Blooms in the desert

One of the most amazing lessons I have learned, on this journey through dry loneliness, is that I am not alone. That, and the realization that what I have been looking for is right in my own back yard.

My dreams have always included far away places and people in need. Motherhood was not a dream or desire. Even getting married was more about having a partner to change the world with than settling down and raising a family. God has gifted me, burdened me, and called me to full-time Christian service. But the service I thought I wanted didn't require diaper pails, laundry baskets, and nursery rhymes. How wonderful that God knows what we need even when e don't recognize it.

My children are my most precious disciples. Sharing life together, in a community others only dream about, is priceless. Our life isn't perfect (especially when it comes to birthdays; I'm really terrible at birthdays), but we do have fun. And as I embrace God's plan, my desert is becoming a much more beautiful place.

Rain drops in the desert

Rain doesn't usually fall in a desert. By definition a desert receives less than ten inches of rain a year. Deserts are dry and dusty places, void of life and beauty (at least to the casual observer). But, deserts hold their own unique beauty. And when rains fall, deserts spring to life; flowers bloom, grasses grow, cacti swell to unimaginable sizes. Desert dwellers know how to make the most of rain drops in the desert.

Because deserts are arid places, the natural flora and fauna are prepared for dry times. They must be, or they will die. Some plants sink roots down (sometimes several feet) to tap into deeply buried underground aquifers. Other plants have adapted in more creative and resourceful ways. Peoples native to arid lands know all the tricks for finding water in less-than-obvious places. The desert is, for them, a comfortable and welcoming home.

Christians tend to be surprised by deserts. To store up water in anticipation of days without rain or long periods of dryness does not come naturally. Instead of sinking roots down deep, or learning how to find water in unexpected places, discouragement, even frustration marks our journey. How easy it is to miss out on the blessings and beauty such an experience can provide.

As my sojourn in the desert continues, God is beginning to open my eyes to some of the treasures in this seemingly barren land. Like a plant who has learned to store water in anticipation of long periods without rain, I am learning to embrace my sandy home. It is not what I have chosen (or even desired), but it is where I have been "planted." Now we'll see if I can bloom.

Journey through the desert

The last year has been long and difficult. It started with sickness; it ended with sickness. Isolation; journeying alone in the darkness of fatigue, disappointment, and discouragement. Failure, or perceived failure, perseverance, footprints in the sand.

Not every day has been filled with sand and dust. Simple pleasures and small successes; redefining success. Lowering expectations. Again. Seeing God's hand amidst the dunes, finding a quiet oasis of rest and refreshment.

Mothering was never my dream. Africa, medicine, evangelism, saving lives. Those were my aspirations. All sacrificed on the altar of obedience, though not willingly or completely. Taking up my cross daily, by changing diapers, wiping noses, teaching (unsuccessfully, it seems) reading, writing, arithmetic; teaching my children God's laws as we rise up, and when we fall down. Battling to focus on what is truly important instead of what the world values; helping my children do the same.

Finding gifts where they've never been before. Choosing to embrace gifts never expected or desired. Celebrating through tears.

Jesus spent time in the desert. He understands this journey, even if I don't. The lesson I am learning: trust. The gift; leaning on the everlasting arms, rediscovering true success and ultimate joy.

This journey is not over. I've only taken the first step. But if a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step, at least I'm on my way.

Why does the early bird get the worm

There are two completely contradictory old sayings, and I am frustrated by the opposing "wisdom." The first saying is, "The early bird gets the worm." The second (and apparently opposing perspective) is that good things come to those who wait.

I have rarely been the early bird getting the worm. Waiting, however, has proven to be very beneficial in many cases, until now.

Saturday, I visited a friend's open house. She has sold a variety of products for home-based businesses and was clearing some of her excess inventory. In addition to a couple practical items and a Christmas gift, I found a beautiful white tea set, with two cups. Though the price was very reasonable, I am generally hesitant to make such a frivolous purchase quickly or without consulting my husband. So, I walked away, content to contemplate the pros and cons of such an investment in extravagance.

Several hours and conversations later, I reached a conclusion; I wanted that tea set. So I called my friend to see if I could go pick it up. Shock and disappointment filled my heart; the set had just been sold! After stammering my disappointment, I said goodbye. A short time later, I called back to see if perhaps I could purchase a couple of books about tea, as a consulation. Wouldn't you know it; those books were sold too!

Still suffering from the sting of disappointment, I am turning my frustration into a blog. And posing a question. Which is it? Do good things come to those who wait, or do early birds get worms? Can the two bits of wisdom both be true? If so, how, and if not, why not? Which do you see as more valuable? Why? Have you ever been disappointed?

I am really curious about what you think. Thanks for leaving your comments.

Caroling with Murphy...

Christmas caroling is a long-treasured family tradition. Some years we are more successful than others, but we almost always have fun. This year, however, will most definitely go down in the books as one of the craziest ever. After getting a late start (for lots of reasons), we headed off intothe night. It quickly became obvious that this experience was going to be unique. It also became very clear we had brought an uninvited guest; Murphy (of Murphy's Law fame) along with us.

Arrival at our first destination, 20 minutes away on foggy, unfamiliar roads, was reached successfully enough. Arriving with any measure of subtlty, however, was completely unsuccessful. Traveling, by necessity (due to the size of our group), in two cars, horns blarred as our cars almost collided. Then, Christmas cheer was greatly dampened as we backed into the car of our intended "carolee." Thankfully no damage was done, at least to the car. Our pride was a little tattered.

Proceeding to our next stop, the two vehicles became seperated. That wasn't nearly as memorable as getting lost along the way. Remember, we were driving on foggy, unfamiliar streets. To top it off, no one was home when we arrived. At least most of the kids can buckle themselves now!

Our next stop was, by far, the most entertaining. Arriving with little more stealth than our first unwitting victim, I mean recipient, though without the horns or crashing into cars, our presence was detected early.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem well received. Lights were on and people were obviously home, but no one came to the door. We sang anyway. And knocked, and rang the door bell, and sang some more. Our serenade drew the attention of the dog of the house (picture Carl, the rottweiler), who barked menacingly, for a moment. Then he diappeared. And, we caught a glimpse of someone.

We knew they were home. So we sang (the same song, of course) louder, with more enthusiasm, while ringing the door, again.

No joke; it was probably ten minutes before anyone opened the door! I really think they were not interested in being caroled to. Unfortunately for them, we didn't get the hint. In the end, I think they were blessed.

Things ended on a positive note. The final house we caroled to enjoyed our visit very much. And no one cried until the very end.