hearingnseeing
Hearing and seeing God in everyday lifeArchive for children
Tu-whit, tu-whoo
I woke up a few nights ago to a visit from an old friend. Of course, I went to sleep with one too if you count the toad in the neighborhood doing his thing and croaking all night long. But it is a sure sign of season change when the mockingbird comes. I have heard his visit for years now as he passes through and he leaves me with a story only he can make sense of from the places he has been. I listen, open to hearing his fresh song, and wonder what things there are yet for me to hear too, especially in words not yet strung together for me.
About that same night, for my friend has visited often this week at 3 a.m., I read a poem to my girl from a book on art from children’s illustrators of the world. She was less impressed because the pictures didn’t “move” or do anything like her screen device (urg, this world of moving visuals!). It is spring here, and even if not so much yet in my soul, this poem and the illustration spoke beautifully to me in a dark night. You might just have to make a trip to the library to see if for yourself in the book Under the Spell of the Moon. The poem is by Philip de Vos, illustration by Piet Grobler, both from South Africa, I believe, from my cursory search ~
Everybody has a song,
be it short or be it long,
in the right or in the wrong key,
like the hee-haw of a donkey,
twitter, tweet, tu-whit, tu-whoo,
howl or growl or quack or moo.
Everyone has a song
and must sing it all life long.
Don’t be silent
nor afraid,
you must sing
as you’ve been made.
Hope you have a great Friday and sing as you’ve been made!
Psalm 8:1-9 O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens. From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger. When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor. You made him ruler over the works of your hands; you put everything under his feet; all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the filed, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, all that swim in the paths of the sea. O Lord, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!
Prayer
I have only a few minutes to write this morning. I don’t feel like writing. I don’t feel like hearing or seeing if even I have had those moments. Life is just hard right now. I have come to think that it is “easy” to believe in God when life is good and when in crisis, but I laid awake in the early hours this morning wondering if in the decades upon decades it took Noah to build the ark or the many years for Abraham and Sarah to have children, I wonder if in their long waits that they had moments like I am having. Do you?
I have grown out of the habit of praying with my children before bedtime — kind of like the olders grew out of it and I did not keep it up with the youngest. I have tried to start that up again recently and said we could take turns. When it was my girl’s turn, she said she didn’t want to pray. While I feel that regularly these days, I was surprised to hear it from her, the one who is supposed to have child-like faith Her response was this, however, “Well, when we used to say family prayers, John (her older brother, now deceased) never had anything to say and he didn’t want to pray – and it reminds me of John and now I don’t want to pray.” Now this is a true statement; he had little to do with spiritual matters and thought church for donuts and napping. And this his sister saw and now questions. And life is complicated and hard and hearing this, well, it is easy to be discouraged these days.
How depressing right? I assure you. I read a book a long time ago by a rabbi’s wife. I would prefer to give you the title, page, let you go read it for yourself — but like I said, I have 10 more minutes before the buzzer goes off and morning rush sweeps me away to verify the details. But in her book, a dad comes to her for advice about his wayward daughter, I believe, and she basically tells him to pray. He doesn’t want to, is far off from God, is not sure it is a good idea or will work. Yet her advice holds: Pray. And maybe you know, this advice works. May not have changed the daughter, but it did him for the Godly better — and we know our lives touch others always .
You know, it is pretty simple in Scripture as well. Pray continually – I Thessalonians 4:17. Now honestly I cannot yet do verses 16 and 18 freely but I am hopeful. (You’ll have to look those up for yourself!) But today I can give verse 17 a whirl and keep it up with my girl too.
Will you join with me to pray continually today?
This is the Day
It has been three months to the day and date, and as I write, very near the time. My child’s passing is marked so. Thirteen years was not enough for me. And in case you are ready to quit reading, it is not my intent to labor that point; but since it still defines just about everything I do, it must be intertwined here on my final post of the year.
