Quenched Thirsts and Forgiven Daddies

My Dear Poppy-Girl,

I barked at you Sunday night because you told me you were thirsty. It was late and I had already come back into the room on several occasions to get you and your little sister to stop giggling and go to sleep. You had school the next day. But as soon as I uttered my harsh, loud “No”, I knew I was in the wrong before I could even finish blurting out that short two letter word. It’s not that I can’t tell you “no” because I’m your father. But all day long I’d been thinking about myself, "engaged" with you and the family but not really. My response was not one of loving discipline, but anger and frustration just because I didn’t want to be interrupted any longer.

And that request for water? I realize now that you really were thirsty even though you might also have possessed a slight tinge of manipulation behind your tone. When you cowered away from me with a broken heart I knew that God was pricking my conscience with a sense of shame. After walking to the bathroom with my head held low, I returned with a Dixie cup of water (in spite of my "no"). Then I knelt down while you hid under the covers because you didn’t want me to see the tears on your cheeks. As you peeked out from under those sheets I put my eyes in front of yours and said, “Daddy was wrong to yell at you like that, Poppy. I was being selfish. Even daddies and mommies get selfish. But I love you, Sweetie. O. K.? Will you forgive me?” You put your soft little arms around my neck, and slowly and softly said, “I love you too, Daddy. It’s O. K. I forgive you. Willow and I are going to go to sleep now.”

Afterward I went and sedated myself with a silly T.V. movie which made me laugh, but still left me empty. I, too, then tried to go to sleep but couldn't, and it was because I was also thirsty. As much as I wanted and needed your forgiveness, my heart was parched for God's as well. So I arose and told Him what He already knew and asked Him what He wanted to hear from my own lips. Like you He quickly forgave, and then I was able to sleep.

I'm glad your thirst was quenched, and I'm glad I'm forgiven. I love you, Poppy.

And the Bride Wore Cowboy Boots

Victoria just sent me this story of a remarkable couple (click on link below):

http://www.theblazingcenter.com/2010/08/and-the-bride-wore-cowboy-boots.html

Victoria summed it up well when she wrote to our family with this link attached, "My heart feels so small sometimes." Today it feels a little larger having read and known this faith story of love.

Feeling spurred on,

Be Still and Know That I Am...

I like to sleep. Who doesn't? I don't usually have much of a problem falling to sleep. Ask Victoria. She stopped trying to talk to me while lying in bed a long time ago.

But sometimes, rarely in fact, I find myself awoken in the wee hours of the morning for no seeming reason. When I cannot fall back to sleep, I ask myself if it's God trying to get my attention. On Friday morning, at 1:30, I determined He was clearly knocking on the door from heaven. I asked Him if He'd just let me go back to sleep, but He'd have nothing of it. So, one hour later, I decided to get up and meet with Him. I donned my shorts, shirt and a sweatshirt and stumbled to the backyard through the darkness of the night. Finding a lawn chair, I sat under the almost full moon, stars and tree silhouettes. There was an irregularity of wind gusts, causing the eucalyptus trees to sway to and fro with a swishing sound that might usually seem eerie, but this time was easing. Feeling the urge to say something to God, like, "What? What is it? Do you have something you want to say to me?", I was restrained with the counter thought that maybe I don't need to say anything. And likewise, it suddenly dawned on me that He didn't have anything to say to me. He just wanted to be with me. And so it is between friends. Sometimes the best times are those when nothing is said at all. And for the first time, perhaps ever, I felt like I understood what it meant to "Be still and know that I am...".

I see little but the shadows cast from the moon's white light,
I hear nothing but the trees rustling from the wind's soft touch,
I look much deeper from the spirit that woke my solemn rest,
I wait for a word from the friend that asked me to listen tonight.

That word came in silence.

Being still,

The Sting of A Scythe

Separation stings like the swath of a scythe. Enduring a fair share, albeit light by comparison to most, has put a slight damper on our spirits. Thus the silence in our posts, lacking any creativity or the energy.

We finally lost our sweet Rosie-girl (Golden Retriever of 12 years). [I know, we posted while last in China that she was gone for good, but revived like a cat with nine-lives.] Her departure brought us much lower than we ever expected. Gentle strokes against her soft, warm snout while she closed her eyes under a strong sedative, opened the floodgates of quiet tears and a decade of memories. After the last beat of her heart, I lifted her warm, lifeless body and gingerly placed her in a shell with a comfortable blanket. We whispered to her a sweet, "Good-bye, Rosie", and then saw the last of her. That day marked the end of an era for our family, a time when all three of our first set of kids roamed about the house with the smell of a furry canine and the remnants of hair throughout. Weeks have passed, but our hearts still ache. She was a dog, but now we understand the pain others have felt knowing that she really was much more than that. God was good to let us have her so. Now hardly a day goes by when we don't say to one another, "I miss Rosie."

In contrast, we lifted our spirits by soon traveling to Colorado to vacation with Austin, Meagan and her parents (the Kirkpatrick's). Populating their household from four to ten was taken in good stride. We quickly felt at home. Our week adjacent to the Rockies, ever in view and sometimes in their midst, might rank as the highlight of our summer. But with that high came the low of another good-bye. Separating from Austin, Meagan and the Kirkpatrick's was a grief observed, again much stronger than we anticipated. Suddenly we were a family, less some. Austin was right when he said to me while standing beneath the expanse of the stars one warm evening, "All seems right and as it should be when we're all together." Yes, and all seems not so right when we're not.

Finally, I will say "good-bye" to a long-time passion for the sake of another. Elaborate I will not, but the time has come and I must move on and release. And yet again I feel the loss to a stronger degree than I ever expected. It's hard to let go.

God did not create us for separation. That's why its sting will lose its victory, at least in the end. For now He sedates with a love like none other. The numbness will one day be gone forever.

Wannabe Cool?

The content of this article is wonderful, but what's over-the-top supernatural is that it was posted in the Wall Street Journal:

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111704575355311122648100.html?KEYWORDS=houses+of+worship

Don't want cool, but wanna be real,