behind the plastic

It was a sunny Wednesday in March. We packed up and drove to our vacation destination, our home away from home. The local Super Target.

Cool breezes blew us in through the sliding glass doors. Once inside, we were greeted by the signs of progress. A remodel. Tall sheets of white plastic squared off a large portion of the middle of the store and reached to the ceiling high above. Displays were pushed out of the way, making shopping possible around the perimeter of the hidden operation.

Loud noises, tools at work and the voices of the workmen were the only signs of life from the plastic expanse. We were left to wonder what tools made that sound and what was being changed. For a small person, the unknown was mysterious and perhaps a little frightening. The changing sounds, louder than softer,  metal grinding, pounding, men talking, voices laughing, No matter where we found ourselves in the store, her eyes were fixated on the white expanse. She asked questions about it. Talked about her daddy's tools. Finally, she asked us to take her closer to the plastic. Grandma and Evie set off.

They didn't last long. As they approached their destination her eyes grew as wide as saucers, her chin quivered. She asked for mama. I met them in the main aisle. She grabbed my neck and held on tightly, murmuring softly about the plastic and the noises. When asked if she was scared, she was quick to assure us that she was not. She will never admit to being scared or feeling sick. I'm not sure where she developed a knack for the power of positive thinking, but I hope to learn a thing or two. There is much to be said about choosing our thoughts well.

And we were on our way home again, shopping bags tucked safely in the trunk, Evie decorating her legs with brightly colored egg and flower stickers with thoughts of big, white plastic and big, scary tool noises adhered like a sticker to her memory.

She is still talking about that plastic, which is rather ironic, because I've been thinking about plastic too.

A few weeks ago I was talking with my sister on the phone about the great unknown: life. We talked about the moments when we face circumstances for which we have no answers, no plan, no ideas. The moments when we simply wait and trust that God is moving behind the scenes of what we see. Our hands are tied. Even in (especially in) the waiting, He is working, like the signs of progress in my local Target or a shopping mall, the thick white plastic stops us from stepping into what we are not yet meant to experience. Our moments of darkness and the unknown are not darkness to Him. Behind the plastic, God is moving. He has the master plan and is skillfully yielding the tools that will put together all of the fine details, the ones that make us panic and the many more that we will never even know to thank Him for. God sees the unseen.

One day the plastic will come down. The doors will open. And we will step into the beauty of God's work.

As one who sees words in pictures, I am so grateful to my sister for sharing her word picture with me.  A tangible picture of God's mysterious workings.

"Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying,

yet our inner man is being renewed day by day.

For momentary light affliction is producing for us an

 eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison,

 while we look not at the things which are seen,

but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal,

but the things which are not seen are eternal."

II Corintinans 4:16-18

Thou hast enclosed me behind and before, and laid Thy hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is too high, I cannot attain to it."

Psalms 139:5-6

hannah is 3!

dear hannah:
i wish i could come eat cake with you today and play in the sunshine but nobody will take me to arkansas. i really miss you. happy happy birthday to you and many more.
i love you.
evie

 

fright

I had a fright. An awful fright. It was worse than a fright really, more like a nightmare except with a happy ending. Much relief.

Under a sandy mop of curls is a little girl with a curious heart. She loves a good adventure, often at the expense of her mother. She is mine. I am that mother.

It is March. The time of year when we groan for the ground to shed it's wintery coat and coax the life to spring forth again. What a surprise then, a welcome surprise, to find ourselves in a burst of summer. Bare feet dance in the warm grass beside bulbs that grow an inch an hour. I laugh to think that the bulbs might wonder if they overslept, working quickly to make up for lost time, looking around to see if they are the last ones up. Breathing a sigh of relief to discover that they aren't.

We took a walk, the three of us, down to the park. A ride on the swing and she's off to climb and slide and socialize. And then we were off, to find adventures on a local nature path. On the way home we passed by some neighbors, kindly folk, and they invited us up and in their home. Much visiting later, I took Evie's hand and we headed home leaving Andy behind to listen err, chat some more.

Two blocks down and we were home. We dream of a big old farmhouse with trees and grass and quiet, but for now our home is a tiny little rambler on a busy corner. The lawn chair is mine, it's my post. I carefully watch those dark eyes and dancing feet, a curious heart begs them to find adventure beyond the protection of our little yard.

She chatted with the neighbor boys through the chainlink fence. They responded. Confident that they were engaging enough to keep her close, I stepped inside for a just a minute or two. When I returned, the yard was empty. I called for her but silence answered me. For a girl who cannot grasp the rules of play for hide and seek, she does well at the impromptu versions...like in a store or into some mischief in our house. She makes herself scarce when she chooses. I looked some more, calling her name first sweetly then pleadingly until an edge of panic settled in. I ran, looking more closely in places where danger may have kept her quiet. In the shed, under the cars, over to the neighbors. They had left the back yard and hadn't seen her. Panic washed over me. I shouted her name, dreaming all sorts of horrible things about where she could be and wondering if I would never see her again. When do you call the police, I wondered. So I screamed. Screamed her name at the top of my lungs.

From across the street came help, a neighbor. I described Evie's outfit. Dark brown tank-top, dark blue capris, pink tennis shoes. She ran down the street calling out for her. I ran the other way. From a distance I could see them. Andy, coming my way, and in his arms a small little girl in a dark brown shirt.

