what I do. . .

The other day I had my biannual check up with  the dermatologist; following my treatment the doctor sat occupied with  my chart; then he asked, "What do you do?"
Me? is he talking to me or the nurse? I thought.
"Mrs. Newton, what do you do? he asked again.
"I'm a homemaker."  (I wanted to explain everything I do outside my home!)
Reflecting on the question. . .he's a dermatologist- most likely he intended to ask if I spend my days in the blazing sun, and if so he planned to urge me to an indoor occupation--nevertheless, his question makes me think about what I do.
Today  I read Ephesians 2:10:

"You are God's workmanship created in Christ Jesus for good works that he prepared before hand that you might walk in them."

So, no matter what I call it, God defines what I do as the good works he prepared before hand, specifically for me and for this season-this season that doesn't always appear as clearly defined as the last. . when I washed my children's clothes, cooked their oatmeal, taught them to read.
That season is finished. . .God prepared good works for me, walk in them!

as stimulating as black coffee. . .

  Good communication is just as stimulating as black coffee and just as hard to sleep after. 

(Anne Morrow Lindbergh)

The girls were in town last month and we visited with lots of nice people.

I love good conversation (then I can't sleep). . . there's a rhythm of  talk, pauses, questions- of listening, responding and restraint. I want get to know you, a person created in the image of the great Creator!

One day I was a frustrated observer as I listened to someone hog conversation.

 But it always comes right back to me. . . how do I communicate?

I love to ask: tell me about yourself!  but I don't always do the pauses well. 

And maybe I  fiendishly drive the conversation--or  ask a question, hoping that you will ask me one in return?

 I explained all this to my husband; he attempted to appease my frustration, "So, good communication is when you invite somebody in. . .then you give them space to invite you in too?" 

hmmm, that's good, it goes both ways, the inviting part. . .

in and out. . .

They're in and out of my life these days--my adult children and their children. . .

We played, worked, talked, and ate a lot of good food together last week; I'm getting better at listening, at holding unfinished thoughts and letting go of interrupted conversations. 

Naomi told us about good friends in Mexico City, "I hope God keeps them in our lives for a long time."

I know the feeling. . .

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Naomi was the last one to leave town, and before I took her to the airport, we sat together on the high stools in Gabrielle's sunny kitchen; she made Spanish coffee.  

She showed me the amazing grid of the Mexico City metro; we tweaked this and that on my blog and talked about camera aperture.  Aye, technology! my brain takes in only so much.

Then it was time to go--it seems that after they exit, unfinished conversations hover. . .

worthy pursuit

When my girls narrate their lives to me, sometimes I say, "That would make a worthy blog post."

Mercy gave me the same prompt about this little story. . .

The day following Ivan's birth, Rachel and I met Jen, a lactation consultant at the hospital-she dropped by to visit with Rachel about all things postpartum.

Our conversation  moved to spiritual things, "I've been watching. . .I could tell that you love Jesus." she said.

 Jen shared how she's been studying the Bible, "You know, God's Word changes you. . .I don't know why I'm emotional, you're the one who just had a baby!" 

I know, it's true-God's Word changes you. . .and God is so good to remind me, time after time, in the most obscure places (like hospital rooms), through acquaintances and new friends. . .He knows me--that I need the reminder.

Ahh, Lord, give me a greater passion for your Word. . .

The Word of God is living and active and sharper than any two edged sword. . .able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. (Heb 4:12)

accomplished. . .

So, I'm terrible at keeping suprises-I'm amazed that my family trusted me with this one. . .
But this time I kept my mouth shut and it was very very hard.
Abigail and little Florence came from New York last week to suprise Mercy at her graduation.
I kept the secret for almost 2 months; really, I'm proud of myself . . .

And it was worth it, to see Mercy's face and watch the hugging.

good visit

 Dre came for a visit last week-I cooked and she washed up every dish; Brett made fresh pasta, Rachel rested. . .

 Dre and I explored Main Street - a used book store and good coffee; we browsed a consignment shop and she bought great boots, red leather, texas style. "People in Ohio don't wear boots," she said.  (if I wore texas boots, I would have bought this pair for sure. . .)

And of course we cuddled Ivan.

In the evenings over coffee and chocolate, we talked Big Topics-like church, work, relationships,discipline, forgiveness, Jesus is enough, life purpose. . .

"How do you get motivated?" she asked.

"You get out of bed in the morning." answered Brett.

(hmm, that's good, I thought)

And after Ivan's late night feeding, Dre and I balanced perfectly on the blow up mattress in the living room. We talked small topics too, and I'm sure I fell asleep mid sentence.

 Showing love can mean driving extra miles to visit a friend. . .

incomplete sentences

My friend Courtney is a mother of five. . . the other day she wrote, "I wanted to email you all week but there's never enough time or quiet to think in complete sentences!"
Her comment reminded me of those days in my own life, Ahhh, for the chance to sustain a thought.
I remember my electric typewriter positioned on the table in our loft bedroom in a Mexican village-(curious how that house had electricity but no running water).
I loved that typewriter-the little machine sat holding my words and thoughts until I could return to add a word, to create a complete a sentence. . . 
Then one day I started to type words but the keys were dead, stuck.
So, I carried my little machine to a repair shop in the big city and upon examination the repair man commented, "Ma'am, I have never seen a typewriter keyboard so caked with dust, so very dirty!"
I wanted to tell him, "But I bathe my children ."
Then my husband reminded me how the dust filtered through the clay roof tiles -and into my typewriter.
"Cover your typewriter when it's not in use," said the repair man.
Cover my typewriter? but you don't understand. . .I'm completing my sentences, word by word.