Abundantly Beyond

I saw it coming. The large steel door began to close just as my baby's dimpled hand reached toward the hinged edge for support. In that eternal split second, I thrust my hand out to rescue hers, but it was too late. I braced myself for the scream and the dreaded unknown. Scooping her up in my arms, I quickly examined the little hand. "Can you wiggle your fingers, baby?" With tears streaming, she showed me that she could. I sighed with relief. But then the swelling began. I quickly scanned my surroundings, looking for help.

This was supposed to have been a quick trip into Trader Joe's, but the restroom detour was proving to be quite unfortunate. Thankfully, an employee was immediately at our side (Avery wails are hard to ignore). "Could we please get some ice? She pinched her finger in the door." A look of concern spread across his face. "Let me see what I can do." And he was off.

I comforted Avery while Bethie strategically veered the shopping cart toward the penne pasta samples. When the employee returned, I nestled Avery into the cart and surrounded the throbbing finger with the bagged ice. But he wanted to do more. "Would she like a balloon?" he wondered. A perfect way to divert her attention from the pain. "Yes, thank you," I said. "That'd be great." Once again he left, and quickly returned with a bright pink balloon and two rolls of candy. I thanked him for his kindness, and the girls beamed over his generosity.

We quickly zipped through the aisles in an attempt to finish our shopping. Every once in a while, Avery remembered her pitiable condition and let out another wail. I kissed and soothed. (Rather loudly, I'm afraid. And with dramatic emphasis. I somehow felt it necessary to assure the gawking shoppers that she was not throwing a tantrum. She was injured: "Oh honey, I know your finger still hurts! But the ice will help the swelling.") I popped a raspberry candy into her little pink mouth, and assured her, "We're almost done." The sweetness helped, as did the bobbing balloon above her head.

I was relieved when we finally got back to the van. The swelling was down, and her finger already looked much better. Alas, the concerns began anew. "How will I get into my car seat?" she moaned. I assured her that she would still fit. "How will I get out of my car seat?" she whimpered.

Somehow, we made it home. Where she was suddenly unsure about that front porch. "How will I get up the stairs?" I inwardly smiled to think that one small finger could cause so much fear and apprehension. But, with the balloon still soaring overhead, she eventually conquered those steps.

Then, suddenly, all was forgotten. Daddy was home, and so were the boys. They would surely be impressed by her bag of ice, the balloon, two rolls of candy and a fancy bruise. Into the front door she burst, ready to tell her story.

My little Avery has unwittingly given me a precious glimpse into the heart of our heavenly Father. Like my child, we all have wounds. We all need healing. Those wounds hurt, distract and sometimes even draw attention to ourselves. But when we bring them to the Lord, realizing that He alone can minister to our hurt, we find the gentle, healing touch of a Physician whose skill greatly exceeds our expectations.

However, it doesn't stop there. Just as the employee desired to do more for Avery, so our Lord wishes to draw our attention away from ourselves and the wounds that threaten to overwhelm, by lavishing His goodness upon us. The pink balloon drew Avery's gaze away from the pain toward something bright and beautiful. The raspberry sweets on her tongue were soothing and pleasant. Likewise, our Healer tilts our chin toward the beauty of His Son and pours from His Word a sweetness that satisfies our every desire.

We may come with burdens that seem impossible and insurmountable. Yet our Father, as always, is able to do exceeding abundantly beyond all that we ask or think (Ephesians 3:20). And it is His delight to do so. We are created to come to Him for healing and comfort.

We may doubt. We may wonder if we'll ever get out of that car seat or if the porch steps will prove to be too difficult. But then we'll remember. Our Daddy is home. And we'll burst through the front door, ready to tell our story.



A repost from the archives in response to the SheSpeaks scholarship opportunity, generously offered over at A Holy Experience. The SheSpeaks Conference "is about women connecting the hearts of women to the heart of our Father God." Perhaps this is an area in which I might step out of my comfort zone and serve my Father. . . .

Viking Bottoms

Jamie and I were tired. It required all of our energy just to put fork to plate to mouth. As a result, we involuntarily let the children rule the table. The conversation spiraled at an alarming rate. Bathroom jokes, rude noises, selfish boasts. It was getting ugly. We snapped to. Energy or not, some things -- dinner conversation among them -- require daily guidance and training. They can't be allowed to run rampant.

Jamie and I eyed each other and took the reins once again. "I know!" I suggested. "Let's all share something new we learned today. We'll start with the youngest." Avery's eye gleamed, and each child squirmed eagerly for his or her turn. The lively banter continued, still focusing on and honoring the children, but strategically guided by the parents.

We were quite entertained by Avery's retelling of our history lesson. She had been very much impressed when learning that Viking boats had flat bottoms. (The word "bottom" is irresistible to this wayward child.) Aidan snickered, but added the reasons as to why this feature was advantageous to the Norsemen. Drew and Bethie, in turn, shared the details that stood out vividly in their minds, and we were all soon engaged in an animated discussion about this chapter in history.

