Wash me over, Lord, with waves of your mercy!

They make me happy again!

“‘In my distress… [Psalm 120:1]‘ There are elements in our circumstances if we are children of God that can only be described by the word distress; it would be untruthful to say it was otherwise. ‘Then will I go unto God,’ says the psalmist, not ‘with joy’ but ‘unto God Who is my exceeding joy.’ We go to God when we have no joy in ourselves and find that His joy is our strength. Are our hearts resting in the certainty that God is full of joy although with us it is ‘clouds and darkness’ because we are pilgrims?’”
–Oswald Chambers

Crazy. It’s really, magnificently crazy! I am rediscovering the fact that praise multiplies. Once you start… once your heart is opened again to thanking and honoring the Lord, the whole idea of praise and worship explodes.

Pretty sure that I used to know this. But somehow in the confusion of the past year, it faded off. I can clearly remember standing in Convocation at Liberty, singing, clapping, knowing that Marina was doing the same in her wheelchair right behind me. Ebony was there to my left, a huge, peaceful smile on her face.  I was trying with all my heart. But I was also praying secretly, “Dear Lord, I know this. I know that You are mighty and bring us joy. I believe that You lift us up. I do want to praise You for all the work You are doing. But I don’t feel like praising. My soul is in a little heap here on the floor beneath the joyful, beautiful feet of these others who are shouting Your story. I want to worship, Lord, but I’m just here begging to see more of You. Get me past my hurt heart and worries to the place where Your glory is everything.”

The week after that Convo, I headed back to Minnesota feeling less capable than ever of praising God. I sang, “We are the broken, You are the healer” all the way home, and perhaps in its own way that was praising Him too. It was a start. I knew deep in my soul that He was worthy. I just didn’t have the energy to shout happy-sounding words into the dirt where I had fallen face down.

It’s a roundabout story back to more praise. It started with conversations on respect and trust. Through family and friends, the Spirit pricked my heart: instead of being respectful towards men, I had been taking the cynical route and thereby influencing my brother and sisters to do the same. In repentence, I made a concerted effort to notice real men serving God and loving people, to thank the Lord for their example, and to point them out to my siblings.

In one of those prayers that says, “Lord, I believe. Help thou mine unbelief,” I started asking, “Show me, Lord. Show me.” Of course, He was happy to show me! I saw daddies taking their daughters out for special treats at Dairy Queen. A man drove up to Holiday, and three little boys trailed out of the van after him. They proceeded to scuff their shoes on the cement and wheedle themselves as near as possible to the wheel while he refilled it with air. He was patient, smiling, happy to have their questions and childish help. Our family was invited to lunch with a man who had stayed married for over fifty years. Little things like that were the start. Seemed like every time I consciously thanked God for these examples, He would present another that proved more amazing.

Next thing you know, I was at Mills getting my brakes fixed and the sweet grandmother at the customer service desk was talking to me about Christ. That made my day! Mom sent an e-mail about surrender, tying together the issues which she and I have been relieved to finally lay on Jesus’ shoulders. Something else to bless God for! See! I found reasons to praise Him everywhere, not just in my personal life with Him but in the whole wide world around me.

I haven’t the faintest idea why this is the time that joy flows back into my heart. Our lives are every bit as messy as they were two weeks ago. But, as with the praise, joy has been creeping up on me.

Yesterday, I rejoiced in the consciousness of being cherished by God. All the little things added up so that I could no longer ignore them. He had led me to this church. He had brought my Mom and siblings along. What the preacher was saying was everything God had begun teaching me through our mess. Marj was with us, hmming and and chuckling in agreement. A lady in front of us reached out and took the hand of a hurting lady next to her.

By the time we got back home, I needed an hour-and-forty-five-minute walk simply to begin listing out to Him the things for which I am thankful. Yes, He blesses me that much! He is filling up my heart with praise. Granted, some of these things might seem pretty silly. But coming out of a year-long slump where nothing seemed good, where I didn’t want to be here, where even the beauty of creation hurt deep in my heart… well, it was certainly springtime on a whole new level to pick up a tiny green leaf that had floated down a bit early. It felt like silk. Don’t Father Kings give royal silks to their daughters? *smile*

“The voice of joy, and the voice of gladness…
the voice of them that say, Praise the Lord of hosts;
for the Lord is good; for his mercy endureth forever…
bring the sacrifice of praise into the house of the Lord…”
Jeremiah 33:11

Been planning/organizing this blog move for a long time and am happy to have finally accomplished it! Still in the process of moving posts from 2004-2006, but who’ll notice that far back anyway? Heehee. Overall, these pages are more open than my Xanga. Simpler. No more ads. Hopefully somewhat improved.