Last night my tears dropped to the pillow as my 8-year-old and I talked about what we would be doing if he was still alive, what we might be buying him for Christmas, how we missed him. Today is another milestone at three months and I wondered how I would get through another Wednesday, his upcoming birthday, Christmas . . . grief is hard work. I’ve read verses in the Bible about crying out to the Lord and I have a picture of this in my mind that is something that looks not do-able. When I really cry out, I seem to expect an answer right then, like I have been heard. It makes no sense to get an audible answer like that and so I don’t cry out like what that vision is in my head. Are you following that ramble? I guess I am more of a whimper kind, a quiet tear-stained brokenness lost in a crowd. My little one remained in bed with me over the night and was long asleep before my dread soothed over to sleep. My prayer was more like — I just can’t do this, Lord. Is that a request buried in the admission?
So when I woke up this morning to no alarm set — oops — and the lighting sky told me I had better get a move on to get kids out the door, I had a song pop in my head. After the no alarm thought, my second thought of the day was this song from my youthful church days: “This is the day (echo, this is the day), That the Lord hath made (echo, that the Lord hath made) . . . ” Do you know it? It continues with I will rejoice and Be glad in it. I can’t change the past or control the future. What is left is today, and even this day, this dreaded day among others to come, is the Lord’s Day that He has given me to Live.
I still am unable to sort out my feelings about most anything. And there are still many things I cannot do. But the Lord gave me one thing today to focus on from the very get-go. I am going to sing it all day long and more so as the shadows increase.
I am hanging on to Hope this holiday season and the Lord’s “answer” to me this morning really was pretty immediate to my deep need — Hope that I can make it through the day, the season, this life — and most of all, Hope that this life is not all there is! Heaven awaits and a son waiting there for me too. Christmas is just a part of the story that includes a birth, a life, a resurrection — and a horrible awful death in between. In the end, Hope triumphs nestled between Faith and Love. Merry Christmas, dear reader, and Heavenly Hope for the New Year!
Psalm 118:24 (NIV) This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.
Praying Mantis Upside-down
You know I have recently lost someone I love very much, my son. What you don’t know is that it was suicide and a horrific shock. This post is not intended to be a downer or a grieving mother’s lament. But since God can be seen and heard in any time of life, of course he is here with me now, and I will share with you this little thing.
A time ago, this middle child of mine called me to the kitchen. Attached to our oven door was a praying mantis, a very cool creation. I live close to the country, but in my lifetime time, I have seen only a few of these creatures in nature, maybe 3 or 4? We watched it for a bit and then I asked my boy to please take it out, to which his 13-year-old mind had to chase me with it first. Neat to look at, don’t like to touch.
So several days after he had passed, I had to take my girl to soccer practice. Still numb, still wearing a hat and sunglasses hoping nobody knew me, still not eating, still in shock and intense grief, I sat near the bleachers by myself, grateful the warm sun touched my shivering soul. This thing whizzed by and caught my eye. I watched it for a minute and then it landed on the underside of the bleachers where I could still see it. It was a praying mantis upside-down, dangling his praying hands and swiveling his big eyes up and down and around and side to side. It just hung there for a few moments, checked me out, and then flew away.
Now, I don’t mean to imply some reincarnate moment or some specific sign from God — but it was not a stretch to imagine that mantis was like a message to me from Heaven, from my boy — both happy and free, being what God created them to be. It was a good moment in a lot of hard ones.
I kind of don’t want to hear and see God right now, unholy or sacrilegious as that sounds. At the same time, I am desperate for it. He gave me the mantis. And He also took me to this Scripture today: And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. I John 4:16 It’s a good thing His love trumps my selfish sorrow.
I am broken and fickle, cannot make even the simplest of decisions, am shrouded under a heavy and dark blanket. I think all I can do today is rely on God’s love for me, which really, is entirely enough. I pray for you, reader, for it to be enough for you too and for you to open the Word for His love message to you.
Thirteen Years
As I was walking this morning I passed by a place where last summer a boy lost his rocket. I happened to be walking there when he and his grandfather were searching in an uncut field near the school grounds where he had shot it off. Poor boy, and he was supposed to enter it into the fair the next week. They had already been looking hours and just could not find it.
Sometimes hearing and seeing God is so easy — quaint, simple, astounding, aha moments, the gamut. But when something is lost and never to be found or had again, the clarity of Providence might wane to what we can see, be limited by what we can feel.
