my little corner...

breathing...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 00:22:13 PST

she writes words on a 3x5 card that weave together a prayer for us

and sends me the picture.

i find it in my inbox in the early morning hours that find me searching for a glimpse of Him.

and i need a glimpse of Him

desperately.

i walk down the hall on shaky legs

and reach up trembling hands to the top of that cupboard

and pull down a 3x5 card of my own.

and her prayer becomes my prayer that i can't voice and the card becomes crinkled between my hands as i hold it close throughout the day...

and when i couldn't even utter the words,

He knew.

He heard.

and He called.

seven days later,

i sit across the table from a dear friend who heard my whispered plea to pray as i ushered my three out of that loud and chaotic room

and she shares how He wouldn't let her go that day.

wouldn't let her not pray all day

and so she did.

it's not lost on me,

the unfathomable grandness of my God.

how so very large He is and how very small i am.

and when lungs struggle to fill with the very oxygen of communion between God and man,

He calls on others to breathe for them.

and the air exhaled from the hearts and mouths of those in His Body reaches Him as a fragrance

and He responds...

it's just a small blue dot caught in the beam of a ball of fire,

(source)

and it's a life that speeds by and is over in the mere blink of an eye.

but to Him,

each moment that seems to slip out of hands trying to grasp and understand the meaning of it all...

they have worth

and weight

and they move Him to action

and He calls us to breathe for each other.

when she carries a bit of me...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 23:25:08 PST

she'll turn six in a week and is about to lose her third tooth.

she wiggles it every day and asks me to do the same.

i still remember when her first two came in, side by side.

she was two months old.

how her mouth opened wide in that aisle in target,

her face is caught in my memory and my heart still echos with her gentle cooing.

and those two teeth,

they were peeking through.

and her whole smile changed.

i find myself lost tonight in looking at the wedding photos talented photographers have taken.

lost in the beauty of those first holy moments as husband and wife,

but the ones that make my breath catch?

it's the faces of the fathers as they give their daughters away.

a holy moment, in and of itself, i think.

a tender ache in letting go...

my heart is struggling tonight a bit.

for so many reasons and not enough of them worth sharing...

but it's that third tooth of hers that stops me still.

her mouth is letting go of the old to make room for the new.

and she won't let me pull it...

she's scared.

sweet child,

wrapped up in her mama's skin for those 9 months,

she carries a bit of me with her.

i understand that fear - the wanting to hold on just a bit longer...

feeling the hope that one can hold the old and the new in one hand

and expect that they will make room for the other.

but they can't.

and therein lies the struggle.

He is making a way for me,

my soul that aches hot with tears i won't let fall, is cooled by the stream of mercy He provides...

He is a Father Who never lets go,

never turns away...

but when these feet of mine grow tired,

when i feel the weight of this sad and this sin-sick skin,

He is gentle and tender,

and gives me moments to grieve away the old...

to make room for the new.

and even in this, i give thanks...

1190. naomi
1191. the way God's people surround and pray and love
1192. a chance to step into healing

1193. etham
1194. wilderness journeys
1195. He is always there

1196. a picnic basket full of food and love
1197. snow
1198. the life He has given us here

1199. leftover-summer sprinkled across lyla's nose
1200. a father's love
1201. the fierce love and protection of my husband

1202. bright blue sky cradling dark grey clouds
1203. the way my hand is cradled in tony's
1204. my past

1205. harsh words turned gentle
1206. olivia and her laugh
1207. the way they tumble out of my arms

1208. that even in my dry and wasted places, He creates something new
1209. He accepts what i have to offer
1210. this

for when you find yourself wandering...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 00:09:13 PST

i sit across from a man i've never met before and give him my name.

the snow is already beginning to melt outside.

he asks the needed questions

and i supply the answers

and then we wait for the paperwork to print.

i'm startled when he asks a personal question,

when he leans forward like he genuinely wants to know.

he asks me how i like it here.

and i want to laugh, because he couldn't know that a year ago today i buckled my three babies into their seats, closed the door on my little yellow house, cried in the kitchen of my best friend, held the hand of my husband

and drove away.

how i looked out across the prairies that i love,

blanketed in snow as though tucked in for the long and cold winter

and entered into a season of not knowing where we were going to land.

i look this man in the eye,

the one who fought in a war,

lived here for 40 years,

buried a son,

coached basketball,

and waits for my papers to print...

and i smile wide as the words come tumbling out,

i love it here.

and as the printer whirs he begins to share of the valley he moved from,

the one that sees 144 inches of rainfall each year

to this one that barely sees even a fraction of that amount.

this place that the summer sun beats down on,

the one that sagebrush dries up in and tumbles across...

when he says the words that have pierced deep and stayed with me all day,

but this place that by all accounts should look like a desert, is greener than anything i ever saw back home.

maybe because i am learning about them every monday, how the study of those freed hebrew slaves fills up my thoughts; but i understand, maybe a little, of that moment of looking out across a vast dry and dusty space and questioning the plans of the Almighty.

they stopped at Etham and saw the easier route up to the Promised Land to the north

and the hot, looming desert to the south...

and that Pillar of Cloud beckoned them to follow Him into the latter.

one year ago today, with tears on my face, i took that first step out of my Etham and into a journey held together only by trust and a very shaky faith.

it all looked so bleak and empty.

but i'm learning this about my Jesus Who loves;

He waters what is dry

and provides a way where there is none,

even while you still find yourself in the middle of a barren wilderness...

and what by all accounts should look like a desert,

is incomprehensibly spilling over with Life.

when He was really in it all along...{a re-post}

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 22:55:37 PST

one year ago, this very night, i spent my last evening in that little yellow home that had captured my heart, my dreams, my hopes.

one year ago, i stood on the edge of the unknown and took a deep breath and counted away the hours before that first step off the space of everything that i had clung to so tightly would be taken.

i should have known that He was in it all and through it all.

that in making that choice to follow His leading, He was hemming me in behind and before.

i know that now.

i see it clearly.

and as the snow falls and swirls and builds around this little home here that i find myself in,

i take a step back

a year ago

and remember...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i let it surround me tonight...the hot water.

