The Everyday "Every-Moment"

We look to the skies, wondering of all we don't know: the mystique of falling stars and shooting rockets; the mystery of the Milky Way and the man in the moon. We gasp at bones unearthed - records of a species and planet long ago ceasing to exist. We ponder the where's, the why's, and especially the how's of the unknown world above, below, and around us.

But what about the miracles of the everyday, the "every-moment"? Are we as mystified by them if we fail to label them as "mystifying"? As miraculous?

Due to leading the couples ministry at our church (The Vow), we are privileged to encounter all sorts of marriages.Some are new, some are old. Some are happy; some not. And some are so full of life and hope, I find myself momentarily taken aback: we met one such couple on Sunday. Just married on September 25th, they reminded me of the everyday, "every-moment" miracles. They reminded me because, especially in their eyes, they're living one.

I love couplehood -- all stages. But it's Godly, Christ-centered marriage I love the most. And I'm not a romantic - except when it comes to marriage. This idea of two becoming one is a miracle to me. Notice that, as generations have progressed, this feat is one decreasingly achieved and increasingly scoffed by naysayers of commitment who mock, "Marriage, indeed." But make no mistake: marriage - the with you til the end, never leave nor forsake you, never have another, in it to win it, soul mate and destiny kind of marriage - is alive and well. I'm living one. I'm proud to know others who are living it, too. And, in a nation where the divorce rate is going nowhere but up, this IS a miracle. And so I was reminded of this miracle when I met this couple.

They kept close watch on the other - not as a protective measure, but rather like each saw the other as perfection. Not perfect. But perfection - the best possible version of what they needed most. They've been married for two months. We've been married 13 years. Our friends and marriage mentors, 30 years. And it seems one component never changes...

the miracle of the everyday, "every-moment."

We asked if we could pray for them, pray a blessing over this brand new covenant: for, as certain as the day is long, they will encounter hard times. But their choice to live as a miracle will give them an edge, I've no doubt. And their miracle will beget others...and so the cycle will go on. And I believe that, if we embrace and cultivate these miracles, the minority will become the majority, and marriages will thrive. Soon, we'll think a divorce is uncommon...not because we judge it or scorn it or deem it as less than we. But because the miracle conquers its opponent.

And what seems impossible or even improbable will become the everyday...the "every-moment"... of marriage.

I Would Rather...

I would rather have a daisy than a rose. A 4Runner than a Mercedes. A flip-flop than a heel. A pencil skirt than a dress. And long instead of short.
I would rather have lip gloss than lipstick. A shower than a bath. A push up over a sit up. And I prefer cross-country to downhill skiing.
I would rather have 3 children than 4. 3 friends than 30. And I'll take a home over any 50 luxury houses offered.
I would rather hear you say "thank you" than give me all the money in your pocket. But I still like it when you buy me a Starbucks.
I would rather adults didn't abuse children. But I won't lose sleep when justice finds those who do.
I would rather live right here than any other place in the world. But I don't mind going back to my roots.

I would rather have God than not. Would rather love and lose than never love at all. I'd rather take today than live in all the yesterdays I've ever had.
And I would rather have one long, hungry stare from my husband across the room than all the world's reddest roses and finest fancies.

What is "Me"?

Walking to school the other day, Grace posed a question which, at first blush, seemed easy. Uncomplicated. But, like most of Grace's queries, I soon discovered that deep-thinking waters were swirling beneath the kiddie pool language.
She asked, "Mommy, what is me?"
"What am I, you mean?"
"No."
"Huh? You mean you're asking what you are."
"No."

Apparently, mommies don't always understand even the simplest of things.

"I mean, when we say what we are -- that we're the 'me' -- what does that really mean?"

Uh-huh. Now you see the depth, don't you? Waiting to know what I said, aren't you?

"Well, baby, I don't know what other people mean. I guess that  isn't always clear to me. And if I want to know and don't, I just ask them what they mean."

Pause here as she ponders.

"Well, what does being 'me' mean to you, Mommy?"

Pause here as I ponder.

