Sky Writer

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

Friends, Happy Weekend, Happy Mother’s Day. 

Wishing surprises of joy, endless time around table with words of mothers, words of children dancing and skipping from lip to lip;

wishing moments of happy punctuated by loud barks of belly laughs from deep down deep;

wishing rest here and rest there, quiet here and quiet there

and time  alone to focus on His  unfailing love, to feel secure in His warm embrace,

to give thanks  to God for this gift of motherhood

 seeing anew the privilege that it is of raising a child, or two, or three or……….

wishing His grace…

Life’s Ooh’s and Aah’s

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ Leave a comment

We have a little family joke that started with my grandmother.  She would ooohhh and aaah at every gift that was opened at Christmas and  any and all special occasions. It was delightful behavior  to be around as a child.

Pure joy.  Pure excitement.  Unrestrained rejoicing.

She, my Gama, was a child of the Great Depression.  One of thirteen children, she was appreciative of everything.  So when the bows and the wrapping were thoughtlessly tossed aside, she would gather up the bows and salvage any of the wrapping she could.  She’d gather and save.

And as each gift was revealed she would say, with her beautiful big smile and her beautiful big eyes, oooh and then aaaah.  She just simply delighted in the gift and the moment.  Large. Small.  Modest.  Simple.

The gift didn’t matter.  It was just the moment and the exchange, ever so small between family.

So we adopted this custom.  Truthfully we poke mild fun at her dramatic response as we  have family fun ooohing and aahhing over the unwrapping of gifts. We remember her.  Her joy.

But truly, isn’t life more fun when we celebrate the small unwrappings.  Delighting in the small things that border on just mundane.  When we celebrate small milestones, or small joys.  When we take a moment to rest in a moment of beauty.

Breaking out a smile, broad and wide, all toothy and glistening over a kind remark from a devoted friend, a text of encouragement or endearment from a woman who walks out life with you, an email that says simply. ” I am missing you terribly.”

Aren’t these moments worth busting out cheerfulness and joyfulness.

I delivered news this morning to a friend which I felt would disappoint and maybe cause her to feel that I had let her down.  Her response was one of affirmation.  You are choosing rightly, you are doing as you should, go and enjoy and have fun.  This is important, she says to me.

We have been deep cleaning and spring cleaning my house.  I look on the fruits of the shared labor, and smell the clean, and see some progress toward de-cluttering. I smile and say this is good.  This is better.  I am encouraged.

Such small things often delight the heart.  And they are worth taking a moment to say, “This is good.” To give it a simple label of “nice” or “good” or “beautiful” or “kind”. To release an ooh or an aahh over a favorite meal when fellowshipping with family or friends.  This is good. This is yummy.

Finding the moments that are gifts of life, ever so small and allowing them to be named as good.  To savor for more than a second.

This morning for me it was the smell of cut grass.  They say that the sense of smell is the memory which we hold on to the longest.  I don’t know if that is true, but a wave of memories poured into my bedroom and delighted my soul as I thought of times that were good as fragrant cut grass stimulated my memories, all tucked away and resting.

Words were said.  There was a disagreement.  I would not have won any mother of the year awards for my part, for my responses to the situation.  But in a moment of reconciliation my child told me how very much he loves me.

I was humbled.  I am deeply touched by a love that forgives and works through and doesn’t stay stuck.  This is good.  This is healing.  I stop and say this is unexpected grace.

I am looking for things to celebrate this weekend.  We are cheerfully and happily celebrating a graduation of a precious young woman in our life.  We love her so and we rejoice at this milestone.

But I am looking to rejoice in the small things too. The little oooh’s and the little aaah’s.  The shell on the beach, the giggle around the table, the crisp spring air with birds singing overtime, a clean fresh start for some places in my home, a comment in love, a comment in friendship, a word of encouragement. A gesture toward forgiveness.  A gesture toward healing.  A word of praise.  A word of thanksgiving.

I am seeking to rejoice in all that He gives.  And while I don’t have my Gama’s eyes which saw the world so differently than I, I can seek to  see what the Lord has placed before me as blessing and gift.

The tide comes in, the tide goes out.  The bumps and bruises and dust ups in life will come and go.  But I choose today to look for joy.

Will you join me. Won’t you join me. It’s more fun doing life together.

Wonderful Weekend Full Of Grace, to you all.

And may you ooooh and aahh all weekend long at all the joy that comes your way.

Blessings….

wynnegraceappears

My Favorite One

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 2 Comments

I don’t know why this is my favorite one.  

