when summer comes, i tend to wander outdoors and take pictures of lovies rather than write. so, here’s to gardening and old tractors that double as jungle gyms. here’s to dandelion crowns and popsicles on the front lawn. here’s to family and children and sunburns and happy moments of laughter.
I filled the house with smoke for the second week in a row. You would think that after five and half years, I would get the hang of this oven. Alas, it seems to not be so. The coconut oil that spilled into the bottom last week (which started quite the fire) apparently was not all burned up.
The coffee cake this morning? Not the best. Sorry, dear Pioneer Woman, but it seems your tastes are a bit sweeter than mine. It felt a little like inhaling spoonfuls of sugar. (Maybe I’m just sensitive to the stuff.)
There is a bag of trash that has been sitting by my front door for three days. (Ew!) It, unfortunately, has blended into the woodwork and I keep forgetting to take it with me when I go to the barn.
I was kind of hoping that no one who need to use the restroom while they were here because there is a huge pile of laundry in there that never got taken care of.
And I was actually praying that no one would need to open the fridge for anything. There is something dead in there. Probably that container of chicken stock that I thawed two weeks ago but forgot to use.
What I’m really trying to say is neither my house, nor I, am very well put together at times.
But it never fails. When I open my door, open my home– God shows up. He pours blessings on me.
He empties out the pride, forgives the sinfulness, and wraps me tight in grace.
We decided to have prayer meetings on Tuesday mornings. It is the evidence that God has been stirring things up because my husband hates mornings. Yet, it was his idea to invite people up at 5:30AM to drink coffee and pray. It was originally going to be a one-time thing– he just felt the burden to pray for a friend and invited some others to join in.
But then it was so wonderful– meeting God in community, right first thing in morning– so we’ve had a few more. And now, for this season at least, I don’t think we’ll stop.
God created community. He designed us for it. We are made to have a personal relationship with Christ and at the same time to share our walk with those around us. And the more true community you have, the more you crave it. Even enough to stumble out of bed at ridiculous times in the morning.
(Seriously, when we milked cows we didn’t get up at 5:30 (we milked at 7 and 7) but for prayer and community and the presence of God? Absolutely.)
I challenge you, friends, to establish community. No matter what your house looks like. No matter if you can cook (*ahem*) or if your floors are clean. Because it’s not really about all that stuff anyway. It’s about Jesus. Living. Moving. Breathing. Changing lives and forgiving sins and transforming hearts.
And if you live in the area, come on up next Tuesday morning. For reals. We’d love to have you. (And hopefully by then the trash will be taken out, the laundry cleaned up, the house smoke-free, and breakfast edible. But you never know. I make no promises. There will, however, be coffee and prayer.)
my beautiful Mama, in Alaska, when I was a little girl.
My mother never sugar-coated Christianity. She lived it raw, and hard, and glorious, and miraculous, and painful, and in such brutal honesty that I reached womanhood with a burning desire to know this scandalous beautiful Savior.
Her faith stills me quiet.
Her passionate existence stirs me to move and live and fight.
As a small child, I watched her move from New York and all her family to the towering mountains and strangers of Alaska. I saw her tears of loneliness and her sharp clinging to the true Comforter.
By the time I was nine years old, I had watched her face cancer with brilliant fearlessness, even while “what if’s” made her shake.
I remember her prayers– for anyone, everyone. The phone calls that ended with, “Can I pray with you?” Her feet pacing the kitchen as she called down the heavenly hosts to transform situations and lives.
She wasn’t perfect. That same passion that caused her to laugh and play silly games and adopt outrageous accents to make everyone else fall into stitches, also caused her to holler in frustration and anger when her four children tag-teamed to push her buttons. (She always joked that we must have secret meetings at night to sign up for what hour we were going to pester her. Just when one kid would get settled and attitudes dealt with, the next would start up.)
But I remember being 19 and having a woman look me right in the eye and say, “You honor your Mama,” she wiped tears and said with a shaking voice, “I would have aborted my son, my precious son, if your mother hadn’t intervened.” This woman spoke the story and I stood quiet, hearing the testimony of my mother’s passionate pursuit of Christ, even to the point of being the last thing standing between a friend and an abortion clinic. I watched the woman’s son play with trucks on the floor at my feet and reveled in the legacy I had been handed.