Plus, I like having a new place to represent these crazy but amazing changes God keeps making in my life. *smile*

Have today off… am working on catching up with computer stuff. So if I owe you an e-mail, it just might be on its way! (Mom and Carm, you two are first on the list. *hugs*) Later I’m headed out to work in the yard. Going to take that pretty, green-handled ax to more of the stubborn stumps next to the house and will also be planting strawberries! After school we’re going to Jonathan’s track meet–he’s in four events this time!

And now–of course–the dryer is calling my name! (Actually, it sings a little tune, which makes me smile.)

Sending out mega bunches of love…

“Has God trusted you with a silence–a silence that is big with meaning?

“Think of those days of absolute silence in the home at Bethany (John 11:6)! Is there anything analogous to those days in your life?

“His silence is the sign that He is bringing you into a marvellous understanding of Himself.

“If God has given you a silence, praise Him. He is bringing you into the great run of His purposes.”

–Oswald Chambers

Track meet tomorrow.

I am literally starving for pizza this morn.

Uncle Bill promised to make me a little strawberry garden.

I have not heard it sung, but the words are enlivening… You Will Rise Up!

Abigail. Didn’t I tell you she was good?

Abigail and Mom.
Mom was the only other person who would join us, teehee.

Mom and I.
Matching smiles.

Coming back this spring, I discovered that many of the things we use to love most were still there.

Actually, I felt yesterday as if I were walking through the yard of a family that had suddenly picked up and left in the middle of a normal day. There were two knives in the tree that the kids used to practice throwing. I found a pair of Jonathan’s socks along the side of the house where he always decided to go barefoot when it got too warm out. The forts had uneaten pine needle pies, and Josh’s Army netting was still strung like a hammock through the trees. Chase had left a bone right next to the hole he wasn’t supposed to be digging. There were cucumbers and tomatoes dried on their vines. A shovel was standing and stuck into the ground in my old strawberry patch. Abigail’s flower window clings were still clinging to her window. The chainsaw fuel and the ax were set against an empty stretch of yard where we used to stack wood. There were unburnt things in the burn barrel.

I know that Mom and the kids did just up and leave one Friday afternoon. They needed to be safe, immediately. But I had forgotten that none of us ever went back to live again. We never played or ate or were a family there anymore. We just made trip after trip, taking Dad’s stuff to storage, getting rid of our own stuff, hauling what we could to Grandma’s.

This was not a bad realization, despite my surprise. These little things made me smile. They were testaments to the kids’ ingenuity, all the fantastical fun they created with Army netting and old Christmas tins and broken garden hoses. They have left such things behind for now, very firmly. They don’t play that way anymore. They skate and play basketball and swim. They talk to friends and go places with friends and have friends over to Grandma’s house. They spend all day in school.

I picked up their old memories peacefully, with a warm, settled rush of my own recollections. Again, I thought I had all the pieces. Some went to the garbage. I took the football and the tennis ball and the windchime back to Grandma’s with me.

Then I looked back and saw the grape vines. I’m fairly certain that Dad made their support out of chicken wire and rerod, one of his rustic creations. The yellow butterfly in the other garden was still there too. I had walked past repeatedly without seeing it as something removable, something of mine that I wished to take with me when I left.

I drove away wondering: Lord, what else in life do I leave tangled, miss seeing, take for granted?

The last two weeks have been packed. Do my best to sneak a few moments here and there for quiet, but that does not guarantee rest in my heart and mind. Those sorts of quiet are difficult. I am excellent at staying busy and finding things to do. *wry smile* Am not pleased with myself in that respect. Busyness is a fine way to run from reality and feelings and God’s voice.

We went out to our old house yesterday afternoon. The basement was not flooded as we had feared, although the garage floor had definitely been soaked. It was nice to be there. The deep missing is not as strong anymore. I know that it is just a place–a tiny piece of land in the midst of the forest, a grungy little house left alone. Yet visiting again felt like meeting an old friend with whom I am comfortable and supremely happy. I know it so well! Every nook and cranny of the house. My favorite places in the forest. The gardens and beautiful apple trees. That doggone ditch that was a battle twice a week when it needed mowing!

