29 Days of Quiet {day one}

I used to dread this time of year: the dark days of mid-winter descending like a heavy fog after the crescendo of the holidays.

But this year is different.

I think it started in December, when we first learned about my father-in-law’s cancer. Just two weeks before Christmas, and suddenly all I wanted to do was curl up under the down comforter. Most of our typical holiday activities screeched to a halt. Instead, we concentrated on the regular routine – just getting through every day was enough.

While Brad was in Minnesota visiting doctors with his dad, I’d put the kids to bed, turn out all the lamps except the tiny white lights on the mantel and the ones wrapped around the bannister and the tree. Then I'd light a vanilla votive in the glass hurricane and lie back on the couch, fleece socks on my feet, comforter pulled up to my chin.

I didn't watch TV. I didn't read or blog or tweet. I simply lay with my head on the striped pillow and was quiet.

"It sounds kind of depressing," Brad said, when he called from Minneapolis and I told him about my nightly ritual.

But it wasn't. It was comforting.

I can’t even tell you what I thought about, or what I prayed, or even if I thought or prayed at all. All I know is that those nights under the comforter, the candle flickering shadows across the coffee table, the house creaking into the silence, those nights were solace for me.

That's when I first thought, why not embrace the quiet for a while?

And so, as we stand at the doorway of February, a leap year February, I invite you not to leap but to step gently into a month of quiet with me. Together let’s embrace this hushed, mid-winter pause. I’m not sure at all where this might lead us, or what this series will look like, or even if I will be able to maintain it uninterrupted for the full 29 days, but I invite you to walk into 29 Days of Quiet with me.

Will you come along?

{a note: I will *try* to post all 29 days of February, but Mondays will still be reserved for the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community link-up. So please don't hesitate to come on by and link up for that, as noisily as you wish!}

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: For the Times You are Afraid...and Obey Anyway

The day I knew I would have to say goodbye to my mother-in-law was one of the hardest, most terrifying moments I’ve ever faced. You see, until then, I’d never been around a dying person before. I didn’t know what a dying person looked like. Or how I should act or what I should say. I’d never walked into a “deathbed” scene; I’d never had to say goodbye to someone I loved, knowing I would never see that person again. And I’d never watched my children do the same.

As we drove from Nebraska to Minnesota that Labor Day Weekend, I was gripped by a paralyzing fear, and I scrambled for an excuse that would release me from the dreaded event that lay ahead. Just a mile from his parents’ house, I turned to Brad and blurted, “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I’m afraid.”

I thought of that moment yesterday morning in church as I listened to the reading from Exodus, about the preparations the Israelites made before they fled Egypt. As I heard God’s solemn words to them, I understood the fear and dread they must have experienced as they heeded his dire instructions:

“Wear your traveling clothes as you eat this meal, as though prepared for a long journey. Wear your sandals, and carry your walking sticks in your hands. Eat the food quickly, for this is the Lord’s Passover. On that night I will pass through the land of Egypt and kill all the firstborn sons and firstborn male animals in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 12:11-12).

Can you imagine the terror the Israelites must have felt? Can you imagine sitting with the knowledge that hundreds of young, first-born children would soon die? Can you imagine the dread? The apprehension?

The Israelites were faithful and obedient, sure, but I suspect they were also deeply afraid.

And the truth is, I think that’s okay.

Most of us assume that fear automatically signals distrust; but I think there are also times in life in which fear can and does go hand-in-hand with obedience. Let’s face it: life offers a lot of experiences we don’t particularly like and plenty of moments we’d prefer to skip.

God gets this. He knows us. He knows when we are weak. He knows when we are afraid. He knows that sometimes we have to force ourselves to obey him even when we’d rather run the other way. 

God knows that on some days, dread-filled, fearful, tentative obedience is just about all we can muster, and he accepts it for what it is: not a sign of distrust, but rather, a testament of our faith.

Have you ever been deeply afraid of something, yet still went ahead and did it out of sense of obedience or respect?

With Jen's Soli Deo Gloria:

Welcome to the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word. 

If you're here for the first time, click here for more information. And if you are a new participant, would you leave me a comment or send me an email to tell me it's your first time here, so I can be sure to stop by and say hello at your place?

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code over in the sidebar) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in -- thank you!

And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you -- I am so grateful to have you here!

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Weekend Meditation: Special Possession

With Deidra...

If you haven't done so already, would you kindly consider "liking" my Writer Facebook page by clicking here? Thank you! You can also  receive "Graceful" free in your email in-box or via the reader of your choice, by clicking here.

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Life Rolls On

His voice is raspy and smaller than I remember as I grip the phone to my ear, sun streaming long rectangles on the tile floor. I can tell his throat is parched, his lips dry. It’s only been three weeks since I last saw him, when I hugged him on the threshold that first morning of the New Year. "See you soon!" I'd called out, sliding into the idling mini-van, waving with the window rolled down to frigid Minnesota air.

I didn’t know it would be the last time.

We make small talk, even though it feels like I should say something more. I tell him the boys brought home trophies for “best effort” from the Cub Scouts Pinewood Derby. I mention Rowan’s basketball game, how he ducked beneath the hoop, covering his head with his hands when the ball swished through the net.