I was in my twenties when I stood in that church beside her and a woman walked up to us, holding a dancing toddler by the hand. “I don’t know if you remember me,” the woman said to Mama, “but a couple years ago you visited and came to our Sunday School class. I was pregnant but I wasn’t doing very well emotionally and you shared about God and hope and joy and… well, I want you to meet someone.” She turned to the little pixie-faced child and said softly, “This is my daughter, Cheri. I named her after you.”
And then there was Haiti. The time when I stood, translating the woman’s dire circumstances… the breach baby, the lack of hospitals or midwives, the complications… and my mother stepping up and laying hands on the 9 month pregnant belly and requesting a miracle from the God of the Universe. And the next morning, translating the woman’s awestruck words, “I think the baby moved.” I called Mama right after she arrived home to the U.S. to tell her I was holding a healthy baby boy, no surgery necessary.
Miracles. Beauty.
I remember Mama hurting. So many tears… And I remember her face of peace after months of heartache. “Forgiveness is always best, Tashi-girl,” she told me. I heard the words down deep. Etching truth where lies attempt to embed themselves.
Then this past year. Oh, this past year. Me, married and gone, still learning so much from her quiet strength and wisdom. It was cancer again. A different kind.
I stood in the hallway of the hospital, looking down at her wedding rings, nestled with mine on my left hand. You can’t wear any jewelry into surgery, so she slipped them on my finger and I watched her face until she disappeared through the doors, then stared at the rings until my gaze blinded with tears.
I was blessed enough to give them back to her, and we were all blessed when the scans came back with no sign of anymore cancer. But even if they hadn’t, even if she had left me, the legacy I carry is bright and strong and brilliant.
I want to have faith like my mother. The kind that sings the praises of God through fear, heartache, cancer, loss, emptiness, fullness, joy, pain, or sadness. To be a true woman after God’s own heart.
Tell me your story. Maybe it wasn’t your mother, maybe it was a relative or friend or neighbor. Tell me about the woman whose faith spurs you forward.
“I have many names,” he said, “I will give you one of mine.”
“What…” she paused as if unsure, then collected her courage and continued, “What are your names?”
“You already know them,” the Deliverer answered, “I wrote them upon your heart long ago, before you chose to come to the Shadow House.”
“I don’t remember any names,” she whispered, sadness filling her. How could she have forgotten all of his names?
“I will tell you one. The one I am giving to you.” He held the girl-woman’s face in his hands and smiling into her eyes said, “My name is Beautiful One and your name shall be Beautiful One.“
The girl-woman’s gaze fell to the ground and great shaking sobs rose within her. “I…” her shoulders heaved, “I cannot accept that name,” she finished. The tears ran in torrents down her scarred cheeks, every one caught in the light-man’s hand.
“Why not?” the Deliverer questioned.
“Because I am not beautiful,” she told him, trying to look anywhere but at the wonderful man before her. “Can’t you see the scars?”
The light-man smiled. A bright blinding smile. “Yes, I see the scars,” he answered her. “You are not beautiful now, but you will be. Just as Outcast will truly become Chosen and Angry will become Joyfulness and each one of the other children will become what I am making them as well.”
“How is this possible?” No-Name questioned, the tears slowing as her hope began to grow.
“I made you,” the light-man explained, “I can change you into what you long to be,” he paused to make sure her eyes met his, “if you let me.”
The girl-woman bit her lip for a moment then said slowly, as if explaining a great hidden secret that she barely dared to speak out loud, “I do so wish to be beautiful.”
“Then I will take your scars upon myself,” he told her.
“No!” No-Name cried out. “You cannot take the scars! You are too perfect.”
“It is because I am perfect that I can take them,” the Deliverer explained to her. “Trust me.” He gripped both of her hands in his. “Will you take my name?”
She looked beyond him for a moment, at the group of children who were watching them, their eyes bright and their bodies washed clean. “I will,” she whispered.
