Hannah on the Piano

A few days after her fifth birthday, my daughter, Hannah, started taking piano lessons.
 

 A few months later, in the spring of 2003, she played in her first recital. I wrote in her journal:

"You had your first piano recital. You did so well! You played a part from Beethoven's 'Ode to Joy.' Your daddy had Army all weekend but made it to hear you play in time. You were surprised and so proud! I am very proud of you, Hannah. xo Mom."

Since then I have watched her in countless recitals, orchestra performances, events. I can't even begin to count.

I never tire of listening. Watching.

Maybe what I love the most is my daughter has spent years developing something she didn't get from me or her dad. This is all her. This is Hannah.

Hannah on the piano.



Last night was her spring recital, marking the end of another school year.

She's going to be a high school senior in the fall. One spring recital left.

I wrote in her journal:

"Dear, sweet Hannah: You played beautifully last night. 'Liebestraume' by Franz Liszt. Dad and I were so very proud of you. I can remember recitals in earlier years, like the one when you played 'The Entertainer.' You were so small and the tune was so jazzy, the audience loved it! Now, your playing is so mature, accomplished. What a gift you have. What a gift you are. xo Mom."

My Mask First

A friend gave me a great analogy the other day.

We were talking about getting too busy to take care of ourselves and I made the comment that I can take better care of my family if I take care of myself. I didn't mean neglect my family to take care of myself (wants), I meant take care of myself so I can better serve my family.

She said, "Like putting on your oxygen mask first so you can help others."

Exactly.

Nail on the head.

I have this bad habit of getting too busy. And I mean too busy to take care of myself or anyone else. Bad, bad habit.

Nevertheless, the Good Lord has a way of bringing me around to the truth and redirecting my steps. Unfortunately it often comes in the form of illness or some other trial that makes me stop and say, "Oops. Too busy with the wrong things again."

Today I worked a long day at school. It was busy.

Emotional (my 8th graders are graduating on to high school).

Tiring.

So when I got home and looked at my much-in-need-of-attention kitchen, I contemplated what to tackle first. Then, I found out my husband was going fishing. Needing a sandwich to take with fishing. And, my kids and daughter's friend were going to youth group. Needing something to eat before we leave youth group.

I made BLTs.

Then, as they got ready to leave, I put on my oxygen mask (a.k.a. went for a four mile walk).

It was lovely. Refreshing. Quiet. Rejuvenating. I walked away today and breathed in the clean, fresh air.

When I came back home to an empty house, I organized my thoughts and decided to tackle the kitchen. No stress here. My oxygen mask was working just fine. Breathe. Clean. Breathe. Ahhh.

I made a sandwich for my hubby's lunch tomorrow. He will breathe easier.

I chopped some veggies and fruit to leave on the counter for three coming home hungry teens to shove into their mouths instead of just potato chips. I imagine myself putting on their oxygen masks, mine flowing free with fresh air.

I clean up the kitchen. Shine the sink. Stuff the bills in a cupboard. Who can do it all in one day?

I feel calm.

Fresh.

Air.

Who can help others when they themselves are suffocating?

Struggling for air.

Weak.

Tired.

Before I began my kitchen work, I took off my oxygen mask. No crisis. No need.

Tomorrow I'm certain I'll need it again. Maybe I'll walk off another day. Maybe I'll watch a movie. Maybe I'll just sit and be quite. Maybe.

Don't Miss It

Springtime at my country home is always a game of hit or miss. There is so much life bursting forth! I have to be diligent to get outside and walk around so I don’t miss some of the main events that come with spring.

The problem is, so many things aren't on the calendar. Yes, there are plenty of dates marked down. We can count on them. First day of spring, Easter, Mother’s Day. Sure enough, they were all on time.

But what about the first daffodils? Buds on the trees? Ducklings in the pond?

Pretty little wildflowers sprouting up in and around the woods.

If I'm not careful, they are easily missed.

I don’t know what these are (below). But I do know the last time I walked around the north side of my house they weren't there. But last night...

 And the trilliums! A favorite.

Suddenly.

That’s when some of the best spring stuff happens. Suddenly.

I think life is kind of like that. The best stuff happens suddenly. Unexpectedly.

A letter in the mail.

A hug from a child.

A smile.

An opportunity to tell someone you love them.

