Turning too fast

There were times, when my children were very small, that I dreamed of the time when they'd be old enough to do things for themselves. I remember the crazy days of having a 2-year-old and a newborn, feeling like a one-armed paper hanger. Or there was the time when I finally got a cell phone--only for emergencies, of course!--because I needed to drive across five states with a 6-year-old, a 4-year-old, and and yet another newborn. Those days of feeling a little overwhelmed seem so close in my memory.

What happened?

The other night my husband and I went out for a special date and our 16-year-old promised to babysit for our 10-year-old. "Wonderful," I thought. (It really is so nice not to have to line up babysitters any more.) What I hadn't reckoned with, though, was that my husband had arranged for our 16-year-old, a proudly licensed driver with a car at his disposal, to take our 10-year-old out to eat and to see a movie. I mean they went out to a proper restaurant--one where you have to order and leave a tip for the waiter--and then on to the movie.

A little bit of my heart went out the door with them that night.

Very vividly now does a scene come back to me. I was visiting my mother when my oldest child was just three weeks old. We took the baby for a walk in his stroller, and as we walked, my mom told me that I should savor the moments of his babyhood. "Turn around," she said, "and he'll be leaving." Then she quoted one of those sweet Kingston Trio songs she always loved:

Where are you going, my little one, little one?
Where are going, my baby, my own?
Turn around, and you're two
Turn around, and you're four
Turn around, you're a young girl
Going out of the door.

At that point I still had the swollen tummy of a new mother, and I could hardly imagine fitting back into my skinny jeans, much less having that little baby big enough to leave. So I did a pirouette on the sidewalk and giggled at my mother. She just gave me one of those wise smiles and said, "Wait and see."

My mother has long since gone on to heaven. I wonder if she could see me that night as I watched my babies going out of the door. I wonder if she was saying "I told you so."

"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven" (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

At least I was wearing my skinny jeans.


"Turn Around," copyright 1959 by Harry Belafonte, Alan Greene, and Malvina Reynolds

What's in a name?

I was asked about the title of my blog, "Isn't grace a gift of God?" 

 Of course it is. But it's also a gift that we can give one another, and I think it's one that many of us are desperate for. 

 To tell the truth, I chose that name as a bit of a challenge for myself. I confess here that far too often I've used my ability with words to do harm. Put another way, I've withheld grace when I should have given it. And it's recently occurred to me that, if indeed I have a gift for communication, then the gift is from God, and it's rather spiteful of me to use it in any ungodly way. 

 Have you read Thomas a Kempis's The Imitation of Christ? I've only read parts of it, but this stood out to me: "If it is permitted and advisable to speak, then speak of those things that nourish the spiritual life. Negligence about our spiritual progress and yielding to bad habits are the reasons for our keeping so little control over our tongues. Godly conversation about spiritual matters very much helps spiritual advancement, especially when persons of like mind and heart are united in God" (Helpful Counsels for the Spiritual Life, Chapter 10). 

Ouch! I have had so much practice in withholding grace that I've become not only good at it but quite comfortable with it. Time for a change, isn't it?

Really?

"You're starting a blog?"

Thus spake my 13-year-old son, disbelief in his voice. Well might he doubt, since he knows his mother NOT to be particularly media-savvy.

As a matter of fact, up until a few weeks ago, I had never even entertained the idea of reading a blog, much less creating one myself. My resistance was, in part, because of the very word "blog." Now, I am not opposed to the notion of new words' being coined; this kind of language evolution is fascinating to me. But "blog" is not a very attractive word. It sounds to me like a symptom of some dread disease: "In addition to high fever, congestion, and coughing, she suffered from a terrible blog." Do you know what I mean?

But I was won over by reading what must surely be one of the most beautiful blogs in cyberspace, that of my friend Rebecca. And I realized that a blog is, at its best at least, a sort of open journal. As I told Rebecca, reading her blog made me realize that a blog could be a window on the soul.

Alas: I'm afraid my soul is not quite yet a very pretty picture. But I take hope that "though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (II Corinthians 4:16). Thank God. At least my soul is under renovation, so if you should take a look inside, you'll see a renovation in progress.

My hope is that, whatever I may choose to share here, I'll be able to live up to the title I've chosen. Ephesians 4:29: "Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers."

Maybe I'll be the only one listening. But I could probably stand to impart some grace to myself.