But it sings to my soul.  Gentle.  Sweet.  Tender. This picture.  On the surface it’s really nothing special.  But to this momma it is filled with foreshadowing.  It knows so much.  It holds so much within its frame of what will always be.

There is this  perpetual path that leads  out and away.  And this reminds me so plainly in its black and white way that it is daily and it is certain….

There is a breaking away with bits of us. Pieces and parts of the ones that held hard with blood and often tears. Or held on hard in hope and with prayer.  Or held on to deep longlng for with trust and an assurance. That He gives us gifts.  Including these.  These children.  We steward their lives.  Watching over.  Guarding.  Protecting and sheltering.  While a slow and steady breaking away rips and tears and takes.   We give.  We give in love.  Sacrificially.  Lovingly.  Sometimes with teeth clenched, and hands white knuckling love.  We loose the grip and allow the breaking.

We say good bye, hundreds of times.  We hear the door shut, the gravel rumble and tires spin.  We see the backs of the head.  The backside of lives.  Off to school, off to play, off to camp, off to war- to fight the battles of their day.  Off to joy, off to pain, off to just be and suck on slushies.  Or to just be over a slice of pizza at youth group. To talk of life with trusted adults about how to navigagte the seas in a rocking boat. How to be wise and brave.

But the back turned, facing away, toward the sea.  Turned away.  Turned from me. Its what I see as beauty. The head down looking on the path.  Avoiding splinters in the barefeet.  Or avoiding worse pain. The hands held in love.  For security.  Held like three strands of a braid.  Holding like we all do to another.  To steady.  To balance.  To feel warm blood rushing through another, to sense the pulse of someone else. Huddled up.  Grouped up.

That with all the teaching and preaching and telling, showing, explaining, admonishing, cajoling they will navigate more on their own everyday of their lives.  Every day brings them closer to independence.  Every day takes them a step away from this home.

I have a deep assurance that they won’t ever go too far, or be gone too long, or have long periods of absence.  In this short term. But life could really take them far and wide and oceans of space could separate us one day. I trust.  I release. And I pray that God keeps them tethered tightly to this momma. Leaving is natural.  Going is part of living.

But there are those who sacrifice and release in ways that I will probably never have to.

We have known one such mother very briefly.  Time is hard to measure.  How long were we in her presence.? Time stood still.  Each moment of joy magnified time.  New and tender mercies take all attention.  Time has no form of measurement.  It is a blur. Heart pounding joy stops clocks, stops the earth.  Stops all but the joy moment.  It calls all things to itself to be and watch and listen in love.

She impacts my life daily.  Her love and her releasing take my breathe away. Her life touched mine. Then changed mine forever.

She is sacrifice.  She is love.  She is the birthmother of our son.

It has been 17 and a half years since I stood in a room and had her pass in love indescribable her son, our son, into my arms.  How God orchestrates a moment like this leaves me numb in love. Seeing brave bold love and looking it right in the eyes changes. It writes on a place in your insides.  It carves deep lettering in the flesh and right on the heart wall.  It scribbles out love, selfless love.  It carves out stark and plain and simple. A deep giving of tremendous sacrifice.

I don’t know brave that speaks like this.  I can’t find places where I can show gratitude and gratefulness here at Mother’s Day, for her.  I can only tell her story in a shadow, but tell it boldy and proclaim the enormous space it takes up in my heart.

She turned and walked out of our lives 17 years ago.  But she left a mark. A precious child.  I know she would look on him becoming a man and I know she’d see him through momma’s eyes as I, that he is fine.  And he is special.  And he is love with flesh and bones walking.  He will do and be great things. He knows he is loved.  He knows God.

Happy Mother’s day to a kind, brave, and generous birthmother.  We love him deep and wide.  And if you could look right there, you would see, in black and white,that he is loved by one adoring brother. And by one adoring sister. And hovering in the background, one momma too.

Its a favorite one. I just had to share.

Mother’s Day is really something more, its Givers Day and humble Receivers Day. To all the Givers and all the Receivers of life, and children. And love.  Happy Day.

{This photograph was taken by Gail Lunn many/several years ago!! I am grateful.  She is talented. Thank you for this wonderful favorite picture, Gail}

A Letter To My Children

~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 10 Comments

Dear Kiddo’s,

Since Mother’s Day is coming up in a few days, I thought I would write YOU all a love letter.  I am going to color outside the lines a little bit and make it a love letter, a list of what I want to do to be a better mom, and a list of why you guys are the best kids in the world. There will be some randomness thrown in so that you all know I’ve put my random mark on it, i.e. its not from just any mom, but your mom. (You grammar police go away.  I know I used random twice for emphasis).

