On Weeping Forward [Renewed].

I found this from my old, original blog...  And it struck me with new intention, as well as reflective imaging.

Intention, because during this hard season of home with consuming little ones, I am reminded and inspired by Sandy Lawson's words that prophesied: "Christina, God is tilling up the soil of you heart right now" [old blog, October 12, 2009].  And he was!

Oh, was I weeping forward!  God churned and yanked and uprooted, and then planted and watered and spurned Mark, Camilla, and Judah, and church and friendship and home from that harsh, blackened, cracking climate where I just kept couraging and strengthening and fighting for life and joy.

And now, just last week, I think of this blog as a reflection of my dear friend Sandy, who lost JD two years ago, and is weeping forward.  With college OT/NT classes each semester, 3 life groups, countless young women she mentors, two sons and daughter-in-laws, church commitments, and coffee dates, her life is a complete investment in the soil around her.  Surely, she is weeping in grief of JD as well has incredible, horrific, health upheaval herself (6 times cancer and auto-immune disease), yet she bravely forges her energy to weep forward, for the sake of Jesus Christ and the kingdom.  Oh, what beautiful love He induces with her seeds, what Oaks have grown from her watering!  Countless people like David Johnson & David Russell  (link to his sermon Christian Hospitality) and many others without title or fame, like me have been ministered too, homed, loved, served, hugged, and whispered prayers over before, during, and after their own season as well as her own, of Weeping Forward.

 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SATURDAY, JANUARY 15, 2011

Weeping Forward.

I read this phrase in my Ruth study this week, and shared it with a friend who is going through a really painful season. It stirs thoughts, as one tries to grasp what that means, and what it looks like.

Weeping forward.

Action. Movement. Hurt. Hardship. Pain. Journey. Hope.

And then today, in my study, another phrase collaborated with it: sowing tears. It comes from Psalm 126, where the psalmist writes: "Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy" (v5). And again, it insinuates the same: in pain and loss and hardship and sorrow, in acknowledging all that is hurt and lost and mourned, there is still action. There is sowing.

The sowing is planting; it is moving forward. Knowing the harvest is still a season away. In this hard sport, not only do we weep, but we weep forward. Not only do we weep forward, but we sow seeds for the hope and life that is yet to come.

So, in this thought, today, if you are in a season of weeping, what are you also sowing? And, are you sowing and weeping forward? What kind of harvest do you expect to reap from that of which you sow? Seeds of goodness, love, joy, faithfulness, obedience? Or the folly of the contrary?

Or, if you are in a season of harvest, what bounty can you name and label and see, to gather now as a sign of His faithfulness during the toil of sowing? In the blessings, the abundance, does your joy acknowledge the goodness of the Lord? Are you sifting seeds from your harvest to plant when the time for sowing comes?

Dancing With Daddy [Repost}.

I was reading through my old blogs this morning and fell in love with a few during the time when Camilla was born.  This post below was a favorite, and one I still hope we esteem and aim for.

*This is the bummer of blogs instead of books, the good, old, well-said truths can get hidden and lost forever, instead of remembered, underlined, held, and cherished in print.

Dancing with Daddy.  Published Saturday, June 7, 2014

Dancing With Daddy.

We left as two, a couple, a pair.  Husband and wife in covenanted unity, a marraige.  We came home as three.  Baby released from womb into our hands, our hearts, our home.  That first night, after we tucked her snugly in her bassinet, we moved to our own music, knitted hands in the quiet, warmth pressed between us.  Beside the baby who made us three, I swayed, Dancing with Daddy.

My parents believed the greatest gift you could give your children was a happy marraige.  The older I became, the more I heard this phrase from their lips, and the more I believed it. 

Being married now, I think of all the ways my parents created a healthy framework as a role model of marraige for me.  I think of the tasks they danced through, the way they ran our home like smooth butter.  Dad brought in finances and cared for the outside, and mom tended to the inside, and souls of her home.  Their roles seemed clear and seemless, and left little room for squabble. So the life of our family ebbed and flowed, with peace and freedom and laughter at the table.  

