Neo-nesting

                                  

The entry below was part of my pondering last fall when the youngest of our eleven nestlings flew-the-coop and went off to college. Today, I broke up the dirt in the window boxes and tucked the perennials into their summer spots. Looking over my shoulder, I  smiled to think that Mother Wren is probably perched on a branch nearby waiting for me to vacate her territory so she can tend to her family plans.

How quickly the seasons roll around again. Paradoxically, while she feathers her nest, I have re-launched another of my  fledglings who came home, packed up stuff, and is off to nest-crafting of her own. Is she ready? Is she strong? Will she remember to take her vitamins and to wear a sweater (and socks and a scarf and boots, since she is headed for the north country)? 

Lord

You promise that a sparrow does not fall without your knowing. You programmed those little hummingbirds to keep flapping their tiny wings to make the 500 mile migration flight of 18-22 hours. You bring the mama wren back spring-after-spring. 

Why should I feel discouraged?

Why should the shadows come?

Why should my heart feel lonely

And long for heaven and home?

When Jesus is my portion

A constant friend is He

His eye is on the sparrow

And I know He watches me

I sing because I'm happy

I sing because I'm free

His eye is on the sparrow

And I know He watches me

His eye is on the sparrow....and the wren....and the hummingbird.....and certainly my children. They are really His, anyway.

                                 

Neo-nesting 

September 2013

I am a mother (not a mom, by the way) experiencing for the first time in thirty-seven years of child-rearing the reality of there not being anyone hungry, thirsty, wet, crying or  following me into bathroom. Preferring to think of my nest as full of memories and anticipation rather than "empty", I am tagging this season "neo" which simply means recent, revised, modified, new and I am navigating the journey with reflections on where I have been, what I have learned and how I can listen to the heartbeat of God for new direction.

I used to be afraid of failing at something that really mattered to me,

but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.

-Bob Goff

Change of Season

It is, indeed, a new season. I am stirring the first pot of chile on the stove. Searching for pumpkin-everything recipes. Eager to pick apples, build a fire in the hearth, pull on the down comforter at night. Part of the fall ritual involves putting to bed the flower pots that held the annuals....geraniums, impatience, begonias and that wonderful, prolific  sweet potato vine. I chuckle as I pull the wren nest, now empty, from the window box outside my kitchen. Where has the mother bird gone? For years now, she has waited until the boxes are filled with new spring blooms. I guess she either desires the surroundings to be pretty (as did I when laboring with my babies in birthing-suites instead of delivery rooms) or more likely, she chooses to move in after the decor is settled so our planting does not disturb her nursery project. Then mama wren begins rummaging in "her corner", toting leaves and sticks, preparing her nest before laying the eggs.

I have carefully lifted the nest, almost embedded in the soil, and brought it to the small table on my porch. Here I observe and contemplate correlations between this feathered mama and myself. Here I ponder how she faithfully worked in brooding silence and determination to craft the shelter for her young. They had come and gone so quickly, maturing from inanimate eggs to gaping, squawking mouths that chirped  incessantly (and loudest, I might add, right before they left the nest). She perched on the periphery as a sentinel, fearless in flight toward me or another onlooker should we venture too close to her babies. Then, one day, those young chirppers were silent. They were ready to leave, to try their wings, to take flight. There was no ceremony. No particular cue. But I could see it in their eyes. I think she knew it, too. 

I wanted to be there for the launch, to witness the first flying attempts, to watch her coaching. But I turned my back toward a moment in my own day...and they were gone. No traces of anyone bumbling or stumbling as they took a deep breath, held their li'l beaks and took that first dive. They were ready to fly. One moment they were here and then, suddenly gone. Their Creator had programmed the time and place and forewithal for them to take to their wings. Would He not do the same for those launched from my nest?

And what of the mother bird? Where is she now? Is this considered her "off season"? Sometimes, I see her sitting on the trellis where she used to supervise her young. Sometimes, I think I hear her familiar song or recognize her in flight. No doubt she has a life somewhere, doing something. Her nest, I muse, is beautiful. It is fragile. It is uninhabited. But it is full of mystery and intrigue for me. Although dry and aging, it speaks of faithfulness, diligence, nurturing, protection, and hope. And because every analogy breaks down at some point, the parallel between her life and mine going-forward does not work.  She cannot speak of a heart tuned to listen for His leading in the new season. But just as surely as she will return to the window box next spring, my Creator has a new, revised, modified work to build through me and He will be the wind beneath my wings in the neo-nesting.

                                   

Teach us to number our days so that we can gain hearts of wisdom.

Psalm 90:12

Love You, More

I love you.

I love YOU.

I love you, MORE.

I love YOU, more.

I love you, more, cuz I'm bigger. 

That last line was always the trump card when our kids were growing up and we were voicing a love-you-best competition.

                     

Today,  my third son, the first to be carried in my womb and to be birthed by my body, turned thirty-seven. As day breaks, I recall so distinctly how the miracle of his being brand new mesmerized me for weeks. On this morning, the dawn of a new year, I smile as I consider God 's grace and patience with me, in my growing-knowing as a mother, that it is God alone who has held this son's life over the years. God loves him more....cuz He's bigger. It is God's inexhaustible love for both parent and child that is the wonder of it all.

 Fresh home from the hospital, my head rested on a pillow-stack at the edge of our bed,  so that I had only to open my eyes and to reach into the basinette to make sure he was still breathing. One by one, I removed the pillows and, at some point, even turned over during the night. Despite my tendency to want to swaddle him in bubble-wrap to keep him safe, we did eventually moved him into a crib, to the nursery, and even turned out the light. This son did conquer climbing to the top rung of the swingset ladder. He did eventually cross the street alone. He did get his driver's license. Despite my overly -protective tendencies, he  parachuted from a small plane, piloted another and has survived innumerable risky adventures, I feel certain, of which only he and God are aware.

