together

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good enough?

Our most recent article (click on the page and it should enlarge for readability):

good enough,

our gift of heart

the wonder and beauty of God's unique design in us is amazing, each crafted to make complete what's incomplete. if only we could have it all - but..., we do, in the other. families make this evident - what's lacking in one is exemplified in another. and sometimes there's one that has something uniquely special, uniquely attractive, something all of us wish we possessed.

by contrast, the pull to satisfy ourselves is as old as Cain and Able. you would think by now we might have figured a work around to that. some seem more resilient than others, but all wrestle. and when the resilient ones shine, we gravitate to them, to that. to see someone in their natural course of everyday life with a need, and to pinpoint that need, and then to address that need is a gift - it's an attractive gift.

lately, we've particularly noticed that Willow sees outside herself - she has a gift. Victoria's back-pain assuaged with an unexpected cold pack from the freezer, delivered by Willow from heart; or a simple note with kindergarten-style stick figures to boost the spirits of a not-feeling-so-good Grandpa, created by Willow from heart; or a reminder at prayer-time to ask God to "help for..." those in need, elevated by Willow from heart; or... the list (you know then end of this sentence)...

why God has given us so many gifts, in the other and in our family, we do not know. but we do know that without them we're incomplete. and so today we thank God that our incompleteness is partially made complete with Willow (and with Poppy, and with Piper, and with Barret, and with Annie, and with Brian, and with Austin, and with Meagan, and with Victoria, and with Tom). and what's lacking in them is fully satisfied in Jesus.

The Hole In Our Whole

Families were simply designed to be together. In spite of all the familiarity that is known to breed contempt, there's something comforting about all that stuff just because you're in. We've known it, we've tasted it, we've felt it in our family, and there's no greater moment of such but at the Holiday Season. For us, for me, it's rarely recognized while in the midst of it, but almost always elevated when broken apart. When the whole is no longer whole, all of the sudden you realize there's a hole. Then you have to relearn how to be a family without being complete as a family. And no matter how hard you try, nothing seems to fill the void until you're all together again. Then, once you are, the stuff of families gets elevated again, and you wonder whether the whole really is whole... but it is, and that's the way it is.

Like most families right about now, we're breaking apart. The presents unwrapped, the trimmings dry, the lights dimmed are signals of something to come - the end. The end of togetherness as we treasure it most, the end of just being as we rest in it most. Barret traversing back to collegiate studies in another land was the blinding signal of just that. His heart sinking at the thought of the impending "good-byes" and our hearts breaking at the thought of the impending distance reminds us that community was perfectly designed to fulfill the longing of forever togetherness. No matter how magical isolation, quiet and "freedom" may sound, the beauty of connectedness is always far superior.

With gentle kisses on the cheeks of sleeping sisters and mother, Barret whispered his "good-byes" in the darkness of the morning hours and is now in flight back to his college campus. The home's a little quieter now, a little more empty, a little sad - all reminders that families were simply designed to be together. And while we'll never really all be together again under one roof and under every season, we long for the soon-to-be shorter ones that will inevitably be separated by the longer ones - at least until the final, the ultimate forever-one.

To quote Willow this morning, "Barret's going to be gone for a long time... that's just the way it is."

Love's Disappointment

All with love toward anyone has encountered disappointment. It's part and parcel to love. In fact, it's inescapable. When anyone decides to love another they open themselves up to all of its giddy butterflies as well as all of its heart wrenching aches. If you only want one end of love's continuum (the feel-good end), then you'll never know love at all. As the recipient of these juxtapositions, it's hard enough when you're stretched from one side to the other. But what about when you're the deliverer of them? It's not difficult to know when you're bringing the fulfilling part. You can see it on their face, you can sense it in their spirit, you can hear it in their voice. But if you're hearing, if you're watching, if you're attuned (if you're loving), then it's also not hard to know when you're bringing the not-so-fulfilling part. Hard love, complete love requires respect for both. This morning I promised my little Willow-tree that she'd have a special day with Daddy tomorrow, a day where we could hold hands, dress up, drink hot chocolate and gaze at dazzling Christmas trees. It would be a day to remember. I looked forward to it, and she spoke of it all day today to her friends, her siblings and her mother. But then life happened. Another love, another love was necessary, and that love would require this love to be disappointed. Now the tension. Now the choice. Either way, there's disappointment. That's love. But I learned something invaluable today. I learned something from a weeping Willow, a young sapling, a tender shoot. I learned that devoted love accepts disappointment when love extends beyond yourself. Willow knew that my love stretched beyond herself and that she could love by letting my love touch another. It didn't stop the tears, but it did soften the blow because she knew, even at five years of age, that you cannot hold onto love and hoard it. I suppose if I were to ask Willow if this is how she was loving today, she'd look at me with a tilted head and a puzzled look. But she doesn't have to explain it; she just has to live it.

