resting in loving arms

Beverly and Daddy, in the kitchen a long time ago.
Hope you'll forgive me for not asking permission, Dad.

I don't know how kosher it is to tell other people that you read the book they loaned you while sitting in the bathroom, but here's a quotation from a lovely book that came to live with me for a while after a leisurely conversation with my neighbors in their living room. Because it's so good I decided to buy it on Amazon for a penny. Thank you, neighbors. I had clean hands while reading! (Sorry my purchase is not bringing in any more money for you, Wendy Wright. You deserve it).

It is hard for any of us truly to accept our own vulnerability and insufficiency--both for each other and for God. Parents, it seems to me, are especially prone to harbor illusions of self-sufficiency. We who care for the young, who are called to be providers, shelterers, healers, teachers and question-answerers for our children easily forget our own neediness. We forget that we too are children whose hearts must be open, trusting and in need of God's deep embrace where all joy, all suffering is felt and borne. We must discover our true childhood so that we can return home, seeking those arms.

It is an art--a profoundly spiritual art--to learn to 'lean into' or live consciously one's own need for God and others. Part of that art involves discernment of the seeming 'needfulness' that is rooted not in love of God but in self-deprecation. Deep within the divine embrace the self is always recognized as infinitely precious, worthy of dignity and respect. One discovers one's essential goodness and the graced quality of one's life. When lack of self-worth, experiencing oneself as rightfully a victim or the absence of healthy self-love are detected, it is time to come closer into the aura of love that God projects. It is time to lean against God's heart to feel the gentle reminders that each of us is a gift, each created for the fullness of human dignity. In that embrace one discovers true needfulness and vulnerability, the heart of the beloved child that rests in loving arms and finds there its peaceful home.

I don't know exactly why, but this struck me just the right way as I read it. It has been a day of resting in loving arms. A peaceful contrast to the conflict-driven week I just finished.

now I know why they call it red lobster

Blogging gives me joy because it provides a place to squirrel away the little sights that make me happy. Yesterday Grandma and Grandpa Ewy took us to Red Lobster for lunch and, on the way there, Henry announced he would be having lobster for lunch. My first response was to want to say, "No, dear, that's too expensive." Thinking of this unschooling mentor I instead chose to say, "Let's talk more about that." At the restaurant Henry spent time around the lobster tank with other kids and Joel and I decided it would be okay for him to try the lobster. Thank you Grandma and Grandpa E for treating him to it!

Henry got to choose the lobster out of the tank and crack its beautiful red shell open with the cracker. He liked the claw meat best, but I don't think he will be wanting it again. Still, what an adventure.

Since lobster shells don't enter this prairie household just every day I thought I'd include a few pictures to show how half the red lobster's body is fitting into our home. Here's an odd still life with brandywine tomato, homegrown sunflower seeds awaiting roasting, an acorn and some Kansas pecans in need of shelling. What an unlikely combination! And yet I think they suit each other well.

shine on, harvest moon

I don't know how/if I can take better night-time photos with my little $40.00 toy, but here is the ripe harvest moon descending in our back yard. I'm thankful for the clear view of it.

Last night we went to a harvest moon celebration in Wichita and ate two flavorful stews, fresh bread, pumpkin bread and apple betty. The best parts for me were watching the children practice poems from A Journey through Time in Verse and Rhyme (that they never actually performed because they were too busy playing) and seeing Henry carry out the part of the wind in the little play they did do on the deck. He blew the leaves off the tree with style.

pregnant morning

I awoke early, a little before six, to a hungry stomach. The morning light was gray and all was quiet--five-year-old sleeping with stuffed animal friends, husband deep in sleep. I filled my bowl with (mostly) locally grown and prepared food--chopped apple, yogurt, granola and ate in gratitude. What a pleasure to tend my body's needs as influenced by the growing baby inside me.

I am thankful that today we can pay our health insurance premium, just as we knew we must do but didn't know exactly how we would do. I am thankful for the myriad things that have been shared with our family of late: cider, apples, applesauce, yogurt, a work of art, time, new insights, maternity clothes, listening space.

I am thankful for Joel--not only his wonderful being, but his practical skills, his knowledge gained through years of experience, his ability to sit with problems, think them through and then repair what needs repairing. These gifts are vital to our family, literally turning work to bread (and health insurance).

I am thankful for four grandparents for Henry, dear computer customers, meaningful work at home and in my place of ministry, September weather in the northern hemisphere and the mystery of God at work in the Universe. Also thankful to have read this interview this morning and for my dad, whose thoughts on basketball can be read here.

for Spinning Lizzie / Red Dirt Mother

"Catch a random thought...
between thumb and finger...
and then in faith and hope,
tie
one end down
firmly...
follow its lead
trusting
splicing in
following with fingertips
through all its vicissitudes
consequences down the hallways of its joys
and its terrors
snap
return
to the interruption
the snarl
know it and name it
feel its feelings
follow them
to where fear throws up a wall
builds blockage
distraction
from the flow
to lead you away
and yet,
stay with it
remain
with the point of interruption
weep it out
until you experience
a breakthrough.
There, pick up the thread again
and be led
from flax to thread
to the holy face
to Mystery."

Gertrud Mueller Nelson
Here All Dwell Free, p. 240

cabin views

Here is a sunset from last week, Labor Day, at the new family cabin in the red dirt hills...taken from the balcony.
And here's a front view. It was a dusty, windy day.
And here I am, marveling that this place is for me, too. These are the prairie hills my mother-in-law grew up with, riding her horse through the pastures with her dad.

blue summer joy

What other words can describe this inspired summer pleasure, shared between neighbors? Blue joy. Thank you, water. Thank you, neighbors. I want to jump in right now.Swimming pool, it's hard to say good-bye for a while, but I'm not giving you the care you deserve. Rest well over the winter. We'll patch your holes...or something and look forward to another summer of blue joy in 2009. Thank you again!