i let it ease away the emotions of the day.

i let it wash off the make-up, the daily dying...

i let the day slip away.

a day that was full of moments that i didn't want to end...

watching lyla run down the sidewalk ahead of me, zig-zagging to see which side held the better tasting snow...

livie, my shadow of these last few weeks, gripping my hand tightly in hers...

elias holding my hair in his hand, burying his face in my neck...

the love of a mr. & a mrs. who have allowed themselves to be loved and claimed as gramma & grampa...

walking into a room full of my wednesdays, women who i have grown to love deeply over these last years...

trying to whisper thanks through the tears...

sitting, surrounded by these same women as i wept while they prayed...as they lifted up my unknown to the One Who Knows. as they prayed words of life into my spirit that trembles with all the what-ifs...

oh, i didn't want to leave that moment...

given an afternoon of care-free freedom by a gentle husband who knows how difficult this is...

laughing about honking and worrying and Jesus-loving-us and the poor sales-girl who got it all wrong...

moments with a friend who knows me and despite my odd quirkiness still loves me...

a wonder i can't get over...

we drove home in a blizzard, still more snow upon snow that kept tearing at my heart. the beauty, the ugliness all rolling into something that leaves me breathless and grasping at something that can't be held.

and i don't want to forget...

i don't want to forget the beauty of this day or the ugliness of it either.

because there are gifts in both...

and i don't want to lose sight of that.

sometimes...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 00:38:50 PST

there are times

and days

and moments

where the words become

small

and hushed

and few.

where moments gain momentum

and He keeps that door open

and ushers in something new.

it's those moments,

the ones where fear crowds in

and insecurities are laid bare for all to see...

when there is nothing else to do

in those waiting moments

but to become like daniel

and praise out the fear...

now when daniel learned that the decree had been published,

he went home to his upstairs room where the windows opened toward jerusalem.

three times a day he got down on his knees

and prayed, giving thanks to his God, just as he had done before.

daniel 6:10-11

so, with trembling hands,

i do...

1169. moments where lyla and i both learn to learn together

1170. olivia learning close

1171. the way tony tells me he loves me

1172. my gift of yellow daisies

1173. elias' favorite dump truck

1174. my little ones sitting in the lamp light's glow

1175. that beautiful, beautiful sky

1176. the floor of this house He gave

1177. the left arm rest of this couch i snuggle up to every night

1178. voices of 10 children playing within these walls

1179. voices of their mamas

1180. his key in the door lock

1181. the forgiveness of a child

1182. this city that has become home

1183. the way He loves us through others here

1184. those old comfy shoes

1185. an apology that mends what's broken

1186. an unexpected dinner delivered by the dearest of hearts

1187. a fire in the fireplace just because

1188. lyla discovering I'll Love You Forever

1189. that smile on her face as i whispered it over her sleepy head,

i'll love you forever

i'll like you for always

as long as i'm living

my baby, you'll be...

it's in the air...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 00:19:57 PST

the grass outside my front door is a faded sort of crunchy green.

it's been a while since a winter hasn't found me surrounded by snow.

seems odd in a silly sort of way.

all around me i have been hearing snippets of snowfall sightings,

but nowhere close to here.

you can hear the excitement,

the wonder,

the joy

that a simple snowflake can bring.

and i can close my eyes and imagine the softness of swirling night air,

and it's enough...

almost.

today, i read of manna

and how it covered the hot, dusty desert ground in the cool of the night.

rested, along with the dew, to feed hungry bellies.

for 40 years, the night air swirled with bread from heaven

and for 40 years, those freed hebrew slaves gathered it up and ate.

i sat, pondering for a moment or two the sameness of it all.

40 years of manna,

being filled on a question

when i read...

the simplicity and singleness of the manna in the wilderness symbolized

the Christ Who was to come. When presenting Himself as the true Messiah

to the jews, Jesus clearly said, "I am the bread of life" (john 6:35). while the

manna of the wilderness could not provide eternal life, Christ did

and will to anyone who will receive it.

priscilla shirer

for 40 years the hebrews wandered,

but for 40 years, a glimpse of Christ swirled in the air around them in the quiet of the dark.

each morning as they gathered to fill, they unknowingly held in their hands a Shadow of Hope...

i think, of how the coming days can appear like that grass outside my door.

fear can make the moments ahead brittle and faded, as though the summer lush is only a distant memory.

but He whispered it, that promise...the hope of something new.

and He, my Jesus, The One Who can make a way in the wilderness,

Who can makes streams flow in a desert,

Who can make the bread of heaven float down each morning...

He can cover each dry and dusty place,

each fear that trembles,

each sliver of hope brittle and faded...

and whether or not a winter snow falls in this place,

i am fully covered by His grace.

when you wonder where He is...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 23:48:03 PST

He catches my attention at a red light a couple miles from home.

my mind has wandered and my ears have tuned out the chatter...

but my eyes?

they see it.

they see the air painted all rosy and pink around me.

and it's as the day is dying that i look up

and my breath catches

and i beg Him to stop time for just 5 minutes.

long enough to grab my camera and catch the masterpiece He has created.

the sun, however, keeps sinking

despite my pleas.

but the lower it falls

the more stunning the beauty.

i race inside the house like a mad woman.

he looks up at me with a question in his eyes...

the sun!! tony! the sun! the way it's sinking...it's beautiful!

and my incoherent rant follows me back out the door.

i stand in the driveway as neighbours pull in weary from their long day at work.

some smile.

some shake their heads.

some stop to look too.

and i turn in a circle and keep snapping.

keep trying to keep up with my God Who creates such beauty out of thin air.

they run around me, those 2 girls who glow in the fighting light.

ethereal in the fading of an aging sun, they giggle out their wonder of The One Who loves them so.

and he says it to me tonight, in the moments before he falls asleep.

how he read of lazarus and The One who raised him from the dead and the sisters 2 who were devastated by the slowness of their Lord's timing.

when their brother lay dead in that grave and there was no hope left.

how Jesus, knowing so much more than they did, says to sweet martha, all bowed over with grief,

"...did I not tell you that if you believe

you will see the glory of God?"

john 11:40

do you find yourself facing a moment, a circumstance, that no longer breathes hope?

have you watched what you have treasured, die?

tenderly wrapped it up

and gently tucked it away?

have you wondered where He is

while knowing full well that if He had come in time,

what is dead

could be filled with life?

as you question like martha,

i would stand beside you as mary.

because the questions find rest on the tip of my tongue.

but with feet planted on cement on a mild january day,

my heart hears His whisper...

the Lord wraps Himself in light as with a garment;

He stretches out the heavens like a tent...