"God with us", 2011

(This may be difficult to read in it's current image, but click on the picture and it will enlarge and become much more readable):

Emmanuel,

A Fool In My Strength

O' those words
They seem like foolishness to the dust
They seem like lies from another man
O' Your book
A cross with a dying soul
A body that's more than man?

You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be

Being saved
Wisdom that is composed
Power has me enclosed, by You

You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be

Your foolishness
Your foolishness is wiser than me
You weakness
Your weakness is stronger than me

Wisdom?
Strength?
Foolishness to the dust
Shaming the wise
Weakness to trust
Shaming the strong

You are giving me eyes
You're giving me eyes to see
You are giving me life
You're giving me life to be

You have given me eyes
You've given me eyes to clearly see

You have given me life
You've given me life to really be

- tmk

- 12.11.2011

- I Corinthians 1:18-31

there's a spider in my room

"there's a spider in my room", says the tired Poppy to her daddy. sleeping in a place with such a creature, even if all the way on the other side and only minuscule in size, is just simply impossible. "let me take care of that for you, Sweetie", says daddy. as if not afraid, but truly so, she takes my hand and walks down the hallway to the bed. not looking, but only pointing in a direction to a dark splotch on the wall, I say as I see her unwelcome guest, "no problem". leaving, I return with tissue in hand while she watched its death, and now at peace.

I don't like the spiders of life; they're creepy, feeling on the move, wondering what they are and when they might bite. few do, but it's not knowing that makes me restless. sometimes, oftentimes, I just lie there, hoping they won't venture my way. I can't sleep. yet, all the while, my Father's right next door, ready to comfort, ready to "take care of that for you." it's "no problem" for Him. that's why He's there.

Poppy, being Poppy, has helped me tonight. I shall rest in peace, as she now is, without the fear of spiders in our room.

more than enough

i WAS tired, far sooner than usual. a 9:15 beckoning to a down comforter seemed just right. it takes awhile for such soft surfaces to warm up when all alone, but once there i found a slight cough troubled my throat, enough to keep me from leaving that state to another. my tiredness turned to restlessness, and for the first time in a long while i felt as though God was asking me to arise quickly - He had something to say to me. after reading a bit, i meandered over here to start writing; something i've not done in awhile.

writing for others to read has me stumped - my motives constantly in check. a respite necessary, just to make sure that my thing doesn't become THE thing, always wanting (deep down) for Jesus to be that. even my family, my children, my wife, our adoptions, they cannot be THE thing, but they have at times, often times. my greatest quandary in life, yes the greatest of all, is living in love with Jesus at the expense of myself. the pull to have others see me more than even Jesus is almost Herculean. i'm ashamed. and yet, deep down, i know, i know for sure where my true love resides. and so, i'm back, yet again, to try to exalt what i love, what is Love, and to do so through me, through us, to only see Him.

our lives are simple - we're married and in love, we have many children, we have work, we have a home, we even have health (for now)... nothing exemplary, nothing outstanding. but there's a drive to be outstanding, to be exemplary, to be... as if, it were not good enough. and this, this has been the strife. when will i, when will we be good enough? when will we have done enough? when is enough enough? never, simply never, because enough is Jesus.

i've returned from my favorite place on earth over Thanksgiving break to this grounding truth. all else is fading into the fog again, fading under this love. and o' how sweet those moments are when you see clearly the overarching truth that to love God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might is liberating, and then all of the sudden you see clearly that everything else now falls into place - when loving becomes all.

with more than enough,

P U R E

Our most recent article is available by clicking on the link below:

http://graceforus.org/pure/

Yearning for this,

Scent

there's a scent in the air,

the fresh of Fall,

Summer cooling,

days move small

too a sense in the soul,

season of Fall?

