping his arms around me...and with that fell right to sleep.

Today, I was a fully engaged parent.  Today, I sacrificed a bit of myself, so that he would know he was not alone.  Today, I felt the tug of shaming cheap shots longing to slither themselves off my lips, in the humanity of who I am.  The temptation to run from the endurance needed to withstand a "battle," for the sake of my uncomfortable, inconvenienced lesson in self-control.  Temptation to run from "growing up into maturity" and building character in Seth, in exchange for less momentary pain.
I know, I did it imperfectly.  I know, I did it with vulnerability.  And yes, it was quite messy.

"There's something sacred that happens between a parent and a child when the parent says, "Me too!" or shares a personal story that relates to their child's struggle." as Brene Brown so aptly writes it. 

Can Jesus break the darkness of a cage filled with the evils of shame, wide open?  Absolutely.  Can it come by way of a battle?  For certain. Might there still be hope for true happiness, thankfulness, even in the battle?  Resoundingly, yes!  There is always, hope.

Why?

Because, to be fully engaged, is to bring a sacrifice.  To bring a sacrifice, is to bring something holy. Something, sacred.   And to be a parent, means to "Dare Greatly". 

Our children, do. 

My son, does.

And you can, too.

A Sacred Pause

"Mommy, can you read my Bible to me." Seth yells from the other end of the house. "Sure honey!, I'm just finishing up dinner sweetie, I'll be right there, okay!" I reply with anticipation.   A wellspring of joy wells up within me, at the sound of his request from the other side of the house.  It was a beautiful harmony to the day, being the melody of challenge earlier in our day was a song all it's own, for certain. 

Closing the oven door with our cheesy jalapeno and bacon stuffed chicken ready for cooking, I pace quickly down the hall. Unexpectedly, I see him lying in the bed of our bedroom. Tri-colored ivory, tourquoise, and purple afghan is pulled up tightly to his neck, while the crunching of space shaped fishy crackers in his tiny blue cup are tucked between his fingers.   In a high end tone of delight, smiling through his words he greets me, "Mommeeee!" jubilantly exclaiming.

"Mommy, read me a story about Jesus, please!" he asks.
"Sure sweetie. Let's see; we could read about "the sower," or "the faith of a mustard seed," or ...
"The boy who spends his money Mommy, can we read about that one?" he asked.

"Yes, let's read that one." I replied.

Turning the pages to "The Prodigal Son," I settle my head into the pillow as we become cheek to cheek in the warmth of our bond.

"I love to snuggle you Seth!  You are the best snuggler, you know that!" leaning in towards his eyes, smiling smiles of love.
"You are the best snuggler too, Mommy!" he replies as he presses in closer.

And so I began to read, our story.

"He was dead and now is alive, he was lost and now is found," I read as the story ended.
"Do you know what that means, Seth?" I asked in pondering thought.
"No." he replied with expectation for me to share.
"Remember when Jesus told Peter, "one day you will be fisher's of men?" I asked him.
"Ya," he answered open endedly.
"Well, it's kind of like that. This boy was once close to his father, but then left. He came back and was found again. It's an analogy for how when we do not have God in our hearts, we are dead, and when we have God in our hearts, we are alive." Just as Jesus told Peter, he would one day catch "men" who would come to Jesus, so the lost son comes to Jesus.

"Tickle me Mommy, tickle me." he invited me with delight.

So many times reading together, Seth and I often spend time talking about what we learned. Discussing analogy's we think about, that come to our mind throughout the reading. Today however, was not one of those moments.

As he invited me to tickle him, I embraced the moment with playful abandon. Tossing the blankets aside, removing the blue empty cup that once held the fishy crackers, plopping to and fro onto pillows, the music of our giggles filled the room.  As those giggles upon giggles continued, I was pondering our short time of reading.

Later that evening, the stillness of my day finally settled in. In a short reprise of the moments with Seth, the Holy Spirit captured my minds eye in a short movie clip.  From the first words Seth spoke calling out to me from the other side of the house---"Mommy, read me a story about Jesus, please." Down the hall of my mind, replayed the moment I saw Seth, laying in our bed.

"Pause," I heard the Holy Spirit say, as the movie clip came to a stop.

I stood at that point in my minds eye---waiting for what it was He had for me.

"Do you see it?" He asked me.

Seth was prompted.

He made himself ready within the comfort of his Mommy and Daddy's bed, to listen.  He waited, patiently to hear the word read to him. In stillness for Me to come, he remained ready. He was expectant.  Full of delight and joy, in that expectancy.  He was listening, to his spirit.  He was responsive.  He was in tune and in touch with what his heart was already longing to hear, more about.

I must admit that when so quickly after he invited me to tickle him, that I wondered; is that it?  No more snuggling?   No more reading?   No 'aha' moment for us today?

But---there it was. Lingering down the hall of my heart in my spirit...

waiting-

for a tranquil moment where the promptings might be heard.  Felt.  Having a readiness, to see it.  Primed in spirit enough for the sacred to unfold, for my own heart.  Hearing.  Listening.  Responding.  In the twilight hours of my soul, when and where my heart, hears best.

Dear Holy Spirit,

Tucked beneath the covers of our day, you snuggled me into a moment, midst your Kingdom. Thank you!  For my son, who listened to the promptings of Your leading. Who responded not only to the hunger of his tummy with space ship fishy crackers, but with the hunger of his heart. The longing for a meal with You. Thank You for choosing me, today.

Thank You for that bed, of rest.

Thank you also for, untucking the covers for me. For pulling them back long enough to expose the chill in the air so that I could see that which was being uncovered, for me.

Help me Father, to be ready.  Responsive.  To be able to recognize Your, promptings.  Rather than ready, to the promptings of worry.

Help me not be afraid of what that meal might be.  That you are not a Father of shame, but of grace and love. 

Like Seth, that my longings for truth, wisdom and knowledge might be, filled.  May it sink deeply into the cold, cracked, crevices of my soul.  And like the warmth of our afghan, may it cover me in a cozy sense of your presence, unlike any other.

For those moments when I don't;

pause-

let me not see those moments as, wasted.  Allow me and draw me in so very close, that I can't help but pause long enough again...to seek out that which you had for me.   Long enough to enjoy, a meal.  And like Seth, be ready to respond.  Ready to remain, for as long as I need, till I hear Your voice speak.

Lord Jesus, I confess I have not been nearly as faithful to the stillness, you beckon me to.  I now invite You to usher in, all of what you long so lovingly to give me.  Where, when after the meal has been recieved, I could say, "Tickle me, Papa, Tickle me."  That I would feel so very comfortable with the freedom of your Fathering, that I would delight in the joy of asking for, more.  Teach me how to laugh, in Your presence.  Not with something that meets my ears with fancy talk, or things that are of no substance, but with the weight and joy of your glory.  The weight and joy of your majesty.  Where every breath I make, I make in You.  So that, when those promptings awaken within, my first response will be, "Daddy! would you tell me a story about, Jesus!"