As she spoke a scar appeared on his cheek. She watched in wonder as it marred his perfect skin. She grimaced as he winced from the pain. A name rose within her heart. She didn’t know where it had come from but it found it’s way to her lips and in a quiet steady voice she proclaimed, “Redeemer.” The scar suddenly vanished.
Another scar came. “Mighty God.” she said, her voice growing stronger. That scar also disappeared.
Another came. “Wonderful Counselor.” It vanished.
One scar after another came and vanished as No-Name spoke the names, her voice growing louder and more lovely with each passing moment.
“Everlasting Father.”
“Prince of Peace.”
“Author of Life.”
“Savior.”
“Jehovah.”
“I AM.”
“El-Elyon.”
“Jehovah.”
“Healer.”
“My Rock.”
“My Fortress.”
Name after name, scar after scar.
When the scars finally stopped, No-Name stood trembling before the Deliverer and he spoke, “You shall no longer live without a name for I have claimed you. I have taken your scars and now I give you my name,” he paused and smiled as the girl-woman’s eyes began to shimmer and sparkle, the murky gray fading into a brilliant blue, “Beautiful One.”
The children stepped back as a bright light burst from the gray skies and surrounded the two. A melody began and drifted out from within the swirling light. The golden laughter came again, only this time it was more brilliant, more lovely than it had ever been before. The light seemed to continue forever and soon the laughter faded as a whispered conversation took its place. Time stood still as they danced within the light cloud, oblivious of anything but each other.
After some time the light cloud began to fade and the heavens closed. The children gasped when Beautiful One came into view. Her worn tattered dress had been replaced by a gown of pure white. Her hair was washed clean and her blue eyes sparkled, sending rays of light onto every place her gaze landed. Her perfect skin was accented by the glow of warmth that swam around her.
Now there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she was no longer a child. She was a woman. A beautiful, light-filled woman who was gazing at the man she loved. The man whose name she had taken.
The light-man stepped back from her, smiling. “I have changed you,” he explained, “but it is your choice to stay this way.” He looked at the children who were gathering around Beautiful One, “The children will forget that they have been transformed. You must remind them.”
“Why me?” Beautiful One questioned.
“Because, my Beautiful One, they are a part of you,” the Deliverer explained.
Beautiful One looked around at the children who were gathered close to her, smiling and laughing. Her eyes widened as she realized that they each had brown curls and dancing blue eyes, exact replica’s of her own.
“And you are now a part of me,” the light-man told her. His hand lifted to brush her smooth cheek. “I am going away for a time. I am preparing a new house. A light house. Then I will return for you.”
“Don’t leave me,” Beautiful One whispered, her voice barely audible above the sound of the children who were now racing around the yard, laughing and shouting to each other.
“I will always be close to you. I am your light,” the Deliverer smiled then stepped back.
Beautiful One watched as the light-man disappeared back into the Shadow Woods, but the shadows didn’t close in behind him. In fact, everywhere she looked, the shadows ran away.
The children suddenly realized that he had gone away and ran to Beautiful One, reaching for her and asking where the light-man had gone. Beautiful One smiled as she gathered her girls close to her. “He’ll be back,” she told them, her voice ringing with confidence. He would be back.
That night, when the darkness came there was no whimpering or crying. Instead, a soft glowing light surrounded the children within the house and as they gathered together Beautiful One began to sing the promise that had been sung into her before the beginning of time,
I wish that I could tell you that never again did the children fear, never again was Beautiful One scarred; but I can’t. I can tell you, however, that despite the scars, the days when Angry, Spiteful, Prideful and the others found their way back in, the light never dimmed.
And although it felt like a very long time, the Deliverer did return for his bride. Once again he caught her tears and once again he took her scars and this time… this time he promised that never again would a tear fall and never again would a scar touch her beautiful face. This time, he took her and the children with him and they traveled over time and space to the light house that he had faithful built, just as he promised.
The End
The shadows danced across the room as the gray light faded quickly into oblivion. A whimper was heard in the closing darkness and the sound of shuffling feet. After a moment a match was lit and in the glowing light a face could be seen.