I think through those days with smiles and ease, and have found them often at the forefront of how I perceive parenting and marraige and everything in-between.  I think their love and mostly their joy and each of the ways this was modeled to me.

My parents loved and enjoyed each other.  Oh did they enjoy each other!  I remember coming home from Sunday church, Dad cranking on the kitchen stereo, swinging mom around in crazy circles, all of us children laughing.  I hear their hoots and hollars on the boat in pure freedom and release on a Saturday, bursting through Lake Michigan waves.  I think of them as empty-nesters giggling about how much fun they had tasting free samples at Costco and weekending in Traverse City.  I picture them holding hands across the car and in the church pew, and riding jeeps Jamaica and Ferraris in Hawaii.  I hear my mom at the piano, dad singing "I am a Promise" and the roar of a Vet, convertible in the breeze. My mouth tweaks to her eye roll, his compliment of cookies -- two a time, four times a day.  From Wednesday movies to Saturday morning breakfasts, from newlywed to empty-nest they flourished everywhere in-between.

Home was a safe place, a happy place.  It was a place where anger was not heard, where sharp voices were void.  It was a place where encouragement was present, support was plentiful.  It was obvious to all: in this marraige, Love lived there.  Their marraige was like a dance.  A slow dance, like the wedding first, where others watch with wonder and awe and hope for the same.  A model of steps, a series of movements, a swirl of love and life all through the rhythm of their home. They divided tasks and flowed in and out without correction or chiding, without second thought or worry, each trusting the other with abounding purity and confidence.  They set a foundation, created a haven, a waltz of motion that provided rest for me.

Over the years I've listened to friends and family share about their parents' marriages.  I've heard their heart cries, bemoaned their hurts, softened to their words.  I've watched them ache for something better, wish for models, remember the wrongs.  I've heard them recount the falling-outs, or seen them live the lies.  I've heard wives belittle their husbands, husbands cower to their wives, and both ripple the effect to everyone around.  I've witnessed expectations turn to curt words, hugs turned aside, and marriages staccato like roommate arrangements.  These unions feel like legal arrangements, without security and softness, safety and shalom, for the parents, the heirs.  Some notice their strain, others simply live without bother.  But the affect on the children - their homes, their hearts, and their own bonds, is woven through the daily, unyielding.

I've seen this in my own home.  In my dearest friends' home.  We unveil our stories and noticed or ignore the interactions we repeat. We play the unsaid roles we saw them generate, and the hope or harm that that creates.  I've heard woes over vacations, fear over dating, and judgement over gender display. I've smiled to praise in public, hands holded, and hotels booked.  I've watched couples encourage dreams, support hobbies, and embrace relatives.  And I've heard children learn to live the joy, or seek shelter from shame.  Some hide the past, afraid of the sins or choices, or being found as the same.  Others long to encourage their heritage, foundation faithfully set, and mimic the marraige their parent's made.

Gliding there, next to my daughter, was fresh reminder of this gift.  This marraige vow.  This initial created covenant under God.  It is under this umbrella of marraige that a family begins, blooms and blossoms.  It is in this embrace of husband and wife that children see the world as safe, inviting, enjoyable.  It is in this union that they learn their model, perceive emotions, and imitate roles.  This on my heart, our limbs in embrace, my heart felt such peace at what I prayed we'd display.

May our children grow up seeing me hold Mark's hand.  May they know I still enjoy the safety of his embrace.  May they see me uplift him with my words and support him with my works.  May they see us laugh together, adventure together, and enjoy each other.  May they see us wink across the table, road trip for weekends,  embrace after work days, and dream toward vacations.  May they know we sparkle about dates, kiss in the kitchen, and whistle 'handsome' and 'beautiful' -- even when we are fifty, sixty, seventy...  

May our children know their mommy still grins and flutters because of their daddy.  May they know their daddy still names her Love, every day.  May they know they are loved, and see love, when their mommy is found, always, Dancing with Daddy.