"Hmmm. Being 'me' (to me) are those things that I am that I realize aren't true for everybody."
"Like what, Mommy?"
"Well, I wake up every day, and I have to write something. It makes me feel good in my mind and strong in my heart. I think that's what makes me a writer. And I like to think about stuff. All stuff, all the time. I guess I like to just sit and think. But some people like to laugh or cry or play basketball or paint. And I guess that makes me a thinker."
"Does that make those other people laughers and criers and basketball players and painters?"
"Yeah. Or I think that's part of them. Just like being a mommy, for me, is the most important job I'll have. And being your Daddy's wife is the best present I'll ever receive. Some people might never get married or maybe never have children. So I'm also a mommy and a wife."
Pause here as we approach her drop-off point.
"I think I'm a daughter. And a sissy. And a horse-girl. But I'm also an artist, cuz you and Daddy say I'm good at drawing. And I'm smart cuz my teacher's say I understand things."

Pause here as we hug.

"Oh, and I better not forget I'm God's...cuz Jesus saved me."

Pause here as I my eyes fill with tears.

"Yes, baby. That is you."
Pause here as she casually waves goodbye.

I'm in awe of her "me."

Click

The sound of a camera's click has often held a heavy dose of the proverbial love/hate relationship. When I was a kid, my mom and a camera usually meant smiling when I didn't feel like it or pausing play with the gift I most wanted for a snapshot I didn't want at all. Of course, now that I have those memories locked in time forever, I'm thankful she pushed the point.

As I got older, especially those teen years, I began to see pictures as a pseudo-documentary of puberty's cruel joke on females. I was reminded of this stage recently when I went with a friend as she shopped for her homecoming dress: for teenage girls, the thighs are routinely too large, breasts too small, legs too short, and hair too dark. Like your thighs, breasts, legs, and hair? No worries: the list of anatomical errors is long enough, we're bound to find something that peeves you. When I was 15, I saw a body too short for boys, hair too straight and ordinary for commenting, and a nose that looked suspiciously like a pointed weapon. Now, I see an athletic frame, honey-toned hair that requires little effort, and the nose...well, the nose is what it is. And I ain't gettin' it fixed.

Pictures show that about us, I think: those aspects of us that once bothered us but matter little now. They also capture the memories of the best group of gals on that trip you took long ago. Or document the tiny newborn hands that escape your memory five years later. Or spotlight the perfect kiss, the ideal day, or those jeans that you never knew made you look so skinny!

But when my kids get their pictures updated, I love the sound of that click. I can't keep them little forever: I don't know that I want to keep them little forever: there's too much good stuff left to live. But portraits let me look again and again on that gorgeous one, two, three...eight...nine year old face as it grows each year. I see the teeth that have fallen out and the new ones grown into their places. I see the new freckles on Gracie's nose and how much Elijah's hands really look just like Craig's. In 20 years, I'll still see how Judsen's ears stick out from his head, just like mine. And just like my dad's. And when my dad leaves for Home, I'll see him in those ears.

Yes, yes, I hope to have the real-life versions of those portraits all my life to look upon and grin and remember. But those ears won't stay the little templates they are now. Grace will someday have all her adult teeth and, with each passing year, I'm reminded of just how fast that will happen. And Elijah's hands will one day be just as big as Craig's...maybe bigger...and I won't be able to fit them inside mine then like I can now.

But portraits help me remember all of that now.

And when the time came when it was possible we'd never take another family portrait with Craig in it, I vowed I'd capture that unit, too. So we hang that portrait above a sign in our house that says, "Home is where your story begins."

But, of course, only one word really tells the best story.

Click.