So here goes…

You three are really something.  You always have been.  Something beautiful, unique and embedded in my flesh and on the walls of my heart.  (No comments from you three like oh mom you are getting all mushy on us.)  That’s why its my letter.  I get to write my feelings on paper.  But oh what subject matter I have been given. It started with this.  Just Dad and I.  But I have already explained all of that to ya’ll.

And all the moments.The mini-moments and micro moments  and humongous moments have been distinctly ours because we are us.  We are a tribe of five.  All the learning and loving could have only  happened as it did  because of you three.  You restored hope, you were miracles, you increased faith. Each step you took, moment you breathed, emotion you expressed poured you onto the canvas creating this painting . This art. This that is our lives.  Abstract, bold, colorful, screaming love and shouting grace.

Each one of you getting up and doing family every day. Bringing and offering and using  your unique gifts. I chase you around with the eyes of my heart trying to clumsily love you.  I stumble and fall and trip up pressing in a truth and repeating my mistakes, repeating my love. Crying out love.  Doing parenting sloppily, in my less-than-perfectness.  Radically receiving your love every day.   You give it so gentle.  You give it so perfect.  Because you all are life givers and life restorers. You look like miracles to my heart.  You walk out His love and your father’s love and my love with flesh and bones.

And lately I follow you around with my camera.  You shout and hide and say enough is enough.  But capturing you all doing life, eating it up with your passion is now my passion. Swallowing it whole without chewing and running down the good race with endurance like an athlete is my desire. Your lives are  something that should be saved and captured. To hold dear.  And hold on to. For more than split seconds. You are my prize. You are my glory.  You are gift.  You are so much more than I can clumsily say.

If I could make perfect sweet tea, I’d make it by the gallon to show my love.  If I could bite my tongue and never raise my voice to show my love I would.  If I could laugh and smile at every small thing you say and do to show you how much I adore you three I would.  If every favorite shirt and uniform were always clean and folded, all socks matched and every note signed pronto I would give you that. But I cannot go back, can’t bottle up the yuck.  Can’t re-do the what I did.  Can’t wash the dirty down the drain with the dishwater.  It’s just there in the mix, all mixed up with the love and the good intentions to love better and more.

So here is the part where I thank you for your grace, because you give it out and show it well.  Though you learned from one who was flawed and broken and full of sin.  Wrecklessly  extending grace, upon grace.  And tender Mercy.  Like He does.  You all do that well.

And this is the part where I ask forgiveness for my shortcomings and tell you how sorry I am.  And this is where I tell you a funny thing so you will laugh. Because you know I love Pooh and if you don’t you should.  And now you know if you didn’t.

“Oh Tigger where are your manners? I don’t know but I bet they’re having more fun than I am.” (A.A. Milne) There were those hundreds of times I reminded and prodded and begged and browbeat.  You know they are important.  I will never stop telling you so.

I know a wise young girl who told me once, “smile and laugh and we will smile and laugh with you.”  She just happens to be my own precious one.  So wise beyond her years. I can’t wait to do more of that.

I wish some things, in my memory and in my heart.  I wish that I could read “Goodnight Moon” a billion more times, while I breathe in your sweet smells and feel you cozied in on my lap.  You can turn the pages.  I want to dive into “The Very Hungary Caterpillar.’ We can swim from page to page together, with you saying the words in tandem with my breathe. We can read— together, we can go slow there is no need to rush. I will never again say those painful words, can you wait a minute. Because you shouldn’t.  You should have the all of me.

I hope you heard the parts about kindness, honesty, faithfulness, gentleness and doing your best.  I hope you heard me teaching you this when it sounded like preaching.  And when I wasn’t any of these things myself.

When I told you not to take the path of least resistance and mediocre was not acceptable. I hope you know that somewhere hidden in all that was a sliver like the new moon of love.  Me loving you into all good things.  Me wanting for you, all the best.

And now you would say that I didn’t follow the outline. And like when I say grace over the food, its just way too long.  You would say now that it’s time to wind down even though I have a trillion more things to say.  And no, I am not exaggerating.

I didn’t get a chance to say one more time to make good decisions, wear your seat belt, and all my other annoying one liners.

But since it is my letter and I am in control of the keyboard and little else, I can say that you amaze me, you teach me, and that my love for you is deep and wide.  It can never be like His love for us.  He loves you more.  And you should remember that if little else of this mother’s day letter to you, my children. My gifts from the giver of awesome gifts.

You delight, you surprise, you amaze me in so many ways.  This lover of words is out of them now. And to mothers everywhere I say love hard, love deep, love well.  And welcome with outstretched arms the surprises, the tomorrows and the right around the corner moments.