He laughs a little. “Life keeps rolling on,” he says, and I nod, even though he can't see me. “That's good,” he says, and I nod again, my throat closed tight.

Later I sit on cold concrete, arms tucked into fleece, January sun warm on my back. The boys leap and prance around an icy trickle of water draining from the culvert. They are working diligently on “clearing the stream,” making a path for the current to flow smoothly into the ditch.

The cuffs of Rowan’s pants are wet, the hem of his jacket, too. He bounces from one side of the rivulet to the other, stopping only to jam red fingers into pockets for a moment before getting back to work, calling gleefully to his brother when he has wrenched another ice clump free. They confer like they are city engineers, planning a new route for the water. It’s important work. I can tell.

I think for a moment about how gross that water is, winter’s grit and decay funneled from streets and alleys and gutters all around town. I should tear them away from it, force them to continue our walk along the path, head for the swings and slides, toward the voices ringing across the brown lawn. But I don’t.

A lady in a red winter hat and matching gloves pedals past. She sits regally on the wide seat, turning to glance down at the boys. “What is it about little boys and water?” she calls to me, and I shrug my shoulders, smiling as I shrug and lift my hands, palms toward the sky.

The breeze picks up, and the sun slips behind the bare maple tree. Chin on my knees, arms hugging shins, I watch the boys play in the dirty water. Noah points at how the trickle has widened, how it now flows unencumbered into the ditch. Rowan wipes gritty hands on his pants, satisfied. They look up at me, awaiting my approval.

For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

{I would be so grateful for your prayers, for my father-in-law, Jon, and for my husband, Brad, and his brother, Cary, as they walk alongside their dad in his final weeks. With love and gratitude, Michelle}

If you haven't done so already, would you kindly consider "liking" my Writer Facebook page by clicking here? Thank you! You can also  receive "Graceful" free in your email in-box or via the reader of your choice, by clicking here.

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I'm a Slow Loris

I’m what you might call the slow loris of book publishing.

 Are you familiar with the slow loris? I know it sounds like a Dr. Seuss character, but the slow loris is actually a real animal – a tiny primate with big, puppy-dog brown eyes and a round head (so far, nothing in common with me, in case you’re wondering). The slow loris is also described as a slow and deliberate climber.

Yup, that’s me: the slow, deliberate climber.

...I'm writing over at the WordServe Water Cooler today. Will you join me over there to read about what it's like to be a slow loris? {you may be one, too!}

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Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday: The Hard Heart

Whenever I read Exodus I’m horrified by Pharaoh’s behavior. Pharaoh tells Moses he’ll release the Israelites time and time again, yet when each plague subsides and the threat diminishes, he retracts his promise. Pharaoh chooses to ignore God; he intentionally hardens his heart against God:

“But when the Pharaoh saw that there was a respite, he hardened his heart, and would not listen to them, just as the Lord had said.” (Exodus 8:15)

“What a colossal jerk,” I think to myself. “How can he be so stupid? How can he choose to make the same mistake over and over again?”

It’s taken me years to recognize that I’ve had more than a few Pharaoh moments myself.

Take, for instance, the times in which I intentionally choose not to obey God. It’s true. I have done this. In the heat of the moment -- a moment in which I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am sinning -- I consciously choose to continue my sinful behavior.

It usually plays out like this:

An aggravating situation with my kids snowballs, and before I know it, my voice escalates into the witchy octave, my hair coils into writhing snakes and smoke seeps from my ears. At that moment I have a choice: I can lock myself in the bathroom until my blood pressure normalizes and I am able to discuss the problem rationally with my kids. Or I can proceed in Medusa-mom mode.

I admit, more than once I have chosen Medusa-mom mode. Even when I’ve unmistakably heard God’s voice in my head, there have been times that I have hardened my heart to him and intentionally tumbled toward sin.

I suspect most of us have been there, in the Pharaoh moment.  I suspect most of us have chosen to harden our hearts against God more than once in our lives. It’s an ugly place, isn’t it? And it’s a lonely place, too.

The difference between most of us and Pharaoh, of course, is that we don’t stay in that ugly, lonely, stubborn place forever. We relent. We repent. We soften our hearts. And when we come back to God he accepts us with grace, no strings attached.

I suspect he would have done the same for even the colossally jerky Pharaoh, too.

Do you ever see any similarities between yourself and Pharaoh?

Welcome to the "Hear It on Sunday, Use It on Monday" community, a place where we share what we are hearing from God and his Word. 

If you're here for the first time, click here for more information. And if you are a new participant, would you leave me a comment or send me an email to tell me it's your first time here, so I can be sure to stop by and say hello at your place?

Please include the Hear It, Use It button (grab the code over in the sidebar) or a link in your post, so your readers know where to find the community if they want to join in -- thank you!

And if you want to tweet about the community, please use the #HearItUseIt hashtag.

Thank you -- I am so grateful to have you here!

{apologies, apologies for forgetting to put the linky up till late this morning! Monday morning, jeepers!}

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Weekend Meditation: Spider's Web

With Deidra's Sunday community:

If you haven't done so already, would you kindly consider "liking" my Writer Facebook page by clicking here? Thank you! You can also  receive "Graceful" free in your email in-box or via the reader of your choice, by clicking here.

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