He keeps doing what he loves. . . .

Yesterday John and I got to take part in Grandparents Day with Hope and Logan, children from our church family.
In first grade the teacher requested a few grandparents to volunteer for storytelling.  Hope, sweet girl, right away raised her hand and offered John and me for the storytelling job!

I declined, but John stepped up with a story of his own, a great story about 6 year old Johnny who was fearful of train tracks and train noise but who loved his grandma's quiet house and the delight of exploring old trunks in the basement. The kids were attentive, laughed and responded in all the right places in the story. Then they clapped at the end.

Sometimes I wonder,  What does a man do with himself in retirement?
This man just keeps doing what he loves . . . and I'm grateful.

we share children. . .

Early this morning I pulled tall weeds from my garden, weeds that evidence my 5 week absence.
Martha, my sweet neighbor, faithfully watered my garden in the August heat, but weeds always grow faster and heartier than plants, have you noticed?

A few weeks ago we headed south to Texas, driving between New York, Ohio, Tennessee and Arkansas. I kept waking in the night, Which bed? in which house? where's the bathroom?
But now we're home- and my neighbor sent me a text, "Welcome home, it's good to see your windows open again!"

Sometimes I come home from a summer trip and feel like I need a vacation. This time I'm weary and resting- weary and pursing the next thing. Summer memories and milestones flood in.. . . and I'm thinking about lots of sweet ones.
For the fourth time I heard my husband answer, "Who gives this woman to be married to this man?" (funny thing, he answers a little different every time, but the sentiment is the same- warm and hearty affirmation.)

 I'm thinking about Lucinda, my dear friend, and how we share children and grandchildren twice over- Lucinda, we get to be mother-in-laws together, again, imagine that?

The Monday after the wedding, in the yard over coffee and scones we talked about our favorite parts of the day. . . . the dancing flower girls. . . worship in the open air. . . the vows, bold and tender.

We prayed together for our children, Sam and Mercy, Nathaniel and Abigail- and I thought about the richness of friendship and a favorite quote:

"They went lovingly on together and had pleasant conversation

 about all the things that happened to them on their pilgrimage"

(The Pilgrim's Progress)

night watches

My eyes anticipate the night watches, that I may meditate on your promise.
Ps 119:148

I don't especially long for night watches - but lately sleep struggles dominate the 24 hour cycle of my life.  I can grind my teeth- or like the psalmist, I can embrace wakeful nights.

Last week a fan whirred in the window pulling in cool air at 2 A.M. I sat at my desk, pale light spread over book and paper, and I listened to John's breathing in the adjoining room.
And the night breathed, warm yet pleasant, "Lord, this is good," I sighed.

And in my red covered journal I recorded meditations and prayer to keep remembering in the dark of night and beyond.

There is one who scatters but increases all the more and there is one who withholds what is justly due but it results only in want. (Prov 11:24)

Lord, when the day dawns, today, tomorrow, the next, help me to generously scatter- Lord, show me when and how I withhold what is justly due. . . . my resources, yes, but make me willing  to give myself, to carry heavy burdens - cheerfully.

O give thanks to the Lord, call upon his name, Sing to Him. . . .speak of his wonders, Glory in his holy name. Let the heart of those who seek the Lord be glad. Seek the Lord and his strength, seek His face continually. . . 
(Ps 105)

Lord, for my loved ones- Let the heart of those who seek the Lord be glad with the first light of morning, the next day and the next. . . .and into the night.

wisdom - better than silver

Men in spandex- so say their wives. . .  notice my husband there, riding out on Arkansas roads with his boys.
And after the ride he's a happy man, albeit chagrined that he can't sprint with the pack.
We remind him. . .

The glory of young men is their strength and the honor of old men is their grey hair. (Prov 22:29)

So, I've been thinking about the honor of grey hair (because I'm grey too!)
Grey hair indicates longevity, experience, achievement; hopefully grey hair signals humility and wisdom, but sometimes I wonder. . .

Recently I succumbed to an internet scam; Yikes! what happened to my better judgement?
I know all about sin's dark side, but when the deception came into my own house, into my own computer, when darkness masqueraded as light, I foolishly stepped into the trap.  Ahh, it all appeared and sounded so right, so good. "All your personal information is at risk!" they warned. And then fear hijacked my mind.
With hindsight, I detect hints that should have warned me to yell, Deceivers!
But I didn't. . . .

 So, John came home and I cried, angry, mortified. He held me and mopped up my mess, patient man.

Heart, what did you learn? 

 As my wonderful brood of grandchildren increases,  I keep writing their names in my Bible's margin beside Proverbs 8- but the wisdom pursuit is for me too, even as one by one my hair turns grey-

"Does not wisdom call and understanding lift up her voice?. . .

 Take my instruction and not silver and knowledge rather than choicest gold.

 For wisdom is better than jewels and all desirable things can not compare with her."

emotions like knitted cables

I'm a productive knitter when John drives on road trips, but mostly I'm a meandering, sporadic knitter. A few weeks ago I unraveled a stale project and began knitting a small blue sweater with textured seed stitch and twisted cables- Ahh, smooth, lovely cotton/rayon yarn! If I'm an undistracted knitter, then the cables twist perfectly, but if not, then I rip and redo.
My emotions are like knitted cables, weaving appropriately through the seed stitch of my life, but sometimes my emotions are like tangled cables. I'm taking inventory of the past week. . . .