She had made record time in her two block run, crossing two streets in the journey. Andy had been kneeling on the ground receiving a tutorial on automotive struts when a curly haired girl appeared beside him with a cheery greeting, "Hi daddy!"  "Where is mommy?" he asked her, wondering at my absence. "At home," she cheerily replied. Leaving class early, he scooped her up and headed home.

Much relief.

I held her in my arms, buried my face in her sandy mop and breathed her in.

song of the sunshine

Lunch dishes stay on the table while I rock a curly topped girl snuggled in a soft blanket. After a busy morning, we welcome the rest, the quiet. The sunshine pours in through my windows, an honored guest. Sleepy girl falls asleep in my arms, I tuck her in bed. Soft curls on a polka dotted pillow. I watch her for a moment, wondering what her little mind dreams. Her long, dark eyelashes sweetly resting on soft white skin.

Back to the living room, a mess of adventures and imagination. Cushions form a tunnel on the floor in front of the couch. Jewelry, shoes, cars and dolls lie in random assortments, perhaps an image of the scene when the Lord returns. Bags and purses full of treasures, a baby stroller packed to the gills with tea party dishes, a dollhouse occupied by farm animals and insects. The lunch dishes still rest on the dining room table. Supper is unplanned but scheduled for 5pm, an appointment to follow. Clean but ready to be dried, a pile of towels fills my wash machine. Mountain ranges in my laundry room, a good task for a ready climber. Friends await the emailed return of their sweet greetings, I am delinquent again.

And here I sit. The sunshine warming my skin, calling me to lay aside the tasks at hand and dance in it's radiance. Clean the car. Organize some things that lay in disarray. Anything but the ordinary.

Warm breezes slip in the tiny opening in my screen door. Breathing deeply, I feel the freshness of the spring air deep in my lungs. I will rejoice in the beauty of the day and thank the Lord with ready hands.  To accomplish the good works He prepared beforehand that I should walk in them. To be faithful with the time I'm given.

When those dark eyes open from their sweet slumber, I want to greet her with love and time. Kisses on her soft cheeks and time to enjoy the beauty of the afternoon together. I want to dance with her to the music of bird songs and melting snowdrops, the nagging voices of unattended tasks long silenced.

Sweet joys await.

deep waters

Diamonds dance on the surface of the water. Warm breezes blow. Grass and flowers, resplendent in their cloaks of color, hem the lake. Their glorious hue a rivalry to the shimmering swells that gently, rhythmically sway. Beauty is the fragrance in the air.

I sit in the white sand, an audience to the insects performing their antics. Dragonflies hover over the water, their iridescent wings whispering. The buzz of honey bees as they skip from one flower petal stage to another. A daddy long legs tip toes across my foot. I wiggle my foot to shake him off and bury my toes in the warm sand. In the distance I hear a splash, a frisky fish jumps to catch a breath of golden air. I close my eyes and breathe deeply.

The shimmering swells call to me. I rise. My feet sink into the sand as I walk toward the water and slip in. The water is warm, inviting. From wading until the sandy bottom is beyond my step, swimming. I hold my breath and slip beneath the surface, leaving only the ripples to mark my presence.

The suns golden fingers reach down from the heavens and swish through the clear waters illuminating the life before me. Green plants sway in rhythm to the dance of the water. The sand shifts this way and that creating artwork that it reworks only moments later, as if it cannot make peace with it's accomplishments. Schools of fish swim by, taking me in with a wary eye, they move together as if choreographed. Silence is the music of this place.

I break the surface and fill my lungs with air. In and out, fast short breaths slow to long, deep ones. A dragonfly lands on my head for a moment, resting his wings before lifting off. Below the water, something brushes past my leg. I shriek and thrash wildly, imagining what lurks below. A long slow breath in and I plunge back under to explore again.

Another brush against my leg and I turn to see what is there. Before I can catch a glimpse, I feel something wrap around me. Panicked, I fight against the pressure of the grip. Soft black arms reach around me like ropes, tighter, my body held as if in a spiders web. My flailing achieves more bondage than freedom. I am completely powerless against the creature that holds me fast .The water blinds me as I look for my attacker. I cannot make out a shape. Darkness surrounds. My lungs scream. Seconds feel like hours.

The reality surrounding me takes root in my mind. I will fight until I cannot but I have made peace with my end. I am certain of it's nearness. I see stars.

As suddenly as the attack started, it ends. I am alone. Nearer to the surface than I anticipated, my head breaks free and greets the sweet, life giving air. I startle myself with the sound of gasping. I am spent but closer to my hidden foe than I wish to be. Swimming with all my might back to the sandy shore my mind plays tricks on me as the water brushes my skin.

My heart pounds wildly in my chest, my breath comes in small gasps, water pours into my mouth. I sift out the brackish water with my tongue, although some trickles down my throat. I am not a skillful swimmer, but achieve the distance in record time. The water is shallow here and I crawl from the water through the sand. It sticks to my damp skin. On my feet, I stumble back on to the soft grass and sink into it's softness.

The golden world now welcomes me as a weary traveller returning. The soft breeze carries the scent of blossoms and whispers through the pine needles high above me. An ant, and then another, crawl over my fingers. The haunting cry of a loon echos. My breath slows. I am safe.

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you,

and through the rivers,

they shall not overwhelm you.

When you walk through fire you shall not be burned,

the flame shall not consume you.

For I am the Lord your God, the holy One of Israel

your Savior...

Fear not, for I am with you."

 Isaiah 43:2, 3a, 5a ESV