We've had this insipid banter problem arise many times in the past. Jamie's solution is frequently a "Question of the Day." Someone comes up with a question for everyone to answer, such as, "If you could go anywhere in the world . . . " or "If you could meet someone from the past . . . ." Again, the conversation is always very lively, but because it is guided by the parent, the words are uplifting and mind-enriching.

Although it can be draining and just one more task in my long day, I know it's so worth it for me to keep a level head at the dinner table. It's an ideal opportunity to help my children practice life skills such as patiently listening to one another, asking thoughtful questions, and sharing wholesome pieces of information. Well, wholesome most of the time. I suppose there's always a chance we'll encounter those Viking bottoms again. Especially if Miss Kate has the floor.

Learning to See

I walk through the clean hallway, checking the bedrooms, double-checking the bathrooms. Nice and spit-spot. The kids work hard, helping me pull the house into shape. But wait! What's this I see? I take a closer look at the kids' bathroom. That mirror! Why can't it stay free of toothpaste and fingerprints for just five minutes? Just five minutes! Is that too much to ask?

I look more closely. Someone has obviously been here since I came through with the Windex. And I know who. Someone with a very small hand. I'm irritated. I breathe. I force myself to stare at the blemish until that selfish tightness within me releases.

And then I see it. I see the perfectly formed print, the five little fingers, the unique contours on each finger tip, the palm -- all indicative of a little life within our home that brings joy and laughter. The hand I love to hold, the hand that reaches up to stroke my face. And I see beauty.

There are lots of things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises . . . .
It's all a matter of keeping my eyes open . . . .
~Annie Dillard

Keeping my eyes open to see the beauty . . .

*kids' patience when lunch is late
*a dozen cheery yellow cloth napkins -- a project completed!
*Aidan helping Daddy with groceries
*a book finished
*a book begun
*Drew and Avery, giggling uncontrollably
*Jamie and Bethie trying out hula-hoops. In the grocery store.
*tea and scones
*date night
*sleeping in!
*clean sheets
*stacks of pancakes
*comforting a fitfully sleeping child, seeing her face muscles relax
*swapping kids for the afternoon
*bird watching with Papa
*catching rainbows

The Problem With Dish Gloves

The problem with dish gloves is that I'm right handed. I suppose it would also be a problem if I was left-handed. It would cease to be a problem if I was ambidextrous. Or if I had a left-handed twin.

My right thumb always wears out before my left glove shows the slightest sign of deterioration. So then I'm stuck with one horrible glove and one perfectly good glove. I hate to throw them both away, but I absolutely cannot allow water to trickle into my little thumb. It creeps me out.

I've tried to think of ways to recycle the left glove. I've worn it backwards on my right hand. Very uncomfortable. I've given it to my children to play "milking the cow." Very weird. I'm out of options.

Oooh -- wait. I just thought of something. (For real -- just now.) Maybe I could cut off the tip of the good left thumb and save it. When my next pair starts to fail me, I could somehow attach the good ol' thumb tip from the previous pair . . . . hmmm . . . . It just might work. I'm excited. Maybe there isn't a problem with dish gloves, after all.

(Please tell me I'm not the only one that obsesses over dish gloves.)

When the Glass is Half Empty

I just took a quiz. It was one of those "How many books have you read out of these famous 100" type quizzes. I always love to see which books turn up at the top, which books I should add to my reading list. So I dove in. Turns out I've read 32 of the 100.

And I felt like I had somehow failed something.

Thirty-two percent? That's an F. An F, people. I found myself wanting to explain to someone -- anyone -- the truth about myself. "But I did read excerpts from some of the others! Do I get points for that? What if it was an abridged version from a high school text? Does that count? And who decided not to include all of the other books I have read?"

I pulled away, startled at my reaction. What was I so upset about? It wasn't a contest. Nothing was at stake. It was a silly list. But all I could focus on was the failure.

Too often, my instinct is to look at what I haven't done. The books I haven't read, the rooms I haven't cleaned, the children I haven't behaved nicely to, the papers I haven't graded, the dishes I haven't washed . . . . The list goes on. It's an attitude that, if left unchecked, can weigh heavily on my heart.

And this is right where the enemy wants me. Focusing on myself and my failure. He is prowling about like a lion looking for someone to devour. And if it's as easy as keeping me focused on myself? What a cinch!

What, then, is the solution? What is a failing mama to do? 2 Peter 5:9 tells me: "Resist him, standing firm in the faith . . . ." Resist the lies, resist the focus on self. And stand firm. Stand not on my accomplishments, not on my goals and dreams and attempts at perfection (which are anything but trustworthy and firm). But stand. . . in the faith. Stand in the truth of who God is and who I am because of that.

And who am I? I am the Lord's delight. I am not a failure. Although I do deserve an "F" because of my sinful nature, He's erased it completely and given me His Son's perfect score.

The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.
Zephaniah 3:17

That's who I am. When I shift my focus, the glass is no longer half empty. I see the blessings in spite of the failure. I see the work I have been able to accomplish because of His goodness in my life. I see the children who forgive me when I wrong them. I see the household tasks that remind me of the privilege I have in making a home. I even look at my book quiz differently. I see the opportunities that I've had throughout my life to interact with some amazing literature. I thank God for the ability to read. And I eagerly add sixty-eight more books to my list.