Joy- This week John turned 66 years old; we celebrated his day with our grandchildren at the  children's museum. He loved it!  My husband describes himself. . . an old man who rides his bicycle like the wind!

Longing- This week my sweet friend moved away, far away. Sometimes God blesses us with an uncommon friendship-  then we exclaim, "Thank you God! this friendship is from you!" My friend is  gone from sight and there's a hole. . .

Pleasure- This week I've been looking at tutorials-  how to make a wedding veil.  Mercy will marry Samuel in August. . . lots of emotion but mainly pleasure!

Uncertainty- This week there were moments when my life seemed undefined. . . . How do I do this new season? Every day I tell myself (as I readily remind others), "Heart, you are in Christ." And day after day I fight to bring truth close, truth that remembers my identity is in Christ.

Delight- This week I got a text from Anna, "Mrs. Newton, is this you? Are you in town, I've missed you!" Ahh, the delight of an unexpected coffee with this sweet girl. Anna's mother is in heaven-- and I'm certain she would delight her mother's heart.

Disappointment- This week I've asked myself, "Heart, why are you disappointed?" Unraveling the event of disappointment from the emotion, I'm pursuing good fruit, "Lord, I want my emotion to grow in the soil of love and faith, producing contentment and gracious forbearance- and Lord, I need you!"

Sadness and Wonder- Last week Elisabeth Elliot went to heaven- even though we never met she impacted my life over decades. She taught me to embrace biblical womanhood, to find satisfaction and beauty in my role.  I still hear her words:

Let God be God. . . in acceptance there is peace. . . Trust God and obey Him! 

So, on the day Elisabeth Elliot died I had a good cry for the wonder of a life lived well and a Savior worshiped.

 So, I wonder- how can a mountain of emotion crowd into one soul in a gathering of days? These good emotions are a gift from the God who created me in his image, reminding me that I'm alive! I'm all too aware of the tangles but ever grateful He's at hand, always.

Our dwelling place

John and I spent last week with sweet children from our church community. Mom and Dad flew out of town and we sort of took their place. It felt a bit like vacation- you know, cooking in a new kitchen, loving on toddlers, mornings at the park, zoo day, no reminders that my clogged closets call my name . . .

So, we live in this old house with memories that sometime suffocate me- and we're still trying to figure out our house and retirement. Should we fix the leaks and cracks in this old house?  Should we move on to a smaller, newer space? Should we give it all away and launch a radical retirement in a tear drop trailer?
Hmmm, maybe - maybe not- but for now we keep chipping away on our old house.
We planted a little tree in the yard and John's busy with a creative deck project. For months my favorite cut out lay hidden on a dusty shelf and finally I framed it- a new picture to hang on my old wall.

Yesterday morning I found myself driving in the neighborhood of a new coffee shop. Do I dare stop and have a coffee alone? Yes, do it! So I chose a spot on an umbrella shaded patio and splurged on a croissant and coffee in a white cup. I sat in this lovely space reading, musing, when an elderly man from a neighboring table approached.

"Are you reading the Bible? you need to read this verse." Fumbling with a pencil, he appeared  confused.

I offered up my Bible; he leaned over the table, smoothing the rumbled pages. "Right here, Psalm 90!"

And the kind stranger read to me,  "Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were born you gave birth to the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting you are God."

Then he handed back my Bible, smiled and walked away. Sometimes life on this earth is so strange, so good- and God's Word is incredibly timely. . .

He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane. 

I am a tree bending beneath the weight of his wind

Mercy, oh how He loves. . .

a kind of mothering

A sweet woman from my church community slipped me a dozen home grown eggs on Mother's Day.
All week John has been eating eggs- and I have been savoring a look. . . tiny, extra large, blue, brown,
speckled white eggs.

Five years ago John and I visited Abigail and Nathaniel in London and there we celebrated Mothering Sunday. Bunches of spring daffodils awaited all the women that day.  I love the term Mothering Sunday- because in
every culture women nurture and mother others in all sorts of relationships and contexts.

Early Thursday morning Isa sent me a text, "Can we switch our 10 A.M. date to a coffee shop on Broadway?"

"Perfect! I'm on my way to an impromptu 8 A.M. date at a different shop on Broadway!"

Ahh, I'm a rich woman- 2 coffee dates on a single morning at 2 shops where the coffee is good.

So, I pushed open the heavy door to #2 shop on Broadway and spotted sweet Isa bent over her laptop. We hugged and I  scooted my chair close while rummaging deep in my bag for $2 for a coffee.
#2 coffee shop on Broadway felt familiar yet changed- I surveyed the shiny tables, the leather chairs, the urban mural. . . Ahh, indeed! a dozen years ago I met Mary week after week in this place- mothering of sorts happened here.

Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have rolled over me. . . (Psalm 42:7-8)

Sometimes life's rolling waves crash in on one's soul- the roar seems deafening. . . By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life.

 Week after week over coffee and God's Word we exposed our hearts- and mothering of sorts happened here.

 Friend! Guess where I went for coffee today? Remember? Thanks for letting me know you, really know you-