of halloweens past

(you may remember this post, in which i mentioned my regret over not taking any pictures in the last six weeks of eliza's life. the anniversary of the start of those six weeks--and thus the anniversary of these last photos--is today.)

just one cotton pickin' minute

(please pardon this damn yankee while i expand my southern horizons...)



"the touch, the feel of cotton: the fabric of our lives," said the once-upon-a-time jingle. really? (tangent: i had a conversation with someone this weekend about the demise of the jingle. have the days of good jingles really gone the way of good sitcoms? sad. but perhaps a topic for another post, as this is not about jingles at all.)

i saw my first cotton plant today. well, i think it was my first. the first i remember, anyhow. did you know there's a hard seed inside that fluffy puff? it got me thinking, you know...so i did some reading about cotton.

the cotton plant starts out with just leaves, then develops a beautiful flower. that flower has to wither and die in order to reveal the boll, a seed pod. that seed pod swells and swells until it bursts, revealing the soft puff of cotton that will become a t-shirt or sweater or blanket.

can our lives be described in this way? immature leaves, eagerly sprouting up and displaying showy flowers that wither and die as we mature. pods of potential, full of seeds just bursting to get out, which must wait and wait until just the right moment. something useful and comforting and soft, bearing inside it the residue of hard things, all at once the reminder of what came before the softness and the promise of future growth.

even on day three of swine flu...

...he was still looking pretty handsome for his team photos, if you ask this mama.

(said sam today, as i cheered in the torrential rain on the sidelines: "you have become such a soccer mom, do you know that?" i explained to him that this is considered a derogatory term in many circles...but i'll take it in the complimentary spirit in which it was offered. go luke! i'll always be cheering for you...)

found while cleaning the kitchen

an excerpt from "a portrait," by christina rossetti
(sent to us by whom i can't remember)

They knelt in silent anguish by her bed,
And could not weep; but calmly there she lay.
All pain had left her; and the sun's last ray
Shone through upon her; warming into red
The shady curtains. In her heart she said:
'Heaven opens; I leave these and go away;
The Bridegroom calls,--shall the Bride seek to stay?'
Then low upon her breast she bowed her head.
O lily flower, O gem of priceless worth,
O dove with patient voice and patient eyes,
O fruitful vine amid a land of dearth,
O maid replete with loving purities,
Thou bowedst down thy head with friends on earth
To raise it with the saints in Paradise.

happiness and rejoicing

it’s terrible theology, really.

i’m inright, outright, upright, downright happy all the time.
since jesus christ came in and took away my sin,
i’m inright, outright, upright, downright happy all the time.

ever since i listened to my first toddler bible song cd with luke and heard those lyrics, i have been troubled by them. is this what we’re teaching our kids? if i believe in Jesus, i’ll be happy all the time? i’m sorry, but…what a lie.

don’t get me wrong: the christian life is full of joy. and the scriptures teach us--command us, even--to rejoice. paul exhorts the philippians to “rejoice in the Lord always; again i will say, rejoice” (phil 4:4), and the psalmist tells us to “be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, o righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart! (ps 32:11).

but rejoicing and happiness are two different things indeed.

merriam-webster's online dictionary (have i mentioned how i lament the loss of actual dictionaries along with actual thesauri and actual books, even? oh no, never a kindle...a topic for another post, maybe) defines "happiness" as "a state of well-being or contentment; a pleasurable or satisfying experience." meanwhile, the dictionary defines "rejoice" as "to feel great joy or delight."

there's a difference. no?

"happiness" is a noun. it is a thing that one has. that silly song promises that i will have happiness all the time if i have God. "rejoice," on the other hand, is a verb. it is something one does. as a verb, then, it is something i must choose to do. paul does not tell the philippians they have happiness. he tells them to rejoice. get busy doing something, not waiting for something to be given to you. the psalmist does not say you are happy. he says rejoice! shout for joy! do something!

in fact, the scriptures do not promise happiness but suffering. and in this suffering--get this--we are called to rejoice. it's all over the bible. "not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope" (romans 5:3). happiness does not produce perseverance; if our circumstances are all happy, what do we have to persevere for? i'll take character and hope over "a state of contentment" any day. "rejoice that you participate in the sufferings of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when His glory is revealed" (1peter 4:13). rejoice in sufferings, so that i may be overjoyed. okay: i'll take "overjoyed" over "happy," thank you very much.

don't get me wrong: i love a happy occasion, a happy day, a happy moment. i'll take all the happy i can get. but i won't expect to be inright-outright-upright-downright happy all the time (inright isn't even a word, for crying out loud, and don't get me started on the non-words we waste time teaching kids) because that's not what scripture promises. i'll expect to be beyond happy--to be overjoyed--someday; and in the meantime, i will rejoice and persevere in hope and anticipation of that day. again, i say rejoice!

garden dedication

menorah park senior living community in syracuse, new york:

the terrace floor, home to forty-four residents suffering from dementia, who, thanks to my parents, now have a beautiful, secure, outdoor living space (decorated with many cardinals!)

some of what my dad planned to say:

The family is here today because of Eliza--our granddaughter and Luke's baby sister. Eliza was with us for just short of three years. She had a hard life, and we will never be sure just how much peace she ever experienced. When she died last December, Patricia [that's my mom] and I knew we had to do something in her name, but it would have to help others find peace and comfort.

And then [the Menorah Park CEO] came to our rescue. We had been thinking about sponsoring a garden somewhere at Menorah Park for families to have a place to be outside and to hopefully find some peace during what may be difficult times. She asked if we might consider rebuilding this space for Menorah Park residents and their families who, because of their particular illness, cannot walk the grounds freely and enjoy a sitting area. We think it is a perfect way to remember Eliza who struggled so mightily to find peace, while at the same time finding a way of giving our residents and their families an opportunity to also have some peace and comfort if only for the moment.

abiding (and apple picking)

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.

You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned.

If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

--John 15:1-8