Category: Family

Pausing Our Buttons

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 3 Comments

We had some of those moments .

The ones the momma’s heart wants to pause.

Marinate in, soak in, stay in.

Pace teases.  Tempts.  Tortures.  Too fast.  Unfolding lives and life.  Growing up and out.

Speedy time moves,  is spent, evaporates, dissolves. Shore bird stick leggy fast.

It goes  mist steamy, up and out. It goes  kite tail spinning  heavenward, into the blue haze. In the  fog of living, friendly fire takes down the good with misfires.

It goes forward , need for pause or reverse or rewind  ignored. The mommas heart uses all available tools to record.

Rewinding the heart, rewinding the times of these lives. Rushing back when others are moving forward.  Slow to proceed.  Slow to catch up.  Resting on words , phrases and memories that need me to pencil draw them on the memory, the mind. They plead, please jot down.  They beg please take note of us.

A look, a glance, a phrase, not coming in the singular, but the plural.  The multiples, the paired, the groups like flocks of birds.  These moments and transactions of life.

Butterfly net swinging at dizzying speed, the mind sets out to capture the elusive.  Capture the beauty on wing like Monarch migrating through.  Trapping phrase, glance, tone.  Netting the moment.

Living in family, where lives cross paths like crowded landing strips , take offs and landings , schedules , plans, zipping and jet-speeding out and in.  One ill-timed flight pattern, then crash and flames.

Banter back and forth holds keys to life.  No one notices.  Only the mommas heart hears words like clues to future.  Clues to the heart plans, holy grail important. Ignored and almost left for dead.

Slowing down offers hope.  Preserving saves for later.

Resting in words of life saves some casualties.  Recording gives life support to memory.

I rock these lives, slow like baby after nursing for nap.  Slow and steady.  Smell memory. Hold life.

Swinging hard, swinging fast the net of the heart.  Crying out for a pause.  Heart hoping for freeze-frame.

Easter new bring fragile eggshell time.

Easter new bring time in the shadow of His sacrifice.

Easter new bring nets of love in the celebration of His Resurrected Life.

Easter new restore.

Easter new, we thank you for it all, the end all, the be all, the He gave all, looking long in His wonderful face and receiving it all, with gratitude and grace.

wynnegraceappears

Counting gifts with Ann, at A Holy Experience dot com

*Easter planning in the details with a friend

*Steps forward, steps of growth with a son

*Having a sweet sweet comment in my inbox which I am wrapping my heart around with re-reading

*Lab puppies on the maybe horizon

*The end of some sports, the beginning of others

*Sisters

*Holy, Holy, Holy Week

*Glimpsing heirloom eggs at The Fresh Market, going to seek them out

*New Neighbors

*New growth coming back from last year, not expected, offering surprise

*A positive email from the school of the one who’s trying harder

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Do You See The Gifts – Nestled and Tucked Away

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

Nestled – to settle snugly and comfortably, to lie in a sheltered position, to draw or press close, lie or be situated in a half-hidden or obscured position.”
Nestle – To lie or be located in a sheltered spot, to be naturally or pleastantly situated. To house in or as if in a nest.

Do I see them there, the nestled gifts in my life?

Do I count and name and mark as packages of life and love from Him all those tucked away goodnesses?

Do I see myself in that nest of His creation, the secure, safe position of closesness to Him.  The place of resting close to Him.  Of being pleasantly housed in the safety and security of His love and shelter.

Will Trust walk along side and adjust my lense to see my beautifully gifted circumstances, no matter what they are and what they bring.

If I invite him.

Will Trust re-align my heart so that all is always viewed  through the lense of His Grace, pointing and leading toward His plan and His will.  Will Trust do that for me if I soften and release and bend to that place of surrender?

Will I permit my heart and my life to rest in His loving grip? And house my life, my childrens lives in the nest of His provision.

I can see them there, all of them,  most of them right under the bridge of my nose, lent to me, given to me and placed on the silver platter that is His provision.

They are wrapped in laughter, surrendered to sleep, marching defiantly through the door.

They are in need of love and forgiveness and patience.

They are in need of a clean shirt, pants pressed, longing to be clothed in properly fitting and styled garments.  Longing to be clothed in love, mercy, grace and forebearance.

They are belly-laughers, and belly-achers.  They are puffed with pride and laid low by humility.  Hurt and beaten-up.  Loved up and weary.  They are fatigued with fighting and striving.

And they are emptied out and proud, turning back to the heart of Him.

They are seeking and struggling, yearning and longing.  These gifts are hungry and battle-scared.

And like bird in nest, they squawk squeak, cry out beak open for nurishment, sustenance from sustainer- God, provider-God.  Gift-giver-God.

They are dressed in uniform, ready to run the race.  To wear the victory, wear the defeat.  Shed the tear, celebrate the victory with the cries of happy warrior.  Arms flailing, spinning in joy of moment of celebration and song.

And I can hear them.  Gifts all loud and happy.  Loud and mad.  Loud and pressing in with defining self, and growing up self, and finding self.  I hear the flesh asserting, demanding, crying out in hungry need.  For this and for that and for those things.

And I sense like soft, gentle cheek breezes, gifts under nose and gifts covered up.

Lost under shuffle of life and hurry.  Gifts under confetti sky of lunch with friends while fruit trees drop spent blossoms on noses like He  announces His presence, as if we doubted He was there.  Invitation goes out in Grace, Lord be in our conversation.  Lord be in our moment of fellowship.  He came, as He does.

Gift-giver.  Lover of respite.  Lover of community and friendship and linked hearts.

And I see them, these beautifully wrapped gifts,  long like unending jet stream streaks in blue sky, sky streamers, heaven ribboning. Long, conversations. Long, life ponderings and musings. With these soul sisters, red lipped momma friends. Deep down gut laughs.  Deep un-masking, authentic presentation of life journeys. Safely harbored, safely moored in moments of linked momma hearts.

Extending ear, lending heart.  Preceeding conversation with safely guarded sanctuary of trust and acceptance.

And I see these gifts in furrowed brow, angry tone, loving smile, extended ear, apologetic offerings, prayer on phone, sweet good byes, abrupt hello’s, news of pain, and news of joy, moments of correction, parent-speak, momma pleas, disappointment, second chances and messy life.

So my thank you notes, penned, spoken, whispered, muttered, under-my-breathe and out in the open are these words in part —- the gifts are precious, they are many, and I am blessed.

And each is kissed by lips of humility. Written by broken flesh, and unworthy hands.

Yet sealed in the shadows of the cross.

Thank you for all.

Thank you for each.

Grace-fully Gratefully Yours,

wynnegraceappears