God’s promises are true and He will never leave us. God’s promises are true and these things will work out to His glory somehow. God’s promises are true and His idea of hope far surpasses our idea of just having things turn out all right. God’s promises are true and His love will see us through. When we cannot hear or see God, it does not change the truth that God is still there.
So one day I will see you again, John, but now my eyes remain blurry and the only thing I hear are the haunts in my head. Dear reader, it is your turn to hear and see God for me, pray for me, grieve with me. You have read about this boy that I have written about on occasion, my middle child, and so in a small way you have shared in his life. He is gone now and I will never be the same for he took much of me with him to a place that is not mine yet. So please honor him by seeking to hear and see God today, reach out to Him without delay, love, forgive, endeavor to pursue Christ. I cannot do this yet today, save for this sad post, but maybe you can. Soon I will write again because God is God and He has never been absent or hidden himself from me, greatest lover of my soul. I will hear and see again.
With forever love to John.
Ticks, Toads and 100th Post
This is my 100th post!
I should write about something really profound since it is milestone post. I just haven’t been struck recently, though, by anything profound. My life at this moment resembles the forward ambling pace of a wagon train across the prairie.
I have still been watching my resident toad family. It is because I have a 24-hour light shining on an American flag. The bugs come; the toads come. I couldn’t fall asleep last night so did a little research on toads and the Biblical plague of frogs. There is not much there. Moses said it, God did it, Pharoah’s magicians copied it, but only God could end it.
In a Google search, I came across some pictures of a “jubilee” of toads. It dawned on me that I have seen this. Several years ago we drove through Tennessee. I had found on a map a walking path to some lake and we decided to picnic there (in retrospect, a high tick risk).
We started out on this trek through increasingly dense trees. We never made it to the lake because we rounded a corner and instead came upon a pond covered in green stuff. I did not realize what I was seeing at first but the ground was indeed moving. It was covered everywhere with little raisin-sized hoppy toads (or frogs?). You could not see the ground at all. You could not step anywhere without killing dozens with each step. Instead, they just progressed over our stuck feet.
I honestly almost freaked out but couldn’t because I was the responsible adult taking my kids into tick-infested woods. My mind went to something out of a horror movie. We lingered very little, retraced our steps, and headed quickly back the half-mile to the car.
What I saw was a breeding pond. It was just like what the internet showed and described. We saw the millions of migrating toads coming out of the water and going up to the hills. At the time it was most unsettling– but now I am amazed of what we ought to have observed a few moments more. Unfortunately, and now I know, my ignorance ruled the day twice and we had ticks plaguing us for days afterwards; they travel so nice and quietly.
What my eyes saw that day, the soft sound of millions of legs of movement, the heavy humidity, the smell of green pond — it was all there for me to take in, and indeed I have not forgotten it — but at that time, all I came away with were those blasted ticks. Perhaps the beauty of that moment was meant more for today, for my 100th post, as a reminder of God’s amazing way of helping us see Him and hear Him as He reveals Himself to us — in His timing — and taking care of us in our more foolish moments.
Happy Friday, people! Thanks for sharing this walk with me!
Exodus 8:8-12 Pharaoh summoned Moses and Aaron and said, “Pray to the Lord to take the frogs away from me and my people, and I will let your people go to offer sacrifices to the Lord.” Moses said to Pharaoh, “I leave to you the honor of setting the time for me to pray for you and your officials and your people that you and your houses may be rid of the frogs, except for those that remain in the Nile.” “Tomorrow,” Pharaoh said. Moses replied, “It will be as you say, so that you may know there is no one like the Lord our God. The frogs will leave you and your houses, your officials and your people; they will remain only in the Nile.” After Moses and Aaron left Pharaoh, Moses cried out to the Lord about the frogs he had brought on Pharaoh. And the Lord did what Moses asked. The frogs died in the houses, in the courtyards and in the fields. They were piled into heaps, and the land reeked of them. But when Pharaoh saw that there was relief, he hardened his heart and would not listen to Moses and Aaron, just as the Lord had said.