He makes the clouds His chariot

and rides on the wings of the wind.

psalm 104: 2-3

the night may be closing in around you.

circumstances may be threatening to steal your joy...

your peace...

your hope.

but He's coming, dear one.

He is coming.

just keep your eyes on the clouds...

when it's meant to be more than pretty...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 00:01:16 PST

they sit on either side of me when that sermon has been preached and the last song has been sung;

those two who are married to brothers,

those two who are so good for my heart.

we chat quickly because there are babies to be picked up and fed,

but for a few moments, hearts connect

and before we all go in separate directions, the one places a small gift in my hands.

and i don't know if she knows the depth of the gift...

that small square of yarn crocheted into knots.

the one formed in the late hours,

that rainbow of colours whispering peace into pain.

and it's in that moment,

the one where the water is squeezed out of the fibers so i can wipe down the counter, the colours all darkened by the moisture they hold, that i think of the dear ones in my life; the ones who i have been so privileged to call friend.

and it's a dish cloth,

and they aren't...

but it's more,

and they are deeper...

but He has woven, and is still weaving, into my life other lives that add colour and intricate beauty that only He could form.

like that cloth held in my hands,

friendship is meant for more than a pretty showing,

it's meant for going to those deep places that are hard,

it means absorbing the pain, the tears of another and holding tightly together to the One Who watches over it all.

it's a verse that's used often, but i can't help but feel it in my soul as i look at each knot layered on top of the other,

though one may be overpowered,

two can defend themselves.

a cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

ecclesiastes 4:12

and a friendship wrapped around the Truest Friend can remain intact regardless of distance or circumstances because it finds itself wrapped up in Him.

i stand in my kitchen, pressed up against that counter

and He touches this heart through the gift of a friend...

and i am joining in and giving thanks today...

1142* patience

1143* hands that show love

1144* ears to hear laughter

1145* grey cloud cover

1146* a kitchen all straightened up

1147* a brunch delivered

1148* "i got to help daddy today!"

1149* "mama? i was *brave*!"

1150* "you're beautiful to me"
1151* my gramma's bible

1152* this pink sweater

1153* his blue blanket he holds close

1154* the life inside these walls

1155* busy, glorious chaos

1156* crip, cold artichoke hearts
1157* the family He keeps growing

1158* words that greet me every morning

1159* my notebook

1160* the life of dietrich bonhoeffer

1161* an unexpected hot cup of coffee

1162* sweet, sticky kisses pressed against my cheek

1163* the way the sun wraps around my kitchen

1164* the moon reflection on the windshield

1165* the shadow across elias' face caused by my hair as i hold him in the late hours

1166* a rainbow of colours knitted together

1167* yellow daises that bloomed those two weeks long

1168* women who pray for one another

when you find yourself breaking open...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 00:41:08 PST

it's first thing,

while everyone is waking up with heads and hair all fuzzy.

when we bump into each other unintentionally and some laugh

and some snarl.

it's in that moment, one of the first of our day, that i look up and see...

the way the morning light catches me off guard and sends me searching.

and i find it's starting point

and watch it wrap around this kitchen...

from a high place up on that wall

right down to the the quiet edges laid low.

and i think how He wraps my days in His Light.

how His beauty catches me off guard...

and then i find myself breaking open.

first in humiliation as i find myself holding a thrashing child caught up in a tantrum nothing can tame.

she roils wildly against me, screams so loud and i feel so exposed, as though all my parenting sins are laid bare for all to see.

i want to crawl under the nearest rock,

anything to get me away from the embarrassing spotlight i find myself caught in.

later, i strap us all in as the moon paints the air all blue.

when emotions have settled and a bit of motion is needed to ease the tension that has settled around us all day.

and it's when i hear their sweet voices singing behind me,

singing praises to Jesus that i find myself breaking open again...

because from the time she was tiny, we have been broken, she and i.

broken in ways i have never known how to heal.

she was born into arms limp and heavy with depression and she has been fighting for my heart ever since.

this, i realize, as we drive down that road,

as she sings out that we are the light of the world...

and all she is fighting for is my love.

i read it, somewhere this evening, as i desperately combed through articles and pages and blogs on parenting a child whose will is oh-so-strong.

i read the words that sink deep and break me open just a little bit further...

a child wasn't made for a parent, but a parent is made for a child...to love and to serve and to guide.

where did i forget this along the way?

when did i begin to think that my children were for me?

when did the beginnings; the feedings, the changings, the burpings, the coo-ings...when did those change from delights to drudgeries?

when did i lose the wonder and instead begin to shatter?

we've been broken, she and i.

she has my heart, but does she truly know it?

her actions, when i enter into them instead of trying to quiet them, might reveal what my eyes don't want to see.

my spit-fire child, the one so loud and crazy...is our relationship, all healed up and whole, worth fighting for?

could something new be birthed from out of the ashes of the old?

yes. oh yes. a hundred million times yes.

and even here,

even now...

He so gently starts at the highest point and wraps around to the broken hearts laid low.