Summer fading,

heart's new call?

the seasons now churning,

outside and in,

feeling in love,

Jesus again

those dog days of Summer,

thirsting to end,

waiting to quench,

His springs to send

~tmk

The Old Oak Tree

We love our old back yard Oak. It's home to squirrels that gleefully play in its branches and depend on its acorns for winter's supply. Blue Jays sit in it and mock their teasing subjects while arrogantly peering down upon them. Thatched rope swings have hung from its reaches, and children have giggled and swung carefree while trusting its strength with utter abandon. It sits next to Grizzly Creek where it's fed copious amounts of H2O, and it's shielded by a hillside on its southeastern exposure. Many years ago someone planted non-indigenous Eucalyptus trees on that hillside to act as a windbreak. Those trees are home to a pair of owls that make it their seasonal nesting place and soothingly hoot at dusk right before they venture for an evening's out. Those trees also serve their purpose and capture the silence of wind that makes it howl while screaming across aromatic leaves. The Oak is crooked, and all bent in every different direction, except on that southeastern side where shaded by another of its species. Limbs have struggled to sprout there and the bark on that half of its trunk is scaled with moss. We're told the tree may be over 150 years old. If only it could talk... the stories it might tell.

Over the last few summers our neighbor has slowly removed some of those Eucalyptus trees, perhaps to improve the view, or perhaps to reduce a fire's fuel. While we were originally saddened to see some of the Eucalyptus forestry felled, our Oak is now seeing the light of day where it's rarely felt it for years gone past. We can already see signs and sighs of relief as it welcomes that long lost nutrient, its warmth and its rays. We know the tree will never fully balance with limbs growing where it originally desired, but in a way we like that because it's shape is a reminder of so many things about ourselves, about our children, about our adoptions. We leave our imagination to venture the similarities, and end here with what cannot possibly be captured by word.

To live under that Oak was a dream, now one come true as we christen a small cottage to welcome our children, our family, our friends and ourselves. The tree was begging for more friendship, or maybe we for its. Perfectly framed by all of the tree's irregularity, the small dwelling sits right under its shade. Now its light source comes not only from above and all around, but also beneath.

We love our old back yard Oak.

In gleeful abandon,

Flip Flops Have Flopped My Flip

There's a fairly good chunk of my life where I've asked, "Show me Yourself, God!", when all the while He's shown all around. But what I'm really asking for are signs, you know, the kind Jonah wanted? I never really believe He's going to do it, at least not in the ways that I expect. But then again, there's hope, right?, - that word sandwiched right in the middle of the great Pauline love letter (I Corinthians 13), "faith, hope, and love...".

Last summer my family and I travelled to see Austin and Meagan in Denver. Life's never been quite the same around here with the distance between us, so we all make an effort to catch a glimpse of completeness by reuniting as frequently as possible. At this visit we took several day trips together, and at one of them ended up at the mouth of a lake in the Rockies. Never ceasing to take advantage of a possible fishing opportunity, always prepared, Austin grabbed fly rod and reel and waded out to just the perfect spot. I sat on the shore and watched with eager eyes and an envious heart. He called out to me and, without hesitation, I waded to where he was. While I wasn't nearly as prepared with the gear and all, I figured a swim suit and pair of flip flops would suffice. But half way out to Austin I found my ill-equipped feet sinking deeper and deeper into the muddy lake bottom, with my flip flops acting as suction cups that required an awful lot of energy to release with each passing step. Suddenly, one of my cherished flip flops snapped, right at the rubber prong between my big and index toes on the right foot. I loved those flip flops because they were "seasoned", you know, worn in. It would take me at least a year or two to buy another pair and get them broken in to just the perfect comfort level.