The girl holding the match was dirty and unkempt. Her brown curls hung about her face, oily and matted. Her face was covered with a multitude of tiny scars that crossed and covered each other giving her an unearthly look. She seemed to be somewhere between childhood and womanhood but it was hard to tell under the thick layer of dirt and grime. Her eyes might have been blue at one time but some kind of incredible sadness had overtaken them and the murky depths now gave out only a muted gray color.
A howling noise echoed through the house as the wind picked up speed. The slender hand holding the match shook slightly at the sound and the match dropped to the floor. Darkness consumed the room again and the whimpering returned.
“I’m scared,” a voice whispered.
“Me, too,” another sounded in the dark room.
The girl-woman’s voice wavered, “I have no more matches.”
“Stupid!” a new voice growled, “You let the only light we have go out!”
The whimpering grew louder as the angry voices debated and the darkness closed tighter.
After several minutes of anger, the fear began to set in again. The girl-woman sat down heavily in the midst of the frightened children. The smallest one whose whimpers could still be heard climbed onto her lap.
“I’m s-s-scared,” a voice repeated from the corner of the room.
The girl-woman reached out a hand in the pitch black room and felt around until she touched the girl. “Come, Frightened,” she said as she drew the child over. Within a few minutes all the children in the room were pressed close together, all reaching to the touch the girl-woman.
Frightened curled up next to her side. Hurting, who was still whimpering softly against her chest, was snuggled in her lap. The other children all tried to grab onto her hands, her hair, her skirt, whatever they could reach.
The fear was so thick that one could feel it in the air. After a moment of silence Spiteful whispered in her venomous way, “Why won’t you hum that song that makes us feel better? Huh, No-Name? Do you like it when we’re afraid?”
Hurting whimpered louder and her grip on the girl-woman tightened.
Angry reached out a hand and let her fingers scratch across No-Name’s face. “You’re causing the darkness aren’t you?!” She cried, then jerked her hand back, frightened at the feel of the girl-woman’s blood under her fingers.
No-Name reached up a hand to wipe the blood away that trickled down her cheek. Instead of responding she began to softly hum a song that was etched forever upon her heart. She had heard it once, long ago. The children knew of nothing except the Shadow House but No-Name had a memory, a distant drifting memory of a voice that sounded like water rushing over rocks singing the tune that she was now humming. Although she could hum the song, the words had forever escaped her.
The soft humming caused the children to relax around her. Spiteful and Angry both quieted and snuggled in close. Hurting’s whimpers subsided and Frightened slumped next to her as sleep overcame them all.
When they awoke, morning had come, though it wasn’t a sunlight or moonlight that shown in the morning at the Shadow House. Instead it was a gray-light that kept the darkness from overpowering but did nothing to stop the shadows from dancing upon on the walls.
“I hate you!” Spiteful growled from her corner of the room. The words were directed at Outcast who was slumped in the opposite corner. “I wish you’d leave. We don’t need you here.”
No-Name sighed as Angry joined the dispute. Hurting clung to what was left of the girl-woman’s tattered skirt and Wounded sat in another corner with her head in her hands rocking back and forth muttering under her breath, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
No-name sent Frightened and Lonely out to find matches. Usually she sent Angry and Spiteful, just to get them out of the house but today she didn’t have the energy to force them to go.
The girl-woman wiped a hand across her face then winced. The new scratch marks on her cheek were sure to leave scars. It didn’t matter though, for they only covered old scars from other children who had lashed out at her.
The morning dragged on and the children became restless. No-name went to the door many times to call for Frightened and Lonely to hurry with the matches, but they didn’t come. It was nearing noontime before she heard the pattering of their bare feet on the path. She hurried out to meet them and give them a good scolding for taking so long but stopped short when her gaze fell upon the two girls coming toward her.
In their hands were buckets full of matches, but more than that, they were hardly recognizable. Lonely was smiling, a huge smile that showed forth white teeth and sparking blue eyes. Her usual downcast expression was gone and replaced by one of pure joy. Never had No-name seen anything like it.
And Frightened, she looked nothing like she usually did. She was walking with such assurance there seemed to be no fear in her.