He wraps us both up in His Light that reveals,

holds us both close with His beautiful Love that heals.

when one needs to take note...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 00:58:53 PST

i sit in my chair at the kitchen table,

bent over a form needing to be filled in,

i get to the boxes that need to hold the day's date and my mind draws a blank.

i should know what day it is...

instead, i move from the spot where i am

to the spot near the fridge and look at the calendar hanging there

when it hits me...

two years ago today, we gathered together in that church to say goodbye to him.

one year ago the boxes were just beginning to pile,

just beginning to be filled with my life that felt so shattered.

and today felt so...

ordinary.

until we pile in that van and grab coffee and hot chocolate and sit and watch the kids be kids...

until we start up that road in the dark that leads to home and as the little ones behind us sing and tell jokes, we begin to share from our hearts.

and it's then, in those following moments when i feel my shoulders tightening,

hear my voice rising in that panicked strangle that seems to creep in when i don't want it to.

and the words my ears are hearing aren't really the cause of my reaction, because they are good words, kind words...words so full of Jesus.

it's my heart, you see,

and how scared i am to trust Him completely.

two years of uncertainty behind me,

two years of love and life being placed in a box held in hands not wanting to let go.

and the old doesn't want to give way to the new...

fear has a death-grip on this heart and the last thing it wants to do is let go.

i slip out for a while this evening,

meet a sweet friend for a cup of coffee,

we share from our hearts and the tension slips away with the laughter.

but it's when i am headed back in the direction of home that the verse learned long ago curls around the edges of my memory,

set up road signs;

put up guideposts.

take note of the highway,

the road that you take...

jeremiah 31:21

He calls out for that faithless daughter of His to return.

stop wandering and watch Him do a new thing.

and the old clings tight to a soul trying to shake it off,

but the plea of my Saviour doesn't ask me to fight,

instead He asks me to walk and to watch how i use my eyes.

and maybe a year named new is only found by looking for...

road signs to give warning, to remind to slow down...to take a moment to breathe deep and pray. stop moving faster than the One Who is there right beside me.

guideposts to know what direction to take...do i slip back into the ruts pressed deep from too many passes on the same old road, or do i forge a new path, a straighter one made True?

and after the looking,

taking note of the difference, of the landmarks and plot out a new way of following, obeying and loving Him...taking and memorizing and walking a new path, no matter how hard because it's the only way this year will live up it its name.

it takes a day turned ordinary for these eyes to see that fork in the road,

it takes the memories burned deep for the choice to be made clear.

and i feel my heart begin to move forward...

on your knees...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 21:40:26 PST

it's on the eve of epiphany when i enter his room,

in the silence and the hush of a house gone quiet i notice a light shining in that space beneath his door.

i take the first step in and sink gently to my knees,

i move forward in the way every person should when they enter into a moment marked holy.

i move past the boy-joy that has strewn toys all over this room.

the room that i had straightened up before i tucked him in.

i move past it all until i'm knelt before him.

i don't even think of those three.

i am completely captured by my son.

it isn't until late this morning that i realize the meaning that marked the dawn,

of the journey that those three wise men made,

the star that lit their way,

the Child they came to see.

they sat on my counter the whole christmas season long,

frozen in silent wonder.

turned towards the Christ child.

and i get i t - i do,

because it's my own child that brings me to my knees,

caught frozen in the wonder of His creation.

i wonder what they thought as they made that long journey,

i wonder what they expected to see...

i wonder if the scene that greeted their eyes left them lost in a moment of confusion.

but i can understand why they still came forward,

offered the gifts they came to bring.

i can understand the pull of a child

and the way and why the knees can bend...

it's a child that draws our perspective from what this adult mind deems important...

changes this posture,

bends the knees

so that these eyes can find what is hidden.

sometimes the journey is long,

the way only seen by the light of a star...

and maybe it's so that when we find Him there,

finally see His Hand,

the setting that surrounds won't matter,

all that does in that moment is Him...

and our knees will bow low in worship.

and it's a portion of a prayer that i read through this evening...

one that fills my heart and pours out into my home,

words that seem so fitting to end on this day that began in the hours before...

finding me on my knees.

O God, Lord of all that exists, you revealed your only-begotten Son to every nation by the guidance of a star. Bless this house and all who inhabit it. Fill each of us with the light of Christ, that our concern for others may reflect your love. We ask this through Christ our Lord.

(source)

when someone gives...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 00:34:50 PST

i sit all nervous in the comfy chair placed discreetly by the door.

i'm noticed and motioned to choose a table, any table and make it my own.

i pick the one just out of the way, tucked into a corner near the window all sunny and i wait.

my fingers fidget with themselves,

they play with the menu,

i watch the cars drive by.

and i remember that sunday, how many months ago now? when we dropped off the little ones in the nursery down that hall.

how the woman who loves all the little ones who walk in that door had held elias close as she took him to his class...

and her voice drifted out of the doorway i just walked through, into that hallway and it caught on the edges of my heart the way she spoke truth into his life,

did you know elias? Jesus loves you!

and in the same way that she speaks truth into them,

she sat across and spoke His love and His truth into me.

because sometimes a mama feels tired,

exasperated,

defeated.

sometimes a mama finds it hard to see past everything that is going wrong and feels as though she is drowning in the noise.

until someone, who has walked these paths before reaches out,

reaches in

and gives you Hope to grab onto,

fans new oxygen into lungs all constricted and tight.

reminds of all the basics;

consistency

grace

joy

and most of all love...

and in those moments of connecting, He makes a way in a soul burning hot like a desert,
pours in refreshment in a heart parched dry and thirsty.

it's not easy turning from a way old and worn

to His, all new and untried...

but as i hold them close in my arms,

as i look at them with eyes refreshed

and a heart renewed...

i know certain and true

that they are worth all of the pain that comes from stretching and breaking away from old patterns and habits.

His love and His purposes for this family, this life, are worth everything it takes to be made new...

when it's all wrapped up...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 00:34:14 PST

it's when tensions run high that i find myself in that tiny room just off of our garage.

when everyone is tired and dinner takes 2 hours to get through

and i just need to catch my breath.