The Novelty of Toads
Picture this: Strawberry shake, warm summer breeze, stars and conversation. Enter: Toad. That guy just busted my concentration for the rest of the evening. First he was in the grass and all you could see was this blip about 5 inches up and then buried under again. Then he was in my flower bed. Then he was along the edging. Then he was headed under the fence. Talk about a mover! When I could no longer take part in mature conversation, I reverted back to girl and had to investigate.
I found not one but two toads — much to my relief because I just couldn’t figure how they could move so fast to such varying places. Then there were three — and all were different sizes. I tried to pick up the first one and ended up with only his leg, poor thing, but he didn’t help me and kicked too much.
My houseguest reverted to girl too and might have wanted to show me how to pick up a toad so she picked up the littlest one, hardly bigger than a golf ball. My friend stood to her full height, a few inches shy of 6 feet, just in time for the little bugger to flip right out of her hand and fall far! Both seemed to manage their abuse well but skittered away to cover.
By this time I had to go and get my real girl and show her the novelty of toads. She wasn’t so convinced, though. I picked up the third frog well in its armpits so it couldn’t kick out or wet on me (see, I know how to handle a toad). My girl asked me how to hold him, and while in transfer I was telling her about how to get up higher on his belly and to watch for him to …. but the rest was not necessary. My 8-year-old had had enough, and with the reflex of eeeww, she thrust the toad away from her to land flat on his back with a thud that words cannot describe. Unless you’ve heard a protuberant-bellied toad land backside on moist soil, “thud” will just have to do. Yes, that toad lived too and flipped and hopped away.
Now some sort of toad family has lived in my flower bed for years; we see them every year but usually just one at a time — and yes, we pick them up at least once a year because there is something to be learned from handling small nature with our big bodies. Those toads have survived my dogs and cats, the drought and gully washers, us — and they have not moved out.
Maybe this summer you need some toads to play with for a bit. Maybe you just need the strawberry shake on the patio with good conversation. I hope for you all of it, Lord willing and you seeking.
John 1:3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.
Millers and Allens
I had to shoo my cat off the porch screen again this morning and again off my bedroom window last night and basically off any screen in the house. I think the little moths flying about are going to kill him via me. Do you know what I am talking about? Those little moths? They are plain brown and about an inch long and are constantly moving and bumping into the wall or light or window and make little flapping/tapping noises when they do. We call them millers in my part. They love the light and fly to it. When I was a teenager we had a card party and were inundated by the millers fluttering around the overhead light. We did the bubbles-in-a-pan trick, dumb things (they dive-bomb into the pan). They leave little brown spots all over the wall, window, curtains. One year they were so bad they covered my porch corner window at about 3-1/2 square feet, resembling a vibrating dirty carpet. Some people in the country must not have them because this friend of mine from the east coast kept calling them allens. ?? It took me a while to figure out what she was talking about, but she meant millers. She probably just called them moths. I don’t like either.
A few years back, my girl, who was probably 4 or 5 then, had some trash to throw away at the baseball fields. It was during the early morning practice for her brother. When we got to the big trash can and opened the lid to throw away her trash, this poof of millers shot up free from their dark cage. She was delighted. So while we waited for practice to be over, she “freed” all the little millers from every trash container that she could find — every one of them. It was like butterflies to her and very charming and she felt quite good about what she was doing.
I joke about wondering what God had in mind when he made things like millers. God made millers to try my patience ?? They are all my fault?? Of course not — but thinking of the millers today brought to mind a pretty special day for my girl and a moment that we shared together. There are a few other thorns in my flesh today along with the millers, and I think I am going to free them from their cage. They must serve some purpose, though I know not what. I hold on to them tightly, worrying them, having imaginary conversations about them, wishing them to go away . . . they are very much like the millers, annoying me and leaving residue. As best as I can, and with God’s grace and help, I think I will lift the lid on them and watch them fly to the light, my eyes in that direction as well. Maybe today they will be kept at bay, but if I know my bugs, they will visit me again. That’s okay; God will be enough for that day too.
