Releasing – The Art of Grieving and Rejoicing (A Tribute to Ella)

January 14, 2013January 14, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 21 Comments

The selfish wants to hold on. To grasp and grab and even hold back. Make you stay and sit here with me. Make you sacrifice so I can keep you here.

I wept and I weep at the thought of you leaving. There is nothing easy in releasing fury joy on four long spindly legs, big eyes that stared me down, laying it on thick when you wanted a hand to rub or a time to walk.

But you were made to soar. To run fast and often like a blue streak. You were the fastest many had ever seen. A blur when you were set free to fly. You smiled broad and wide when you lived your calling.

You shined bright.

You were created for those things.

But in my difficult release you will find freedom, to go and do and be the highest and best that this life has for you.

And so she was released a little bit ago, to a family on a farm. To run and hunt. To run more often, longer, brisker, faster. To live and breath deep.

To play hard and to do that which she loves. She was born to hunt, to run headlong into the woods. It is her passion.

She has been released in weepy, crying love to go. And I mourn her company and grieve my lost companion.

But I rejoice in her joy at living out her passions. Though it is away from me.

She smiled her broadest dog smile when she did. So when I put aside my selfish longing for her, I truly rejoice in her new place of truly living. Though it is apart from me.

And I trust that she is living her passion daily,living her dreams, living her calling. Extravagant living, into all that life has for her.

I want that for Ella. I want that for those I love. For my children, my husband, and my dearest friends.

Ella, you showed me a beautiful picture of what it looks like to grab hold of what you loved. Yes, even a dog can show us how to live with unbridled passion for what we were made to hunger after and for.

She was joy. And she was loved.

I miss you Ella, my Ellison, you are running headlong into the wind. And when I dwell on that, I smile with you.

When you were in my world, you blessed my socks off. And I am truly grateful.

You were a friend and you were and are pure delight, all white and furry, with endless energy and zest for living. You and your playful spirit brought me joy.

Go for it Ella. Go for it girl.

Joining Laura for Playdates At The Wellspring and Ann at A Holy Experience dot com, quietly counting a boatload of gifts, especially Ella, Miss Ellison, Ella-Bella Marshall, our Ella Girl.

The Art of Trust

January 6, 2013January 6, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 7 Comments

The Art Of Staying On Track

Oh that the road were clearly marked
But oh how the road is clearly marked
The road is clearly marked
For the road is clearly marked
For those with eyes to see
For those whose Trust is in the Lord
My Trust is in the Lord
Because the road is clearly marked
Lord, in your grace, in your mercy
Keep me trusting in You
On that road, so clearly marked

Trust God from the bottom of your heart; don’t try to figure out everything on your own. Listen for God’s voice in everything you do, everywhere you go; he’s the one who will keep you on track.

Proverbs 3 – The Message

Joining Deidra Riggs’ Sunday Community

The Art of Growing Up

January 3, 2013January 3, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 7 Comments

This is a bit of a heads up. That when the facet turns on it might stay on, and do more than drip. Those words and the writing and the overflow of the heart. I wouldn’t blame you if you pressed delete or unsubscribe or walked away from words when they start flowing more frequently. I have begun sometime in 2012 it seems to write daily. Certainly I hope you’re blessed and not the dictionary definition of its opposite. Yesterday I wrote here, of my word for 2013. I am inspired by it. It sort of showed up on my doorstep like a lost dog.

It just happens. And in some seasons more intensely and profoundly than others. This growing up. This learning.

We did a lot of it in my home yesterday. And we will do more today.

And it’s more pronounced with one of my little tribe members. But whenever we have spikes in learning and growing, I am stretched and changed too. So it’s more pronounced with ME. And I need growing and stretching and refining. God knows I need to be the one on the potter’s wheel. I am wet clay in His hands.

I need to learn to love it. Because after the trauma and drama and when the dust settles and we all exhale and the learning starts to stick, there is new growth. Buds of change on the way to maturing.

Oh how I long to learn the art of growing up with grace with them.

Some lessons hurt and sting and bite and nearly draw blood. Well that’s how it feels when there are tickets from cars with lights on top that total two hundred and something dollars. It hurts to count. And the government doesn’t like to negotiate pale blue tickets.

It’s easy to scoop them up. It’s hard to let them scoop themselves up. There is tension in the two.

And then the news, so terrible and horrific in its level of violent evil comes on. The local news. And I lock the door at the horror of it all and we huddle around the fire, feeling loved and safe. And the lessons dim a bit and I know the violations and transgressions could be worse.

What part of parenting and growing up was easy? Are we there yet?

And I think of the grace I am extended daily from The One, who made me. But he has gently and lovingly taught me and stretched me. Oh to parent like He does. I made it hard. I fought and dug my heels in and made the easy more difficult.

When the page on the paper day counter turns, I could panic. And I could begin to count in weeks or even days, the ones remaining under my roof. Eighteen year olds grow and fly and leave. If all goes as planned.