There is something about a place that was once your own. I believe that this sense of carrying a place always in your heart, whether you live there or not, comes from God. Right from the beginning, He was giving men land. His promises to the patriarchs are tied to specific places. And even Esau, even Ishmael, many of those who were not His chosen were presented with homelands which Israel was to respect. And the women were given them likewise.

Being home stirs many memories. I picked up the sweet ones yesterday and let the others fly off in the wind. Mom too; she remembered how we use to make wild rice soup. Josh and Grandpa would go ricing then receive a few bags of the final product after selling. The rest of the ingredients are embarrassingly inexpensive. Like the hamburger gravy that we made with bear burger when Uncle Mark was a bear hunting guide. *recollection smile* Like the green beans and zucchini we could not stop growing. And of the course the chives and the apples and asparagus and mounds of deer and pheasant meat.

I made wild rice soup this morning. *anticipatory smile* It occurred to me that food smells differently in different places. At home, especially if the temperature were fifty degrees outside, we would have had the windows flung wide open and sunlight streaming in at all imaginable angles! Here in town, we live with less light as well as central heating and air. Grandma never opens windows except to clean them. Also, she and Uncle Bill are not fond of wild rice, particularly the smell of boiling it for 45 minutes. *wrinkles nose* So I started it at six-thirty and then made blueberry coffee cake which completely overtook the kitchen with its sweeter scent. At home, though, the wild rice would have blended in with the breeze, the woods, the fire stove, with the snow melting into the dirt and old grass.

Pretty soon I am going to switch over a load of laundry and head back to our old house. It does need to sell, and perhaps a little yard clean-up would help. Maybe I will bring the chives back to Grandma’s house with me. They can grow in a corner someplace around here. It is too early, though. I should probably wait on those, and in a month or two (if the house is not sold), Carm’s princess rose and the raspberries would be ready also.

Thank you, Lord, for a blustery, cloudy yet calm-hearted day…

Here’s the verse, “And if any man say unto you, Why do ye this? say ye that the Lord hath need of him.”

 Almost everyone is asking me what I’m doing these days and why, and I have felt that my answer (“This is where God wants me.”) is not enough of an explanation. However, Jesus put a similar answer in the disciples’ mouths!

I can see myself in their situation. Now, I like donkeys well enough. Grandpa and Laurie have one that is little and stubborn and goofy and covered in mud and just plain downright fun. Something like brothers and sisters, if I may say so with a strong wink and grin. ;-) However, if Jesus had asked me to go borrow Him a donkey, you’d have heard me countering: “Oh, but, Christ, you’re King. I’m going to get you a magnificent, glorious, huge, strong horse. And royal clothes! And a real golden crown. And trumpeters! And–”

But He would stop me in the middle of my plotting to travel far and wide in search of these wondrous things. He would quickly end my scheming to get all the money necessary to purchase them.

He would say what He often said to the disciples, “O ye of little faith. *sigh in the spirit* Just a donkey, Sarah. Borrow the one that is tied up over in the next village [Walker, anyone, lol!?]. Bring it to me. That is what I need. And when everyone asks what on earth you’re doing, tell them that it’s for Me.”

Uncle Dennis stayed with us last week, which means that Grandma went to town with turkeys and pies and all the fixings. We have a varied mixture of tiny leftover dishes that don’t go together very well. So I’m stalling for time. Maybe the leftovers can wait. Considering a dive into the cookbook shelf in hopes of bringing up a long-lost culinary treasure.

The girls are eating tortilla chips for breakfast. Think I may condone this breach of normal behavior, because it is entirely in keeping with our family motto in regards to eating. (Said motto has not been put into official language, but it basically asserts our formula for food happiness by not conforming to any food rules.) Time to dig out the Velveeta and salsa.

Jonathan slept in, all credit due to track practice for two hours every evening. Quiet upstairs here this morning. I’m typing on the living room computer, as opposed to my laptop, but it’s almost like I’m downstairs anyway. Nobody racing around to find her project or gather up his running shoes. Unusual day. The warm weather gets everybody in a laid-back mood.

Piano lesson today. Then some calls to set up times and places for work. I took a temporary, very part-time job totally outside my normal job sphere! Am so sure that God has a sense of humor. After years of saying that I would never have an office job, I am excited about this little stint answering questions and filling out reams and reams of paperwork. Besides that, I’m setting up this table-sized office at the tribal college on the reservation. Yes. Will get paid. To be at college. Another new-to-me, culturally-diverse, beautiful, tiny, little college in the middle of nowhere.

There was something else I came here to say. *sigh* But it is fun to get side-tracked by the details of our goofy life.