five little stones

Anna and Jolene at an Atlanta Braves Game.



Rachel showing off her Build-A-Bear butterfly, Violet.



Boys!

Our blue-eyed Elly.

"Then [David] took his staff in his hand, chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd's bag and with his sling in his hand, approached the Philistine." ~1 Samuel 17:40

Five smooth stones David chose, from the stream.  Once those stones likely had edges and sharp points.  They were dirty and trampled upon, until they ended up in the stream.  In the stream was water (but of course!) and bigger stones and pebbles.  The current would have washed over those rocks, tossing them here and there. 

They slammed into the bigger rocks and were pummeled by pebbles that were being moved even more vigorously.  Those rocks rolled and tumbled and rubbed and bumped. 
They were moved over the streambed with relentless abuses. The quiet pools were only brief respites.  The places where the stream widened mere breaths before the stream rushed forward, tossing and tumbling the stones forward.

Those rocks soon came through the Valley of Elah, the place where the Israelite army was encamped.  And it was at the stream that wound it's way through the valley where David would reach in and choose those once jagged and edgy stones.  Now they were smooth and of good size; just right for a shepherd's sling, perfect for a flight of great purpose. 

"All those gathered here," he proclaimed, "will know that it is not by sword or spear that the LORD saves; for the battle is the LORD'S, and he will give all of you into our hands." ~1 Samuel 17:47

Our five little stones, each with precious smile, twinkling eyes, and untapped potentials, also have sharp, pokey corners and jagged edges.  And they tumble often and are thrown into one another.  The cycle of rebuke, repent, rejoice is repeated over and over.  Little pebbles nick them; the boulders sometimes frighten them; the water seems too fast for them. 

Over and over I remind myself they belong to the Lord.  As they tumble and bump and rub against one another and life and truth and lies, they are being shaped for a greater day, a bigger purpose, a louder rejoicing.

"Reaching into his bag, and taking out a stone..."

Our deepest longing and prayer is that one day, they may all be held in the hand of The KING.

what I know now... a tribute to my mom

Some days it's silly giggles and shouting boys.  On other days it's a bombardment of sibling squabbles and whining that is more irritating that nails on the proverbial chalkboard. 
I've seen all variety of illness, it's many different colors and styles.  I've cleaned bloodied knees, picking out sand and asphalt.  Bandages are administered regularly, as well as the magical, healing kisses that God has endowed mothers with.

I've been rescued by the loving arms of my husband when all seems lost - his gentle reminders of God's forever faithfulness like gentle mist in a searing desert.
I've also lobbed my share of verbal grenades at that same man, frustrated that he doesn't understand so many things about his wife, his girls, and how a person can actually be lonely with five little people in perpetual motion.  Mom to son or daughter discussions are much different than those between husband and wife or adult to adult.

The joys are often mingled with the sad times.  Times of rest and ease are typically chased by those gritty, difficult seasons.  Seems to bear the scent of the wine-vinegar that was offered to Jesus.  While he did that deadly, sacrificial work, a taste of what was good was overwhelmed by what was bitter. 

But if we remember well, "his mercies are new every morning.  GREAT IS HIS FAITHFULNESS!"  On a morning, just three days after the bitterness and sacrifice, HE ROSE UP!  Joy returned for our Redeemer was Victor over the grave. 

He is victor over all I am as a mom.  The slurry of joy and sorrow, energy and weariness, hope and frustration is what My Lord is more than able to manage.

My mom, Sheri, knows these things.  She has come through these same things.  Loneliness as a farmer's wife and mom to six children.  The tough years of "just makin' ends meet" and filling a home with joy.

I remember that Mom sang often.  I thought she just enjoyed singing and wanted to practice.  What I know now is that Jesus gave her joy to sing, even when things were hard and it may not make much sense to sing.

I heard her and Dad argue - but they always loved one another.  And it wasn't long before I'd spy Dad in the kitchen with his arms wrapped around Mom, giving her a kiss.  I know now that that kind of love and reconciliation comes by greater grace than I own and a deep and abiding Love that my husband and I share.

I remember the winter at home in Iowa that the gas tank ran out.  The house got cold, but Mom had her tall hurricane lanterns lit and we were together and it was an Arctic adventure to me.  I know now that it's easy to feel a sense of failure because an essential to life had run dry.  But I also am now learning that when the Lord is the essential to life, desperate times call for falling back into His arms.

Mom was always the best cheerleader.  Standing at the bat or freethrow line or sitting on the bench, I could always pick out the voices of Mom and Dad from the crowd.  Now I know that sometimes you have to cheer even when the game is looking lost.  AND I know now that the sweaty laundry can be kinda gross.

"Do nothing from selfishness or empty conceit, but with humility of mind let each of you regard one another as more important that himself; do not merely look out for your own interests, but also for the interests of others." ~Philippians 2:3-5

I know now that my mom lived with her eye to others.  I know now that she likely went to war with self-pity and loneliness and frustrations galore.  And I also know that the Lord has been glorified in it all, for I know his glory in me. 

What I know now wasn't necessarily learned from my mom.  But just as the Lord taught her, He is teaching me.  Just as she had much to learn from Him, I am sitting in the same seat of the school of motherhood - her initials are there, written on His hands.  I know mine are there too.  Perhaps my own daughters will sit here as well and see the marks left by generations of moms who have followed the way of the Lord.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

I love you