Special Saturday

Some days I wake and see the sun, and I know I am loved by the Son.
Some days I wake and feel rested in my bones and my spirit jumps joyously when my babies come running to rouse me.
Some days I cannot wait to greet the day deliciously without worry or care, knowing Providence guides each moment.
Some days it is not scary knowing that my Father holds my very breath in His palm.
Some days the spilled milk and the leftover dishes look like divine décor.
Some days I cannot help but smile.

James just woke. He is snuggled beside me hoping to read what I write.
I feel the warmth of my child and know that this is a special Saturday.

Let Them Eat Cake!

I don't bake cakes. Well, at least I didn't. I made my first cake when I was around 10 for my Grandma Norma. She was a hero in my life. It was her birthday and I so wanted her to know how much I loved her. I made a layered cake with a mix. I worked hard and frosted it beautifully. The whole family was there to enjoy her day, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins. It was a fancier version of our Sunday dinners. I placed the cake on the table, passed out her beautiful yellow china and we all sang Happy Birthday. We cut the cake and served. I watched with breath taking anticipation as she took her first bite. She smiled, and gently spit it out. 
My face fell as everyone started laughing. You see, I had put parchment paper at the bottom of the baking rounds to keep it from sticking but in my haste and inexperience I forgot to remove them. She ate parchment paper. Well actually, she chewed parchment paper, but I guess that's just splitting hairs.
I was crushed. I kind of gave up on that whole cooking thang! <wink>

Fast forward about 20 years, with many cooking disasters and divines later, and the cake baking urge got the better or me. I saw the beauty of a thing on the Food Network show, The Pioneer Woman. It was tiered, it was creamy, it was Italian. I had to put my big girl panties on and try again.

This time I removed the parchment paper. This time there was only uhmmmmms and ahhhhhhhhhs as my family took their first bites. I had redeemed the time!

But it was bittersweet as there was no Sunday dinner, no Grandma, or Grandpa, or Aunts and Uncles around my table. No cousins provoking each other and encouraging each other. My family loved it, but there was too much of it, and I hope and I pray that Sunday dinners will again be someday. That families will come to dine on my Grandmas dishes she left behind. And that we will bow our heads and give thanks, for the fellowship, for the love, and for the cake that now, I actually can bake.

PS Thanks Pioneer Woman for getting me to try try try again!
Oh and for the rest of you that might want to give this monstrosity of yumminess a go, check out her website for the recipe! http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2009/07/billies-italian-cream-cake-recipe/

10 Months

It's been 10 months now since John's birth. It hits hard.

10 months, is a moment, and forever.

10 months after my other babies I was pregnant or on my way to getting pregnant.

10 months is when everyone forgets. And your family doesn't want you to talk about it. And you are supposed to smile, and press on, and think of it as a movie you don't want to watch.

And I have smiled, and pressed on, and slowed talking about it. It has been my duty.

But today . . .
Today I want my son. I want my life and health restored. And I want people to REMEMBER!

I have been praying, and I have been studying. Searching and seeking.

And the Lord led me to this,

Psalm 116:17
I will offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and will call upon the name of the LORD.

And it is a sacrifice! To thank the Lord for your dead son. And it is hard to call upon Him when it feels He's left you.

But feelings are deceitful. And Eve is so often deceived.

So I bow my head and lift up my heart, "Lord, thank you for 4 days. Lord, thank you for 4 days. Lord, thank you."

And I cry, because the sacrifice humbles me, puts hope in me, and begins the next round of healing.

Spent

I long for time. A minute here a second there, oh, and the moment . . .
But typically there is only the call of chaos, organized or unorganized, grasping me over and over and over again.
And the minutes, seconds, moments, the ones I long to spend being productive, creative, a minister or friend, the time that happens only after children are in bed, the day has done, and what was, has set, I spend them in nothing, and then drift off to sleep.
Most would say it is an empty life, because it is often void of desires.
However, I see there smiles, and I watch them breathe as they sleep, I let the mud lie on the floor knowing tomorrow there will be more, and I can inhale the goodness, I can inhale the vision, and know I am right where I am meant to be.

The Ugly Discussion of Fat

Sooooo . . .
I know I have two separate voices on this blog. The poetic and spiritual voice that has knitted me together and torn me apart, the one that longs to be in tune with the One and the one that is mindful of the big picture, the beautiful, the eternal.

But there is the other voice, the one that likes good hair days, walks outside with my husband, that laughs a lot, that gets too loud when I run into old friends or old clients, the one that is playful and perky and down right annoying at times.

And I am both of these.

So today, I apologize, but I will be writing in the latter of the two voices.

I would like to discuss fat. The kind that hangs onto my hips, protrudes my belly and makes me ashamed to have sleeveless dresses in the hot 90 degree days.

I would like to lose mine. However, <sigh> it ain't easy sisters.

My mind vacillates on low carb vs. vegan. Always back and forth, see-saw, until I give up and head for DQ to get me some Blizzard. I have restricted calories and I just get cranky. 1200 calories daily is not for me.

Oh, and it isn't just fat I am concerned about. It's the whole health thing too. As you know, you who have been reading, I haven't felt too great this year. I was vegan once. Lost 15 pounds in a month. Felt like a rock star. Had the energy of 10 cups of coffee. Awesome.

Tried it a few months ago. Not as quick of results. Ahem, not many results.

Started doing low carb. Got results, got bored. Also got backed up. (Hey, I warned you what voice I was speaking in.) But the tummy did get flatter, well for me at least. And the sugar lows I had had went away. But then I ate a few <gasp> carbs. Not many, just a titch over 3 days and wouldn't you know it 5 of those goofy pounds I had lost came rushing back to my hips.

So, I am confused, perplexed and perturbed.

Luckily, hubby says he like me just the way I am.

I just need to as well.

Any ideas?

Encourage

I have been encouraged. Today a building.
I have looked ill most of this last year. Worn, ragged, a wilting if you will.

Today, I ran into an old friend, she and her husband told me I had a glow.
Me? The wilted flower? The rained on, washed out, white walled woman?

A glow?

I have been misery laden, in the midst of my happy life. And while I can hide tears and tantrums; the sick, the sadness, the death, it permeates, pulls through and pops out, but . . .

I have a glow! Where did it come from? When did it pop back into my face, my body, my heart. When did I wake up again and allow happiness, and when did the healing begin? And, if I may be so bold, when will the healing be finished?

And, I know the answer. It won't. Not this side of heaven. But . . .

The yellow brick road has been laid out, and my slippers step delicately, one tiny tiptoe at a time.

I feel encouraged. I feel light. I feel the Maker and know His hand is upon this kind word.

And I feel the glow; the small steady flame-fire. A kindling yes, but fire inside non-the-less.

And I cannot help but smile.