No-Name’s gaze swung from one smiling child to the other. “Lonely? Frightened?” Perhaps it simply wasn’t them…perhaps it was some other children who had lost their way.
“That’s not my name anymore,” the one who used to be Frightened proclaimed. It was most certainly her voice, but never once had the girl-woman heard her say anything except, “I’m scared.” The child continued to smile as she went on, “I have a new name! It’s Confidence! And Lonely isn’t lonely anymore, she’s Beloved!”
No-Name’s face betrayed her bewilderment. “What…where….how did you get new names?”
“He gave them to us.”
“He? He, who?” No-Name questioned.
“The Deliverer,” Confidence told her. The child’s voice displayed such awe that No-Name began to feel an ache within her heart.
“The Deliverer?” She asked, “Where is this man?”
“He’s coming!” Beloved exclaimed. “He’s coming here, for you! He said he has new names for all of you too!”
No-Name spun around to look at the group of children standing at the doorway of the Shadow House. “New names…” she whispered. If only it would really happen. The dirty unkempt children crept toward her and reached their hands out to touch her as they stared at Confidence and Beloved.
Just then a sound echoed through the yard. It was a strange sound that No-Name recognized from years before. It caused her skin to tingle and the ache in her heart to throb harder. The golden laughter grew louder as the being approached.
“It’s him!” Confidence said as she started jumping up and down in excitement.
A man stepped out of the Shadow woods that bordered the yard. He was different that anyone the children had ever seen. His whole body seemed to glow with a light that didn’t just lessen the shadows but caused them to run far from him.
He walked up until he was standing before No-Name and the little girls that were hidden behind her, their eyes hurting from the light that shone from him. Even the clean girls took a step closer to the girl-woman, their scrubbed skin not looking nearly as brilliant compared to the Deliverer.
The man’s eyes blazed as he searched until his gaze fell upon the smallest child. Little Hurting was whimpering and clinging to the girl-woman’s skirt afraid to look at the man who was glowing with light.
He lifted a hand and motioned for her to come. Hurting glanced at him but instead of going, hid further behind the girl-woman’s skirt. No-Name could see the longing in her eyes so she reached down and gave the child a slight push toward the man. As soon as Hurting took one step in his direction the man reached for her and gathered her into his arms. He rocked her back and forth whispering words of love softly in her ear.
As the light-man held the child the light began seeping from his hands that were wrapped around her. It traveled into her body and slowly her skin began to change. Patches of light began to show through the dirt then suddenly a glow of light burst out and swirled around them, hiding the two from view. In the midst of the swirling light a voice spoke. It echoed around the Shadow House, loud and commanding yet gentle and loving at the same time. “You shall no longer be called ‘Hurting’, for through me you have overcome your pain and heartache. Therefore, your name shall be ‘Overcoming One‘.”
The other children watched in wonder as the light began to settle and the outline of Hurting came into view. To their amazement the little girl, now glowing in light, threw her head back and laughed. It was the same golden laughter than had come from the light-man; a sound that caused their hearts to beat faster with longing.
The light-man turned again toward No-Name and the children and motioned for Outcast to come. The girl looked toward No-Name and at her nod, took a faltering step toward the man, afraid that he would turn her away. Instead he rushed to her and lifted her high in his arms. “My child,” He said in a voice loud enough that all could hear. The transformation began again and the voice in the glow of light proclaimed, “You shall no longer be called, ‘Outcast’ , for I have accepted you. Instead you will be known as ‘Chosen’, for I have chosen you as my own.”
One by one the children slipped from No-Name’s arms and clung to the Deliverer as he transformed them into new children. Angry became Joyfulness. Spiteful turned into Caring. Wounded became Healer.
The last child to come from her hiding place behind the girl-woman was Prideful. She hung back, her eyes longing to run to him, but her stubbornness keeping her there. She refused to move until No-name took her by the arm and marched her over to the Light-Man. He smiled at the child and embracing her in the swirls of light, he transformed her into Loving.
As the two of them stepped apart, both glittering with sparkles of light, the Deliverer turned his gaze to No-Name’s face. At that moment she felt a greater fear than she ever had before. She realized that while the other children had names that were being changed, she had no name at all.