And now, this boy of mine is grown. He's a dad. He has a precious brood of his own. I watch with interest the unfolding of his fatherhood role. He is intentional. He gets it now. He has paced the floor with a crying baby. He knows the relief when the new day dawns on a breaking fever. He has experienced ER visits resulting in stitches and casts for broken bones (and is diligent about rewarding brave soldiers with ice cream). He has stood on the sidelines and cheered, applauded victories and tenderly empathized with disappointment in his children's behalf. He reads to his kids, prays with (and for) them and draws parallels of life lessons that encourage eternal perspective when the  present is overwhelming from a child's perspective. His discipline is fair, consistent and certain. His shoes are worn; his sleep is sparce; his hobbies, deferred, as he quietly sacrifices for those entrusted to his care. He has tasted of the pain of offspring discounting his counsel and begins to wonder how he will stay awake for teens returning home past his bedtime. The lack of sleep when they are toddlers and when they are teen-agers bear a totally different uneasiness.  

Lord,

Thank you for the privilege of being parents, for creating the parent-child relationship that we might more fully know the love of the Father here on earth. Thank you for your faithfulness to humble us when  we tend to operate from our own strength, to discipline us when we stray from your way and your Word, to encourage us when we realize our helplessness to provide for and to protect these children apart from You. Your sacrificial love causes ours to pale in comparison through the tenderness with which You scoop us up, dust us off and set us aright again when we have disappointed You, betrayed your trust and failed miserably. Thank you that you never sleep, never slumber, are always available and that our children can grow up knowing the God-who-is-always-there. Bemusing it is that You would allow your children to write on the lives of your other children. However imperfectly we love and live, You are faithful, Lord. We, along with the psalmist, declare our role a sacred trust: This will be written for a generation to come, that a people yet to be created may praise The Lord.

                                     

My birthday morning text to my son expressed my gratefulness for his life, the delight I have know in watching him mature and my great love for him. His reply:

"I love you, too, Mama....even more because I'm bigger."

Hmmmmmmmmm.......he is bigger than me. 

And he gets it. 

                        

Stops and Steps

I sat with a young mom this morning. She shared about her three kids, in their teens and early twenties, who were all showing signs of distinterest in academics, disillusionment with their current plight and disinclination to take affirmative action. As a hands-on, homeschooling, committed mom she was quick to conclude that the current struggles, as well as every other malady visited on her children, must be her doing. Not an uncommon misperception.  

       

The steps of a good man are ordered by The Lord and he delighteth in his way. Psalm 37:23

Somewhere I read that George Mueller had written in the margin of his Bible near this verse "and his stops, also". Likewise, I penciled his quote on the page of my Bible. Many times over the years, when it feels like someone has pushed the pause button and a child is stuck in neutral, I have been reminded that God is not asleep, disinterested, confused or frustrated. He is at work behind the scenes ordering the next step.

Our thirty year old son has just completed a series of seven exams on his journey to become a registered  architect. He can now sign his name on drawings. He is authorized to put those AIA letters behind his signature. He has reached a goal. But there were pauses. We sometimes laugh now remembering the interludes that seemed, at the time, to be the long way around the block. 

                                  

This young man, not quite ready for rigors of college fresh out of high school, took a gap year and went off to a one year Bible school in Sweden. Back at the ranch, after playing ball for the school team and possibly putting some Bible study under his belt, he ventured onto the college scene.  The school, the major, the relationships...none of it went well. This son was in for a pause.

During this time-out, our boy worked nights at Home Depot, built swimming pools in the daytime, and bought clothes. I remember peering into his closet where every week beautiful new shirts were added to those already hung in a perfect row, one inch from each other. I wondered where he was going to wear them because he was always working. The pregnant pause produced lots of stuff money could buy and plenty of debt, too. 

At some point, with lessons learned in the school of hard knocks, next steps became clear and this young man with a passion, poured himself into the study of architecture. Faith grew in the God who had been with him in every standstill. There was no free lunch at our house, so he worked tenaciously on both the academics and the resources to attend school. He made stellar marks, graduated, and won himself a full scholarship to an Ivy League school for graduate work. Now, in his element and exhilarated by the hard work, he earned his Master's degree.

                                   

Not long ago, I ran into an old acquaintance who inquired about this particular son. "He's doing great," I responded. "He is an architect and living in New York City." The gentleman smiled and nodded his head in a that-makes-sense kind of way. "Your son and I were working together building swimming pools when he decided to go back to school. When I asked him why he had decided on architecture, he just responded, in a matter-of-fact manner, 'Well, my mom said she thought I would be good at architecture.'"

I truly do not remember the remark. Instead, it seems like I was prone to chastening him for doodling over cartoons when he should have been memorizing vocabulary words...or reminding him to put his dad's tools away when he was finished with his project...or cautioning that the amazing bike jump was dangerous. Still, his gifting did not go unnoticed. He was meticulous about organization and detail. He loved construction and would beg to watch big machines doing their roadwork. On his fifth birthday, his heart's desire was to have a truck come to his party...with a driver in it! He drew fantastic cartoons, printed his schoolwork in penmanship that looked like it was computer-generated and displayed creativity, ala the pet cemetery across the creek in our  backyard, the treehouse built with his dad when he was thirteen, and the brick-bordered herb garden designed outside my kitchen. 

                  

There is so much our kids do not seem to hear. "Take out the trash....reduce your speed on a rainy day....remember your homework." We must sound like a broken record at times. But God is at work in spite of us.  He is with our kids in the standstill, the recess, the lull. In the stillness of the stops, He is at work ordering their next steps. And sometimes, He even allows a mother to speak a word that opens a window....or a door...and invites a child into the future.