A trillium.

Spring.

Here now. Then, gone.

Spring.

Life.

Don’t miss the details. The suddenly stuff.

Life Out of Death

Here on planet Earth, death is an inescapable pursuer.

A relentless foe.

Nemesis.

Ultimately, the victor. Here on planet Earth.

Last fall my dad planted strawberries in one of my gardens. I love strawberries. I dutifully watered the transplants and covered them with straw before winter set in. They were under there for many, many cold months.

When my husband uncovered them this spring, it appeared we had waited too long. Everything was dead. No sign of life. Mold. Rot. Decomposing death.

Defeated, we turned our attention to things still living. After all, what do you do with death besides bury it?

Mourn.

Move on.

The other day I walked down to the strawberry garden. Or rather, what I had hoped would be a strawberry garden. Perhaps I was going to pay my respects? As one visiting a grave?

While my grief did not come close to rivaling that of most other deaths, I still felt remorse. After all, my dad had taken a lot of trouble to dig up plants for me, driving many miles to plant them in my garden. That, and I love strawberries.

When I walked throught the garden gate, contemplating what to do with that garden spot, I was met with a surprise.

Life.

Tiny, green, sprouts of life. And they were coming right up out of the death that I thought had won.

Life up out of death. Here on planet Earth.

Imagine.

This has happened before. Life suddenly springing up out of death.

I think about so many, many things in my past that I took for dead.

Once we had a dozen tomato plants that looked very, very dead. But by the end of summer, miracle of miracles, a bountiful harvest of tomatoes. Unexplainable.

And other things, too.

Oh, hello, I thought you were dead. But, no, here you are. Resurrected.

Plants.

Dreams.

Hope.

Relationships.

Resurrected.

Sometimes it seems so impossible. So very, very impossible. But then, I think of the cross.

Man.

Dead.

Buried.

God.

Resurrected.

Life.

Hope.

Time for Nothing

Everybody needs a quiet place. This is mine.

I can't say how long it has been since my last visit. Very long. Too long.

It's funny how busy life can get. I don't know about anyone else, but I tend to get too busy for... this. For quiet. For rest.

I'd like to say my overly-busy tendencies are a result of extreme productiveness. Extreme achievement. Extreme importance. They're not.

The only thing they are is a result of is the delusion that I am above quiet. Above rest. That there simply isn't time.

Then, something happens.

Fatigue.

Not just "I'm tired today" fatigue. Everyday fatigue. I slept 10 hours and still fatigue, fatigue.

Then, I come here. And I watch for nothing to happen.

And nothing happens. Quiet. Peaceful. Nothing.

And somehow I know there is not a soul suffering for my lack of doing. Not a soul.

But there is a soul with benefits of rest. Of stop, just stop and wait for nothing to happen.

It is mine. My soul. My weary, conflicted soul. And I remember how good it is to sit and wait until the busy drains away and the quiet settles in.

Perfect Calling

Perfect is not like a butterfly,
That can be caught in a net
Pinned to a wall
Gazed upon.

It is not like sand on a beach,
Waiting to be stepped on
Piled up
Brushed off.

Perfect is not like a puzzle
With many complicated pieces,
Sort out
Fit together
Done.
Only to be taken apart and remade.

It is not a door to open.
A lid to put on.
A made bed.
Clean house.
Mowed lawn.
Balanced checkbook.
Finished work.

Perfect is none of these things.

Perfect is a breeze.
My hand cannot hold it
My arms not embrace
My eyes shall never see
Never see perfect.
Not here, anyway.

Why do I look here?

Funny thing is,
I already have perfect.
All I will ever need
All I should ever want
Complete.
Done for me.
For me.

And not the perfect I seek.
The elusive thief who steals my time
And slips away
Uncaught.

Perfect isn't caught,
It's a gift.

I already have perfect.
Better said, perfect has me.

And it is not in the things I can do
Accomplish
Build
Write.

Rather, perfect is a Someone.
He is Jesus.
Perfect.
He alone, perfect.
For me.

The question is,
Why do I look for perfect here?
Here, where it will not be found.

It is hard work.
Such hard and aching painful work.
Heart aching.
Never can have aching.

I sit and wait for my mind to catch up to truth.
Perfect is calling.
He is calling me.