With disappointed heart, I wasn't about to let a piece of cheap rubber ruin an opportunity to fish, so Austin said he was sorry my sandal broke, but... "Here's the pole, Dad, fish away!" No sooner had I grabbed the pole and begin to re-enact the lost art of fly fishing grace, did I see a small object come floating down the river, directly toward me. It bobbed along, riding the current with ease. It moved in my direction, as if a magnet were pulling it toward me. Eventually I could astonishingly make out it what it was, so I waited to see if it would get close enough for me to bend down and pick it up without losing my balance and embarrassingly submerge in the cold waters. Sure enough, it floated within my reach, so I gingerly leaned over and grabbed it. Wouldn't you know? Another flip flop, right footed too. I pulled my right foot out of the mud and slipped the thong on. Like Cinderella and the glass shoe, it fit like a glove, a perfect Size 9, and seasoned to boot. Black, matching my other surviving flip flop, but with blue accents, just to make it distinctive from the other. I showed it to Austin, and we both snickered in disbelief. I continued to fish, only now with an even bigger grin on my face. What more could I ask for? Fishing in Colorado, with my son, and a completely restored pair of seasoned flip flops.

Some may think I'm silly, but I'm convinced God sent me that flip flop, answering my long-time prayer for a miracle. And although miracles happen all around me all day long, and sadly I fail to see them, this summer I wear my flip flops and am reminded every time I look down at my feet that God really is with me.

Flip flops have flopped my flip,

day's new rise

the day's new rise,
it sounds from Above,

with mourning dove coos
and covey quail cackles,
a flutter of wings,

and the still horse profile,
water trickles,
screaming every shade of green,

it's the breeze of His breath,
announcing blue skies overhead

it's the day's new rise,
it sounds from Above

~ tmk

(Santa Margarita, California)

God Danced

I can't remember who gave me this image of Jesus, with His impassioned, grimaced face feeling all that's ever felt, absorbing all that's ever been wronged, and carrying all that's ever let go. My eyes gaze upon it throughout the day... it sits right next to my computer screen. The one with his back toward me, why... he's limp. Needing this embrace I, too, have gone limp. Feels good. Feels like this is right where I need to be.

Before posting, I read what was written on the back by someone unknown to me:

God Danced

On the day I was born, God danced.

Did you really, God?

Was it a ritualistic, dignified,

bow from the waist kind of dance?

Or was it just possibly a wild and crazy

arm-flinging kind of thing?

Did you pronounce somberly

that here was another 'good girl' ('good boy')

that you created?

Or did you yell and holler and

grab the guy on the corner

to let him know that this time

you had really done it!

This time you created a winner --

This one was going to go all the way!

I hope you did, God --

I really hope you did.

~ Unknown

God danced,

It's Perfect

A bed without a bride is like a sunset all alone. Warm, cocooned, serene, but the missing robs its complete. Searching for the next best thing I swoon two little Chinese bundles of limp into my arms, already aloft in another world. Gently I place them onto the cold mattress. No matter, their place supersedes this place. Wrapping them with knitted cotton nearby, I hope to enhance this place that that place might not be disturbed. Standing over them the muscles in my face twitch to raise the corners of my lips, but no one can see. Now gingerly wiggling myself under those heavy blankets, I snuggle the littlest one. Body warmth warms mine. My hands touch the bottoms of little feet - my favorite part. Silently thankful, I sink into the place they are, missing her as my own sun sets.

A third of a day passes as if it were a second. The cushions now perfectly acclimatized, all three leave and begin to come back. Limbs move, bumping into the others. It's light now. The fluffy feline pushes his pads into my chest, the sound of his nails pulling the coverings off. Snickering from the girls pulsates my ears, and now the new day dawns. Still without bride. Still with them.

Writing here, while others with still closed eyes, the two skip into the room. "Daddy, please come look now!" Hesitant, but also eager, I walk behind them. "Close your eyes." "Now open." There was that place we shared last night. All made up, their own best way, almost like mine. Lumpy, wrinkly, disheveled, but a proud sacrifice to bring me joy. Hugs, kisses, thank yous. An impulse comes over me to straighten it out. Catching myself I restrain. It's perfect, just the way it is.

Keeping my eyes now open for more perfection today. Don't think I'll fix a thing,