There is much remaining on my momma’s plate to teach.

And in that there is much for me to learn.

I would do well to explore the art of release, the art of patience, and the art of careful attention to detail.

We have a few months until the Spring and I refuse to waste the days I have to learn and grow with him.

He is teaching me the art of growing up.

And there are days I want to run and hide and hand the reigns to another. But there are days when the joy and growth explode like laughter from the belly of the child. I prefer laughter and joy.

There is beauty in the process. There is joy in the pain. And there is relief in the release. And comfort in the fact that I am never truly alone. Never am I without a helpmate.

I am learning the art of release, leaning into The One that knows and loves me all the days of these tense days of parenting.

The road to adulthood is paved with rocks and rubble at times. The road of adulthood is paved with shards of broken objects at times.

He smoothes the path and goes before and is my rearguard.

There is endless joy and loud alleluia in that.

I hope that today is full of laughter. I hope today is filled with singing.

Growing up. Its an art not a science. And on my knees is a good place to make some art worthy of offering to Him.

And honestly, we are on the verge of making ticket collecting an art form I’d rather not venture into.

Crossing The Wake – Part Two

August 15, 2012August 16, 2012 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 12 Comments

This takes up a big space in my memory holder, the one that holds the childhood treasures. The box where the heart can go and pull out a piece of memory here and there and sit at the feet of dreamy rememberance. The tender box of storage where being a child and learning of life are safely tucked away to look back on with eyes of a seasoned life. With new eyes. With new understanding. On what it is we were learning. And how gently we often learn of the hard. How tenderly He teaches us of the difficult.

When I grabbed my phone and read the email, the memories began to flood a bit.

We spent hours water skiing. Together. So she speaks a language of the familiar when she asks, I was wondering if you’d consider writing a poem about crossing the wake.

A google search of crossing the wake reveals the technical best way to approach this journey across. And some of the words and phrases are important. I remember. If you have never skiied, you will remember too.

You remember the moments of relaxing, absorbing, committing without hesitation, and balancing.

About dot com Waterskiing will tell you “One of the scariest things facing a beginning slalom water-skier is having to cross what seems like a huge mound of water behind the boat, better known as the wake. In order to be a successful water-skier, you must tackle the wake head on.”

And she was thinking back, now in her 40’s to the times in her childhood when she did. And she is now. And she knew that I knew tackling head on what seems like a huge mound. A mound worth the crossing. A challenge ripe with reward in the victory. And a life of Joy on the other side.

About dot com continues in its tutorial “…your ski and body must point towards the direction you want to go. Face the wake head on. …Remember to take it slow in the beginning, and as your confidence level increases, so will your ability to tackle the wakes.”

But when we cross over by way of the Cross, we have the love of Jesus there in two directions. The vertical beam of the cross, tethering us to the Father’s love and mercy. And we have the horizontal beam of the cross, tethering us to a community of believers, sisters in Christ to walk across the mounds with us. Never alone. Always going by way of the cross is the way of Love. Braced and bound, secure and safe. Crossing by way of His painful sacrifice. Relying on His Love, His arms extended crossing each difficult place before us and with us.

And there at the foot a place to lay down fear and doubt.There a repository for the junk that keeps us paralyzed by unknowing outcomes. There a place to lean into Him for strength beyond our own, helping us gain and keep our balance. There a place to stay upright, braced by His love.

Holding the tow rope of our youth, we know the safety and security of that strong nylon rope, connecting us to the power of the motorboat. And we learn to bend our knees, to absorb the bumps of the rocky wake, and lean into the moment of crossing out from the smooth into the rocky. And the wind in our face, muscles and tendons working, heart racing, we look out and see, not the back of the boat, but rather a whole different line of sight from over in the chop. And brave returns. And fear is diminished. And Joy moves into that moment.

The infertility, the bankruptcy, the marriage problems, the adoption of children, the pain of friends, the death of family, the trauma of loss, they are covered by the cross. They are covered and wrapped in His love. And his child is safely tethered to Him, the source of all power and love. And He redeems the hurt. And stills the rough waters. For us. Whom He loves. For us. He bends down and into our lives. Helping us guiding us.

In Love, by way of the cross.

So that crossing the wake is a place of partnership with Him and a community of believers. It is not a lonely skiier on a single slalom ski, behind a boat. But rather a child of Father God walking the rough spots with exhilaration and courage with a boat load of His love. And legion of fellow Jesus followers loving us through the rough and choppy. Drying us off, massaging our sore and tender spots, placing a balm, a salve on the blisters, and loving us through the journey through to the other side.

We cross by way of the cross. We cross with sisters in Christ. We cross with Him and into Him and because He went before. We cross because He has plans and adventure and marvelous abundant life waiting to be lived.

We go through the doubt and unknowing.

Because we know the one thing that matters. We are loved and we are His.

And there was and there is a beautiful cross.