Music to My Ears

A good song must have a rockin' tune. Some major build into a moving chorus is preferred. A solid beat I need so I can hum and hum and hum and hum. This is music to my ears. But a favorite song needs a little somthin' more. To be a favorite, it needs to move me with its lyrics. (Well, I am a writer, after all).
And I have a new favorite song - you know the type...the one you listen to again and again and glean something from it each time. This is my current fix that keeps me jonesing. I love couples; more specifically, I love marriage. I love the concept, the content, the conundrum within it, and the complete freedom and blessing it can be. "Poison and Wine" by The Civil Wars (appropriate band name for this song) is a soulful rendition of what marriage is like for, quite honestly, the majority of Americans today. As we've become more self-obsessed, we've entered a realm where looking out for own #1 has long surpassed any procurement of unity and self-sacrifice in the social institution.
But I still have hope.  I remain privileged to know great marriages that are lasting a lifetime in opposition to this growing trend. But this song - this tension of hating and loving so intensely you don't know which way is up, of wanting and despising, of choosing and resigning to having no choice at all - is one reason we know God's called us to minister to couples. Because the plain truth is, even if this isn't you and yours, it could be any of you and any of yours at any moment. This covenant is precious, precarious and, for so many of us, a precipitant experience...we call it not just falling, but falling and falling in love, over and over again. And hoping you don't crash at the bottom.

The Video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WfzRlcnq_c0

The Lyrics:

You only know what I want you to

I know everything you don't want me to

Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine

Oh you think your dreams are the same as mine

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

I always will

I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back

The less I give the more I get back

Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise

I don't have a choice but I still choose you

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

Oh I don't love you but I always will

I always will

I always will

I always will

I always will

I always will

Yeah, he's that good.

I've discovered another exceptional writer. While not enirely new to the scene, he is widely unknown to popular audiences. Nevertheless, I came upon him and find him brilliantly gifted: he's a linguistic guru in the genre of historic fiction, particularly in the novella subclass. This means that, while his books are relatively brief in lenth (think circa 180 pages), they are all based on historic events. But wait - there's more!

He's also strongly centered on the vignettes of multiple characters: thus, you experience the given focal event of the novel through the multiples eyes of its players.

His name is Adam Braver.

I just finished November 22, 1963 which is, of course, about the assassination of John F. Kennedy (a subject, by the way, which holds my extensive fascination). And I just started Mr. Lincoln's Wars. He's also written Crows Over the Wheatfields (which I'm heading to as quickly as I can) and Divine Sarah, if you're searching about.

He is, in my humble but expert opinion, one of the genius's of the literary century.

Yeah, he's that good.

If I Give an Inch, Does it Become a Mile?

Vanguard's senior pastor, Kelly Williams, begs a question on Facebook every Tuesday. Each query focuses on the message he's writing that day with the purpose, as I understand it, of stimulating a conversation both for his teaching and our learning, since thinking about these subjects certainly breeds consideration of them. Or so I hope.
This week's question was about Jon and Kate Plus 8. While I have commented sporatically in the past, I don't make it a regular habit simply because I don't always remember to keep track of them each Tuesday. But this one I caught in my feed and answered my gut. Here's what I wrote:
"In a postmodern world, reality tv has found its niche. Our culture talks a good line about the relativism of right and wrong but, if we were really honest about it, we haven't left the modernist black and white of morals behind as much as we'd like to believe. This show started as an exercise in voyeurism. But it fast became what can potentially happen to all of us: you get a little of what you think you want and tell yourself it doesn't matter how you're changing...and before you know it, you have too much of what you never wanted: the absence of all that once mattered to you."
Yes, I believe this is true for this couple, but I can only postulate about their lives...I can live mine. So, I point this lens of evaluation back at myself and acknowledge that this same potential lives within my bones, too. In fact, I'd go so far as to say it lives in yours, too.
We all face the temptation to make little allowances that create big trouble: we even have names for them. We decide we'll tell "a little white lie" or make an exception "just this once." We are concerned, but we "bite our tongue"; we are hurt, but we "take one for the team." We determine that "keeping the peace" is more fruitful than "rocking the boat", not because God says so, but because we're too tired to do otherwise.
I don't confuse this with grace and compassion; indeed, sometimes these very exercises are what we should do in the name of grace and compassion. Giving into the subtle temptations is rarely about doing the right thing and often about doing the easy thing. They're not about giving to another as much as preserving ourselves: that's the difference between the two.

I don't want to sacrifice my black and white, my right and wrong, at the altar of the grey because I'm too tired, too scared, too busy, or just plain too lazy to do better. I want to live boldy. I want to live real. Not postmodern, figure-it-out-as-you-go real, but true to who God made me to be, who He says I am, how He's called me to live...in this, I have hope.

In this, I know what matters.