So Father, here you go — the millers, the broken air conditioner, the worries about working full-time with kids at home in summer, the people who linger too long, the ever-constant anxiety about balancing money and home and family and self, and for simply not spending enough time with you, please open the lid of this dark cage, flood me with Your Light that was even before creation, help me see my life and the lives of others from your eyes, and help me to take the time to nourish my soul with Your Word daily. You are the Most Amazing Lover, Amen.
Isaiah 26:3,4 You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, the Lord, is the Rock eternal.
The Donkey Who Acts Like a Dog
I was cranky yesterday. Some seasons of life are just tougher than others and raising teenagers can be one of them. My work just handed me challenges all day. I couldn’t get time any alone to rejuvenate. I had a fit. It was just one of those days.
At 9 o’clock last night when I was hoping everyone would be ready for lights out, my middle child starts in on this story. As a total blessing of the Lord, my middle boy is getting to scoop poop for a gal we know who has horses. He gets riding lessons out of the deal so he’s thrilled to scoop. Yesterday was his first day. apparently there is this donkey there who acts kind of like a dog. He just follows you around, butts up against you, noses you, etc., so he was tied up yesterday while my boy worked. He couldn’t follow anyone, so according to my son, he just brayed the whole 2 hours while watching my boy. He said it about drove him nuts. Then my boy, who is next to never animated, tried to replicate that sound. He just kept at it, too: hee-haw, heeeeee-haw, hee-haaaaaaw, until he got it right. I just looked at him like, Are you my child? He laughed at himself, brayed a few more times, then had a lightbulb moment for himself, and said to his older brother, “Yeah, it sounds just like you when you cry.”
I should have addressed this differently as a parent. I know I should have. I will have to remind my oldest today that big do men cry and if you’re going to cry, well, do it fully like he does or go somewhere to do it privately. But last night, after all the rough road my middle boy is giving me (and it is plenty in his screen-addicted life!!!!), after his break in character to retell a funny in his book, after his rare creative thought even if something of a dig on his brother, all I could do was laugh as well. It was funny. It was really a relieving funny, actually — not at my older boy’s expense, but at the younger boy’s breath of life in his rather dormant and fictional life in his preferred video game world (which is a story for another day).
I am reminded of the Lord’s grace this morning and His blessing to grant me a whole new day to laugh and cry in, to fail and see a glimmer of success. I’ve posted it here before, but take a look at Lamentations Chapter 3 for your morning blessing . . . .
Cootie Problems
I have not written in nearly two months. Yes, it has been just that kind of crazy. I can sum it up like this:
The car stunk like teenagers who needed a shower. I was headed out of town and needed to drop one of them off before hitting the highway. Bad body smell #1 gone. Wow. Seemingly, the air cleared in our little Honda, and it was a quiet, pleasant, early morning drive to the big city. About an hour and a half into the drive, one of the other teenagers got hot and took off his hoodie. WOW, body smell #2 sank us. I had noticed a man’s deodorant stick in the console and threw it to the back seat demanding its use. I just figured it was my oldest teenage boy’s stash to use after practice or such (he wasn’t with us to vouch for it). With body smell #2 dissipating, the boy handed the deodorant back up to the front. The teenage girl sitting next to me then took it and said, “Oh, that was mine.”
So what started out as a bad smell issue turned into a cootie problem. My boy will not even share a blanket that his sister touched and at that point had used a man’s/girl’s already used deodorant. And the teenage girl (not my daughter) now had no choice to use a deodorant that was used by a stinky pubescent 13-year-old. See the problem? Drama ensued.
I thought it was hilarious. Anytime you can inwardly relish the humor of getting even with teenagers is great in my book (just don’t laugh out loud!!!!!). And that’s life. You just have to keep on keeping on and hope the stink doesn’t stick around, walk away from it, use desperation deo, whatever. You’ve got to know Pig-Pen is my favorite Peanuts character. And God has it all in the Palm of His hand, in the Shelter of His Wing, holding you up, letting you chose your path . . your pick, whatever works, whatever the situation calls for. God is sufficient for it all. Don’t know this? Crack open the pages of your Scripture and let Him show you Himself.
Philippians 4:13 I can do everything through Him who gives me strength. (And this includes raising stinky teenagers.)
hearingnseeing 