2 days in and already the new year feels kind of like the old one.

but i turn on that light in my tiny little laundry room

and face the truth about the state of my heart these last four weeks.

as my sorrow grew, so did the pile of completely clean,

but most definitely, unfolded chaos and socks.

i reached in and pulled out a frilly tutu,

a pink ruffly shirt,

little socks that keep little boy toes warm...

the mountain of disorder was soon made right.

and she sends me a box in the middle of those days of december that cause the most pain.

all wrapped up in brown paper, i open it gently

because she gives with specific purposes in mind.

i pull out the bird all painted with blue,

given in the cold of december and holding balloons that burst out with colour.

and tucked in beneath it all

is a book.

one that is full of the pictures she took -

full of the hope of the coming spring.

and as i dusted off the tops of my neglected laundry duo and reminded myself of why it's more than a room to do laundry...it's a room with the possibility to bless...

as i flipped through the pages and lost myself in the beauty of spring; feeling the hope that the new that He whispered really is mine for the taking,

i read this:

when the laundry is for the dozen arms of children or the dozen legs, it's true,

i think i'm due some appreciation. so comes a storm of trouble and lightening strikes

joy. but when Christ is the center, when dishes, laundry, work, is my song of thanks to Him,

joy rains. passionately serving Christ alone makes us the loving servant

to all...when the eyes of the heart focus on God, and the hands on always washing the feet

of Jesus alone - the bones, they sing joy, and the work returns to it's purest state:

eucharisteo. the work becomes worship, a liturgy of thankfulness.

~ one thousand gifts

and i try and grasp this thought...that for the new to be made real this year, my heart needs to be bent in thankfulness towards Him...

so, i pull out a new journal,

turn to a new page,

dust off the habit,

and begin again...

He's making a way, a new way, for these feet of mine to follow.

1135* a new moleskin filled with new verses to learn

1136* the yellow daisies placed around this house - the most wonderful gift

1137* hugs that love strong

1138* grilled cheese sandwiches

1139* that He still pursues my heart, even when i have been faithless

1140* a hard evening turned right around

1141* him, lost in sleep on that couch

when the year before you is new...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Sun, 01 Jan 2012 21:27:50 PST

it's on the evening of a new year that my arms are filled with new life.

a tiny bundle of pink perfection and i stand there,

lost in the weightless weightlessness of her.

her two-day-old eyes blink up at me,

her perfect rose-bud shaped mouth opens, as though caught in surprise that the arms holding her are not her mother's.

but she lays in the curve of my arms and looks up at me.

and doesn't make a sound.

january entered in as she always does,

with great fanfare and noise.

the fireworks sounded above this house as the clock sat on midnight for those 60 seconds...

and i sat on the couch and felt the weight of the sad lift and ease off of these shoulders.

i sat and waited for what the name of this coming year would be.

the first name came in the before of it all falling apart. it was 2010 that taught me how to abide in a way i had never experienced in all the years i've known Him.

the second name came in the midst of days that were lost in upheaval and pain. it was 2011 that taught me to trust in the One Who means it when He says, I know.

and i've wondered for the past 2 months what these next 366 days would be woven together with...what word He would use to reveal Himself to this heart that wants to know.

the 31st came and went and i still was unsure what it was to be.

could this year be one without a naming? without a focus? would He mean to leave me without a word to point me to Him?

it's possible.

until i sat on the couch in a house quiet and sleepy as the colours overhead exploded with joy and noise that the words began to float through...

see, I am doing a new thing...!

my years previously named and lived through have been surrounded with loss and chaos and pain.

this year has the potential of experiencing all of those as well...

but, in the uncertainty of a future that only He knows, can i choose to trust that in the joy and in the pain, that He can do something new?

i looked up the rest of the words to the phrase that tumbled around in my heart all day and i couldn't help but smile wide as i realized what He was saying...

see, I am doing a new thing! now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.

isaiah 43:19

no, i don't think i could have perceived all that He was trying to do in these last two years. i don't think i ever will be fully able to see it. but through the naming, He has asked me to actively participate and trust that I would come to know Him better through each one.

as i look back, i see how He had to strip so much away so that He could do something new...to make a way and to pour life back in.

i don't know what this coming year holds.

but, whatever it is...i believe it will prove to be a journey that has me loving Him in new ways, learning about Him in new ways and learning to trust Him with a love made new.

the year before you lies bundled up in possibility and hope.

the days ahead may be filled with light or broken in dark,

but regardless of what is ahead, will you join me and look to see all that He will make new...

happy new year, sweet friend.

believing in the middle...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 02:43:19 PST

it fell in great white flakes that new year's eve

2 years ago.

he pulled me up out of our fresh grief

out into the cold...

into the white.

he didn't say much,

but i don't think i did either...

too numb by the reality that now happened to be ours.

and the hour is early on this new year's eve.

finds me unable to close my eyes.

closing my eyes means opening my ears to memories of the sounds of grief falling and surrounding;

of that door opening and his voice calling my name,

the sound of my coffee being set down,

the sound of the wailing,

the shock,

his sobs in the night,

the hush in the magnitude of what we now knew.

but two years ago,

on this very same day,

as the body of his dad was found and cut down,

as our world fell apart

and everything tilted...

the cry of a baby boy was heard.

and i didn't know it, until months after i met them,

the ones who have becomes such dear friends,

of the birthday of this little boy who elias calls out for.

that as death ushered out,

life ushered in

and even as He allowed something horrific,

He allowed something beautiful.

and how can i not say that He is good?

He is.

and i write that with tears pouring down and a heart completely broken because sometimes life seems

anything

but

good.

because sometimes the choices that another person makes are

anything

but

good.

but God is.

God

is

good.

and His goodness can be found in the wail of a newborn

or in the wail of a widow.

this season, this year is coming to a close as the evening draws near...

but His Name will never lose it's strength - it stands strong always.

and i will write it again, because i need to,

Emmanuel.

God with us.

God with you...

and with me.

and whatever this coming year holds,

whether there is more trial

or more joy,

He is there.

ringing out in the middle of memories of pain and loss and questioning,

is the joy of a little boy who has stolen my heart and reminded me that there is such beauty to be found in the midst of the sad.

so we'll walk through the grief, each moment, each step...ask Him to come near to our hurt and our sorrow and trust that He will never leave us alone.

believing that He will continue to pour life in to what suicide hollowed out

with what started in the cry of a newborn over 2000 years ago...

happy birthday, sweet luke...

when there are still more questions than answers 2 years later...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 23:50:18 PST

it's when i turn the wheel left that her question drifts up from behind me.

as her face is lifted up and peering through the glass the keeps her inside,

mama? it's really cloudy today.

and i murmur agreement because my eyes are trained on the curving road.

but it's as i straighten out the van and press on the gas that she sees it,

that break in the clouds.

mama!! i see it!! i see the light coming through! mama!! i see heaven!

and suddenly i can't see through the tears that have been threatening all day,

the ones that show that i'm not done missing his dad,

the ones that remind this heart of all the unanswerable questions still there but i listen because she still has more to say,

mama? it's heaven, right? i'm looking at heaven? does that mean i'll get to see papa and Jesus too if i look hard enough at the clouds?

and soon i'm laughing and crying because the innocence of a child is a beautiful thing to be near and i remember wondering those same thoughts.

i woke up this morning and thought back to this day lost in memories and time.

