DogGoneIt!

My darling Babydaddy drove us home tonight.  From New Hampshire.  In the snow. In a front wheel drive minivan.  It's really not that big of a deal....except for all the horror stories and terrible fears my brain has entertained.  Yeah, no big deal.  I'm just so keyed up to be home--alive and completely thaw--that I need to update my blog when nothing interesting has happened lately.

I must say, though, this whole driving home in a snow storm thing is my dog's fault.  I often take him along when we go to see our friends in NH.  We're always gone for hours and hours, and I feel bad for him being alone all that time.  But some days I just want to hang out with my friends without keeping an eye on our toddler-puppy.  So I left him at home today when we headed north for a b.day party followed by a delightful dinner.  The snow came a gully washer and we had to start our drive home.  But, truly, we were not ready for the drive at all.  Our friends told us we could stay, Ladybug was already asleep, we were all so warm and cozy in their big, beautiful, clean home.  The ONLY reason we drove home, instead of taking up our friends on their offer, was our dog.  Our dadgum dog.  We couldn't stand the thought of him staying in his bed, all alone, with no one to let him out to potty.  So we packed up our sleepy, precious children and headed home in the type of weather you avoid.  You know, of course, every time we'd see a car stuck in the median, headlights facing the wrong direction, B.daddy would say, "This is when I hate having a dog."  And I love that about him.  He loves the dog I made him get so much, that he hates it.

Christmas was good.  B.daddy has been working extra hard during extra hours, and I've been keeping things afloat at home.  So we're both exhausted.  But I am thankful that I have a man who is a man who will work his fingers to the bone for his family.  This week of Christmas has been awesome.  He took a week of vaca from Job #1, and only had a few days at Job #2.  Our kids are old enough now that we can actually sleep in a bit.  (I NEVER thought I'd say those words!!! *Angels singing*)  Excepting Christmas morning, we've slept till eight or nine.  There was one day when they actually let me sleep till ten--or was it eleven?  Either way, it was pretty dang awesome.  Next week is technically a school vacation week, but B.daddy's going back to work, and I know the kids and I need to get back into a routine.  Ugh.  If only everyday could be vacation....without me turning into an overgrown louse.  If only.

Hold Wide the Door

...where meek souls will receive him,
still the dear christ enters in.

where children pure and happy
pray to the blessed child,

where misery cries out to thee,

son of the mother mild,
where charity stands watching
and faith holds wide the door,

the dark night wakes,

the glory breaks,

and christmas comes once more...

My husband and spawn humored me (once again) on Monday night.  We went to hear the Harvard University Choir perform their annual Christmas Carol Service.  Hark! The beauty my ears beheld!  Traditional carols--Scottish, Flemish, Welsh, and American. A freaking PIPE ORGAN! Procession hymn in Latin; Silent Night sung simultaneously in German and English.  Such glorious music vibrating through my core!  When Gizmo was not climbing the balcony wall in his snow boots, I was in pure bliss.

Obviously, we're talking about Harvard here.  I take my kids to these (free) types of events to expose them to the finest forms of music and art.  A "worship service" held at One Harvard Yard isn't exactly where I expect to worship.  But neither was the side of my baby's crib, the mall bathroom, or the pond where my kids were knee-deep feeding the ducks their lunch.  He surprises us sometimes with joy.
Even sad joy.

Our hearts are still sore and aching for all the babies and their parents who are reeling with grief.
Our minds combatting this side or that of gun control, mental illness, politics.
A world that is so broken, our hearts strike with fear.
But hasn't it always been broken?
Why should we expect America to fare any better than Isreal or Sudan?

I'm not very good at political thinking.  I have a thorough distaste for such discussions on T.V., Facebook, or in my living room.  I'm wired for Ground Zero.  Ground Zero is the people I love.  I couldn't give a rat's what's going on in the news, so long as I'm able to love and nurture those closest to me.  Maybe that's short-sighted, maybe it's self-centered.  This is what I know: if B.daddy and I are not good parents to our children, this world is just going to have a few more souls to heap on the pile of Messed Up.  Ground Zero is where I work to lift up those who will lift up infinitely more.

My mind has been spinning with all of this since Friday.  Pulled in all these directions, then shaking myself back to the reality that all I can do is love.
Love my Lord,
love my man,
love my babies,
love my brothers and sisters,
love the broken-hearted and despairing.
I have plenty of these in my life.  With eyes to see and ears to hear, we all do.

So in this High Church-esque service, surrounded by stupidly smart, intimidating brains, I find myself singing O Little Town of Bethlehem.  And in an instant, I'm at my Father's feet, crying misery and tiny coffins and aching arms, and Oh, dear Lord have mercy on me!  I can't stand knowledge of such pain.  What hope do I hold out to my babies that's not followed by, at least I hope so?

Oh that my faith would hold wide the door...
that I may hope no matter how many tragedies I file under Seen It....
that I may love these children pure and happy.

the dark night wakes,

and glory breaks,

and christmas comes once more...

Mercy

When I was a child I thought like a child.
I didn't have reference points to interpret loss, tragedy, and deep disappointment.  I viewed my mom, other women, men, towering above with great tears rolling out over things--no, over words I didn't know.  Ignorance and innocence were on my side.
I am older now.  I am a wife, a mother, a friend.  I do have reference points for pain, sadness, and disappointment. I have been loved so much and learned to love more truly.  To love truly is to risk everything.  The world that once made me dream of greatness now grieves my spirit.  My heart aches.
You know, I think I might be able to imagine what it would feel like to lose my 8-year-old daughter.  Might.  Because the instant my mind begins to grasp just one millisecond of what has to be the worst pain and torture on Earth, a planetary vacuum of the soul shuts down all systems.  I'm physically reeling, crying for others, "I can't even imagine!"  It is so crushing, our minds will not even allow us to imagine it.
When the Tsumani hit the coast of the Indian Ocean in 2004, I had only been a mom for 4 months.  I had hardly begun to grasp the gravity of life given and life lost.  My husband and I listened to an NPR interview with John Piper. He was calling on God's mercy, and exhorting all human beings to do the same.  I respected his perspective, but I couldn't quite connect the dots between mass destruction and repentance.
I understand now.
The answer is in the imagination.  That moment when your soul dry heaves at the picture of your worst possible grief?  It's the moment right after that. In that moment I feel the weight of what I've been given, Who has given it, and Who can take it away.  In that moment I am weeping, repenting, and pleading for mercy.  Because I believe He is sovereign, all knowing, and all powerful, I am literally at His mercy.  He owes me nothing.  I owe Him my life.  He is always good and just, whether His plans make me happy or turn my life into a black hole.  I am at His mercy, and what a wretched sinner am I!
Oh, but in His mercy...In His mercy is where we find ourselves.  He has sealed me in His love for all eternity.  He has promised that nothing can separate me from His love.  I cry thank you, thank you, thank you, and plead daily that He protect our family and not allow tragedy in.  But the hardest truth of all is that I believe He is my all loving Father, no matter how much pain He might allow me to feel.  That is a statement of faith I weakly hope can be refined by lesser fires than we have discussed here.