While I like some things about this platform, I still feel quite lost in its bowels. Maybe archives would be a better word. As you may have noticed, I changed the title to Family Matters instead of my name. “Family” will sometimes be about my position as a child of the King, and sometimes about my status as a member of a wonderfully ordinary, non-pedigreed family. “Matters” is a noun or a verb, whichever I feel like, and while it is sort of generic, my title does describe what my content will be for the foreseeable. I didn’t start this page with any grandiose goals. I am honored that so many of you are joining me here, where I pick through my childhood memories and my own family’s shenanigans at will. Currently there is a heavy dose of questioning, grieving, and counting up the kindnesses from a loving Father who doesn’t tell me why. And there is me, somewhere in the middle, opening my hands to receive.
Today was glittering with unexpected sunshine on fresh snowfall, a bonus that the weather app did not foresee. I love when that happens, because I am always checking the app to see which part of the day I should get outside. If there is no sunshine predicted, which is the majority of our winter days, I cast around for other coping mechanisms. Any bright rays breaking through feel like sheer grace. Because we live tucked into the edge of Conneaut Lake and 35 miles south of Lake Erie, there are usually clouds. Some days the sun rays are gone before I can get my coat on, but not today! I went out and shoveled snow and encouraged my chickens that it won’t always be this cold. Keep laying those eggs, ladies.
All day I made cups of tea, and I do believe I drank five of them. The last cup in the series was shared with a friend who gave me a beautiful Irish sheepskin as a comforting blessing for my sadness. I could have cried. My feet are buried in that sheepskin right now, and the candle I lit on the mantle this morning is still flickering. I have my reading lamp lit that I rescued out of a bag of trash, and I am wearing my forest green chenille sweater. The dog is making happy whuffling noises on her mat beside the door because I have not yet insisted that she go to the basement, and she thinks maybe tonight I will forget. It is very quiet, and I am at peace. I do not despise these small things. They pile up, and counting them is a step toward wholeness.
I gave the girls a pass on schoolwork, since they like to get legitimate snow days too. All they had to do was work on gathering material for research papers. I had an ulterior motive, since I needed to make assignments for the week, and I didn’t feel like doing it. Finally tonight at 8 o’clock I got started with that. We are all flagging a bit, but the month is halfway done!
I listened to Tim Keller’s podcasts on prayer this afternoon while I threw pots on the wheel. I have a lot of questions about prayer, and while I cannot remember specific quotes, I do remember that prayer is a conversation between two persons. One of the persons is the God of the Universe, and He is delighted to talk with me. When I think of prayer just as a monologue or a request for help, it is as if I am on a phone call with bad reception. He is listening to every word, but I am not able to hear Him when He speaks. Something inside me shifted with that illustration. I haven’t prayed much in the past month except for broken declarations of pain and confusion. Even though I still want to know why He didn’t grant our requests when we were begging for my brother’s life, I am willing to be quiet and hear Him. I need to hear Him; my life depends on it.
Today my planner had a memo: “Joy is the serious business of heaven,” a quote from my friend Clive Staples. I don’t have the context for that sentence. Help me out if you can, tell me what you think he meant.