2 years worth of days and moments that no longer have him in them.

and sometimes, the years that stretch out ahead of us seem overwhelming

and sad

because he could have made the choice to still be here.

but he didn't.

and two years ago this evening, we didn't even know he was gone.

and that still breaks my heart.

but then the eyes of a little girl lift up,

they look beyond the clouds and the sun and the physical world of what is

and look to where He is...

where her papa is.

and hope shines into our darkest days,

and laughter mingles with the ache when her wistful fills the space,

mama? do you think papa and Jesus are getting a big old party ready for us too?

when it's in the call overhead...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 21:08:48 PST

the rain fell tonight on my face looking up

but i didn't really mind.

i heard their call as they flew towards me,

high up overhead and i watched them circle round,

straight over my house.

i closed my eyes,

lost myself in the distinct sound of home

and heard something more...

they fly right above my head and i can hear it,

in the silence and the rain;

the strength in their wings that push through the air,

as they struggle to form that V.

i opened my eyes to fully see what i was hearing

and together, in tandem, their wings sound like the ocean...

like the rippling of grain bowed golden in a prairie wind...

and my memories feel like those geese,

the ones who fly south in a mild december sky.

as they struggle and heave to make sense of those days and nights from 2 years ago.

but the one that i can't seem to let go of?

the one that seems to take the lead and push through and past air that fights back with pain?

it's from that last night, the 28th, from two decembers ago,

where we sit at a table filled with cards to play pinochle and they all know,

he knows i wasn't raised in a house that played cards.

he knows, they all know, that to choose to be on my team means sure and swift and utter loss.

but still,

he chose me.

and it's this memory, more than any other, that leaves the largest gap in my heart tonight.

but, in the way that he always did, he points me back to Jesus.

and in words spoken to His twelve that He loved,

they remind me of the heart of the man who pulled me in and called me his own,

you did not choose Me, but I chose you

and appointed you to go and bear fruit -

fruit that will last...

john 15:16

and i stand under a sky filled with the call of canadian geese,

i hear the strength of their wings that push through the air,

and it becomes a song of hope that weaves through a heart struggling with grief.

He chose me.

and if He has chosen me, He is with me.

and the sorrow becomes an easier thing to bear...

when you need to look beyond what happened...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Wed, 28 Dec 2011 00:44:21 PST

he has a friend from college that he loves like a brother.

the one who stood as best man at our wedding,

this same friend? he has a wife who is beautiful and fabulous

and who i love like a sister

and over the years...

over the miles of separation...

our families have grown.

and we move to a city where we have no roots,

and they come to visit and make this house feel a bit more like home.

and months pass

and they have another sweet baby

bringing our grand combined total to 7,

when she posts a picture of our two who were born third

and he says it again, like he has before...

how each boy looks so much like their daddies dads.

and it's true.

it's written all over their sweet little faces,

the imprints of genes from the men who have come before.

the last time elias was held by his papa,

he was 6 months old.

i have the picture,

but i don't need it...

the image is emblazoned on my heart.

and my son,

the one who looks like his papa,

and carries his papa's name,

buries his face in my neck tonight.

and i feel it,

the grief bubbling up.

the fighting against the coming of the next few days...

it's in the hardest moments, though,

when i look back at that picture,

see his dad's smile captured in the smile of our son

that He gives such comfort.

this season is difficult because suicide is difficult.

because i still can't understand why he hung himself on that tree...

why three of his sons had to find him that way.

and the legacy that he lived to leave could so easily become wrapped up

in a blanket of death.

until,

i look at the smile of my son.

one decision made in a moment clouded and dark

can't extinguish the man that he was.

and that picture that captured the faces of two sweet souls that i love

remind me that there is hope,

even in the moments of grief...

and that someday,

i'll see the fullness of His promise...

You turned my wailing into dancing;

You removed my sackcloth and clothe me with joy.

psalm 30:11

hope...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 09:07:08 PST

she leaves it on my front door step,

those couple of days before christmas;

that sweet little bird that nestles in the palm of my hand.

i opened it early.

because that's what i do,

and i cupped the fragile glass and brought it inside.

it sat on my counter until this morning.

sat so i could look at it

and determine its use.

and it's the day after christmas,

the day that begins a week that feels just as fragile as this tiny bird.

His first coming has been celebrated and remembered,

and as i woke up this morning, i thought of His second...

the one we still wait for.

and maybe because the one who calls me daughter

returns in the coming day;

how He uses this man to show me facets of His Father Heart

and draws me closer to Him.

i had cleaned up the house today,

prepared the menu for dinner.

i know the day and the hour that he returns,

and we can hardly wait.

and so i get ready.

i don't know the day or the hour that my Jesus is coming back.

it's easy to forget in the busyness of the days that run into each other.

easy to place the anticipation on a back burner...

but this morning?

i rearranged some of my things on that windowsill above my kitchen sink

and placed the wee bird down in between my faith and my love.

i placed hope in the form of a little glass bird

in front of my window

and lit a fire inside.

i choose to look for hope in these days ahead...

to cling to His promise

when i miss his dad so much.

and in the dark,

may hope burn bright and clear,

and that light find me prepared for my Father's coming..

when the journey is long...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 20:12:46 PST

they come quietly,

those words that wrap around and comfort.

like a balm to a wrecked heart,

they draw close

and pull me back to Him.

a true christmas is one that God indwells. it will experience

pangs and pain. and this christmas, i'll be stretched thin...asked to love to the furthest

edges of myself, asked to extend grace to the outermost reaches - because how else can

i grow full and large and round with God?