Tears welled up in her eyes. She knew that she could not be transformed because she was no-one and it made her heart break within her. As the tears slid down her scarred cheeks, a hand reached out and caught them.
The Deliverer, who had waited for each of the children to come to him, did not wait for No-Name. He reached out and pulled her into his arms.
“What is the matter?” he asked, his mouth close to her ear. The sound had dropped to a musical tone that struck a chord within No-Name’s heart. It reminded her of something…someone from long ago.
She kept her head buried deep in his chest and whispered in complete shame, “I have no name.”
She stepped back from him and looked up at his beautiful face. In that moment she remembered her own scars. Horror filled her as the man lifted his hand and gently rubbed his finger across her scarred cheek.
“I have many names,” he said, “I will give you one of mine.”
You may have noticed in my sidebar that May 6th-13th is your chance to get a whole collection of ebooks on Natural Fertility at a savings of 92%. I am a contributing author to the bundle and make a percentage of the sales. You can read my disclosure here.
The grass is growing, the sun is streaming in windows, sweatshirts are being traded in for t-shirts…warmth has finally returned to the North Country– and when I received my advance collection of ebooks from the Natural Fertility Bundle, the first book I opened was this:
Uhm, yeah. For those of you who don’t know my husband, let me explain something: our home is not a home without ice cream. (hello, the nieces and nephews even call him Uncle Ice Cream.) But, actually, it’s not just my husband, it’s the whole Metzler crew.
Soon after our wedding we invited some family up to visit. Amos wanted to have ice cream and I said we had some. What I meant by “some” was an entire half gallon. He looked in the freezer and immediately left for town, coming back with 2 more half gallons. I thought he was a little excessive.
Turns out the Metzler family thinks “having ice cream” means everyone eating multiple bowls full. Sometimes in place of dinner.
Growing up they made homemade ice cream in this enormous White Mountain hand-crank freezer, and, well, it was homemade ice cream so you had to eat it all.
Old habits die hard.
My only struggle was that I greatly dislike all the added ingredients in most store-bought ice cream. Like…
• DIETHYLGLYCOL: A cheap chemical used as an emulsifier instead of eggs. It is also the same chemical used in antifreeze and paint removers.
• PIPERONAL: Used in place of vanilla. This chemical is used to kill lice.
• ALDEHYDE C-17: Used to flavor cherry ice cream. It is an inflammable liquid also used in aniline dyes, plastic and rubber.
• ETHYL ACETATE: Used to give ice cream a pineapple flavor – and as a cleaner for leather and textiles; its vapors have been known to cause chronic lung, liver and heart damage.
• BUTYRALDEHYDE: Used in nut-flavored ice cream. It is also used as an oil paint solvent.
• AMYLACETATE: Used for its banana flavor. It is also used as an oil paint solvent.
• BENZYL ACETATE: Used for its strawberry flavor. It is a nitrate solvent.-from Just Making Ice Cream
10 Reasons to Make Your Own Ice Cream
My problem is no more. This lovely little book (filled with mouth-watering photographs) has nourishing ice cream recipes, and as a bonus, everything you ever wondered about frozen desserts. (what’s the difference between sorbet and sherbet? What makes something a gelato or french-style?)
There are also tips and tricks to making your ice cream the best you’ve ever tasted and even five ways to make it without an ice cream freezer! This is definitely a happy-summer-book.
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On that same note, the bundle also contains an ebook that I have been eyeing for quite some time:
There are multitudes of excellent herbs available to aid in fertility… but sometimes taking them can be a drudge. I am flipped-out excited to try some of these yummy-looking recipes this summer.
There are also issue-specific smoothie recipes for thyroid issues, PCOS, Endometriosis, male issue infertility and more.
My blender gets a lot of use during the summer months and now, hopefully, those fruit-filled icy drinks can be beneficial to my health as well.
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Let’s just say that I’m looking forward to a fruity-creamy-sweet-summer!
–> To read more about the Natural Fertility Ebook Bundle, click here. <–
Tell me: What is your favorite cool-summer-treat?