stretching the shape of a soul hurts.

a. voskamp

how well i know this,

and maybe you do too?

there is a shelf that he made when he was younger,

holds books propped up,

but my 2 oldest? they use it as a manger.

they lay sweet baby dolls down after "traveling so far"

on a rocking horse down the hall.

they croon as little marys

over small plastic heads.

and i sit quiet and watch them,

and think of the Bread of Life laid down in a trough.

fitting somehow,

that He who feeds and fills empty hearts would first be laid down in scrap wood meant to be filled with what would give life.

that before He laid down on two beams crossed to save,

He laid down to show that He would fill starving souls.

i think too, of how the journey to a manger is a long one.

a solitary one.

how it is traveled in the dark;

sometimes in pain,

sometimes in fear,

sometimes with confusion...

but always, always it leads to Him.

and He who left His heavenly glory,

to take on the flesh of a man,

can still be found.

can still fill.

and this christmas,

whether your heart is broken or bursting,

come to Him.

make that journey to the manger

and be filled with Him there.

...let us probe the silent places, let us seek what luck betide us;

let us journey to a lonely land i know.

there's a whisper on the night-wind, there's a star agleam to guide us,

and the wild is calling, calling...let us go.

robert service

and from this little corner to yours, may you have a christmas filled with Him and all the wonder He brings.

travel to the manger and find Him there.

with love,
kimberley

when the words below are vulnerable...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Fri, 23 Dec 2011 20:48:31 PST

it's in the earliest hours of the morning that i wander back down the hall.

a day full of tears and laughter and driving that had ended in a worn out mama falling asleep on the couch and finally, uncovered and shivering, i opened my eyes to look for his warmth.

crawling under the covers to search for him, i find him...

his sweet face wet with tears from memories that follow, even in his sleep.

i wake him up and pull him close and he settles against me, lost in sleep again.

it's not lost on me...

that the day with the longest night marks one week before our darkest begins;

that this morning when i woke up,

that this day i find myself in will be lighter, if just for a few moments longer.

that when we say in this season of joy, the Light has come!,

He really has.

and it really is going to get brighter.

but what happens when you find yourself facing memories laced with the dark?

when you feel yourself displaced and surrounded but alone?

when home is gone?

and maybe, that is why the tears are flowing so easily today,

as i watch families gather

fathers and sons sit back and laugh,

mothers and daughters make last minute preparations,

siblings pushing and joking and remembering...

do you feel a little lost?

can i write here, completely open and vulnerable and broken

that i do?

that i can love,

we can love

and be loved

but we are still finding our footing.

can i share here in this open space that the moment his dad took his life

my sense of belonging was completely shattered...?

it's two days before christmas.

and i can't help but think of mary making that journey,

large and heavy.

of those moments when it first began,

the laboured breathing,

the desperate clinging,

the feeling of i can't do this anymore.

that's how this christmas feels -

each moment, each day contracts with painful contrasts

and can december just be over because i don't know if i can do this anymore...

keep the smile on my face,

the tears inside

and the joy in the season for the sake of my little ones.

do i dare say this here?

and i think of Him.

The One, The I Am...

He entered in and took on a wrapping of dust...

He was surrounded by us, but not of us...

did He feel the heaviness too?

did He miss what was,

did He find Himself longing for the moment when everything will be made right and new?

Emmanuel,

The Name i cling to so tightly.

that He came to us to be with us,

and lyla - she sits at the kitchen table,

tears on her face

and a heart that misses what was.

and i wrap my arms around her,

pull her in close...

and in my heart i hear Him...

i am His.

and this is what this season is about,

that He came into humanity to be a part of humanity,

so that He could stretch His arms wide,

blood pouring down

and make us His own...

to make us His.

He is here,

in these moments that hurt,

when the memories burn

and the picture perfect moments are no longer ours...

and slowly, breathing becomes a bit easier...

when you find yourself on the wrong side of town...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 09:37:37 PST

it's on the wrong side of town,

and the wrong side of the tracks

that i find my heart completely ruined and busted open.

it's at that fenced in playground

near that old school converted into hope

that i find my 3 little ones playing with abandon.

he leans out the window from that top story floor,

tells me he loves me,

keeps me in his sight.

he knows what i didn't admit when i walked back outside,

what i was too ashamed to verbalize...

that i was scared.

they stayed up on the third floor to hand out gifts,

to fill hands that don't have much with a bit of christmas this year.

the halls were crowded

and my three wanted to run,

so i went outside and felt like i had really been no help at all.

i sit with my back against a chain-link fence,

keenly aware of my 3 and of the dangers that lurked all around...

when i noticed him

and his eyes that were trained on me.

no more than 11, he looked at me boldly,

didn't look away when i held his gaze.

unsure what to do, i smiled...

and he stepped a foot or so closer

and smiled in return.

hey lady, wanna see what i can do?

his tender voice trying to sound all tough and strong,

as he proceeded to show me his acrobatic abilities.

and my voice that had been praising my own small three couldn't resist cheering for him too.

because who can resist pain that stares straight into you?

who boldly challenges you to not look away?

they had sat on the other side of the fence,

those two with that colour showing beneath their jackets -

they had slipped in a few moments after i got outside,

moved to where they could go unnoticed.

and i heard it before i saw it - that big old 4 by 4 coming down the alley,

watched it pull up onto the grass,

drive closer to the where all the children were playing.

and i stood up and moved closer to my own

as one very large man, dressed in a shirt of the opposite hue, stepped out of the truck and faced the two.

i began to mentally count the ones who were near,

the ones who had listened in the dark to my heart, to my breath, to my voice for those nine months deep inside me...

when my mind automatically counted a 4th presence come close.

and the boy from the wrong side of town,

the wrong side of the tracks,

stands close to the woman who is obviously out of her element

and obviously frozen in fear.

and the mama inside of me wants to pull him in close,

to shelter him from whatever has placed that pain in his gaze.

to keep him safe from whatever happens on the street he calls home...

and he drifts back to play while the two against the fence slowly get up and walk away,

as that big old truck eases into reverse and drives back down that alley.

i watch him pull livie into a game of tag,

race lyla down the slides,

give elias a high-five as they pass on the stairs,

as his shoulders straighten when i thank him for playing with my 3...

and i wonder where he will end up,

this boy with the sad eyes and the hopeful smile.

the one who just wants to be noticed

and praised

and protected.

and it doesn't really matter what side of the tracks we come from,

none of us are immune to pain,

to loss,

to horrors that hide behind closed doors.

He took on flesh and dwelt among us...

unafraid to look deep into our pain,

to step into our broken

and touch what was...what is... festering with death.

and the radio croons out songs of coming home,

of holidays full of cheer and warmth...

of families and reindeer and farmer grey...

and christmas is shellacked in a veneer of impossible expectations.

how easy to forget, in the lights and the ribbons and the presents stacked high,

He was born into a mess.

willingly.

and as i looked into the face of a boy whose eyes wouldn't look away,

i thought of Jesus

and His bold calling on my life,

on all of our lives who belong to Him.

and this season that i am finding so hard to navigate through

pulls back the curtain i had hid behind for so long.

lifts past the pretty to the broken

and begs me to find Him there...

can i love the unlovely?

can i hold close the broken?

can i let my life be used for Him?

and can i wrap it all up with the thread woven with His very own sacrifice?

it means a change in posture,

a change in view point,

a change in vocabulary.

when all one hears this time of year is,

give me, give me, give me...

let the one word out of my own mouth be small

and simple.

let me be

willing.

look up...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Wed, 21 Dec 2011 13:15:14 PST

the songs that fill the air keep calling for us to look up.

to search for Him,

to open our eyes to the light of that star that burned so brightly 2000 years ago.

and my middle one, the one who knows no middle ground,

the one who is rarely quiet,

yells out from the seat behind me,

mama! was Jesus called Jesus Christ when He was a baby?

and i pause, because i'm pretty sure of the answer, but i don't want to give the wrong one...

when i look out my window,

and i lift up my eyes...

and i see Him.

and you can argue that my eyes had landed on the path of 2 jets crossing.

and you would be right.

the deep blue of a winter sky was full of the echos of the airplanes that are bringing loved ones home.

but He uses the simple

and the weak,

to declare His amazing glory,

and how can i deny that He spread His message across this beautiful sky?

this season we celebrate is more than the empty cradle.

more than the empty blood-stained cross.

more than the empty tomb that stands there, defying death.

it's all about Him and the full life He offers.

so lift up your eyes, sweet reader of mine.

like the wise men of old, come near to His Light.

He is so very close

and He loves you so much.

and who knows what He'll write on that sky above you for your very own eyes to find...

it's in the pages..

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 22:44:24 PST

we had talked long,

that icy winter night, one year ago.

dinner was getting cold and so were my words.

he gently pulled the blanket up around my shoulders and whispered for me to rest.

quietly, he closed the door.

and i sat up.

reaching into the depths of my closet, i began removing items, searching for that which my heart finds priceless.

small and not much to look at, i clutched the worn, brown leather book to my chest and let the tears come.

i didn't open it at first, sometimes all one needs is to hold the very Word of God close and know that He is present.

i moved from my perch on that hope chest lovingly crafted by the hands of my grandfather...the one that he lost a finger in the making...to tony's side of the bed and laid down.

i gingerly opened the cover of my gramma's bible and was instantly enfolded in the scent of her perfume.

it had been 8 years since her eyes closed for the last time...8 years since she went home to Jesus and still, still the pages that bear the marks of tea, tears and years of use clung to the scent of the woman who had held it close.

underneath her distinct signature were the words,

the Will of God will never lead you

where the Grace of God cannot keep you

yes, gramma. the words you had placed so carefully underneath your name still ring with truth. a truth that i am learning to believe.

one year ago i had stood under a starry sky.

i stood with his mama and his brother who have experienced such horrific loss and under the expanse of black ink, i looked up to a moon that was being covered...hidden by the shadow of earth.

but not completely.

made to reflect the light of the sun, even at the point where the moon was covered fully, the reflection still shone brighter than the dark circle that had taken over.

pain, fear, uncertainty; while big and scary and at times overwhelming... they can't snuff out His light when we keep our faces turned to Him.

so i continue to look up. continue to keep my face raised to Him. continue to believe that He is bigger, He is brighter, He is present in every circumstance.

and that as i cling to Him, His fragrance will so encompass my life that it will permeate every chapter that i move through.

Emmanuel.

He will never lead us where His Grace cannot keep us.

and i'm learning there is no greater Truth...

praise You, Jesus...

an edited repost...
photo credit: jeremy and jo ferris

landing places...

noreply@blogger.com (my name is kimberley) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 23:50:16 PST

he gathered me up in his arms this evening,

cradled me like a small child

and rocked me while i sobbed.

and i wonder if the pain will ever lessen...

i stood at our front door this evening,

the one that i had closed and locked up with my own hands,

rested my forehead against it and let the tears come.

so much grief,

so many hurts

all safely held in the love of ones who welcome us in.

and it's a contrast that leaves me feeling broken,

as that 4th candle lit on the advent wreath flickers brave

and whispers of love...

and it's been swirling in my mind since that extra day that He gave,

the one that He surprised me with on a day of this month i would just rather skip...

how when He came, Almighty God wrapped up in vulnerable flesh,

He came to welcome us in.

The One Who already had His chosen people

made a way for the unloved, the rejected and the forgotten.

He made a way that was forged by Sacrifice ~ His very own Life,

first cradled in a feeding trough,

so that the unwanted could know

they had worth to Him.

the word love, so often overused and misapplied in so many ways,

takes on a different hue on this evening that has me broken and aching...

my eyes catch the subtle gleam...

His love that came to save

also came to provide worth.

dignity.

a place.

and in this season that leaves my heart so strongly caught between moments of such joy and sadness,

He gives me one more reason to cling even tighter...

in His Love, He gives me a place.

a place where i can freely come

freely receive

and always,

always ~

regardless if it is all taken away

and home is no longer where it once was ~

in Him i always have a place to land.