August 2014 – 50+ Musings

Diamonds In The Rough

Published on August 28, 2014August 28, 2014 by Hope WebsterLeave a comment

♬”As one thing leaves to become another–
I remember when–
Oh, to be with summer again….”♬
(Summer Again—The Afters)

“How does God do that?”
I wondered at my first sighting this year of a leaf turned crimson.
Changing from green to red without paint or markers or crayons….
It’s amazing!
A sign that summer is in metamorphosis. Fall prepares to stretch out of its cocoon.
Again.

The Master Creator designed patterns. Seasons prepare the earth for what is next. And life itself is cyclical—birth to death repeated through the generations ad infinitum (so far). Even the weeks have their own designations—time for work, rest, play and worship on constant repeat. And the student measures each school year around the start and end date of summer vacation.

Up close and personal, our annual routine adds relocation between north and south to the mix. Every August marks the beginning of another year on the South side. With a dozen years of practicum under our belts, it’s still a learning curve. A transition that requires me to do more of the only thing I know to do when I don’t know what to do…..again.
Pray.

At this moment I glimpse my dad as I glance at my reflection in the mirror. I see more than his long face, sad eyes and crooked teeth, I also spot his legacy in the habits of my life. Prayer was his rhythm–mutterings to God in the wee hours of the morning on my behalf for all the years we shared on this earth. And there it is–that involuntary sigh. The mirror caught it and reveals the loss I still feel with his prayer covering absent. And today I tell myself that what I have received, can now be freely given.
And it is my time to give.

So, I beat the heat, grab dog and leash and head out the door to put feet to my prayers. I start my conversation with God about my own inner circle. This week some of those beloved people are teaching and learning in new settings, with heavy course loads, amongst health obstacles, with learning challenges and lonely.

I’m distracted walking past one family after another, congregating on street corners in my neighborhood, leaning up against STOP signs waiting for the school bus. I wonder about their stories, the hopes and fears they bring to this monumental moment of a fresh start.
It’s not just one thing they want—that their parents want for them.
We are so much more than minds soaking in data.
We are multifaceted people.
Like diamonds sparkling when we catch the light of opportunity.
A rainbow of colors bouncing off the walls.

Starting a new school year isn’t just about academics. It’s about how God will reveal more of His unique design in and through you and me and how we will shine reflecting His glory. Learning is the process of being formed, shaped and molded.

I have to remind myself of that as I start my own new homeschool year. Tell myself afresh that this is God’s calling for me for this particular year.
And embrace it.

To not grow weary at the starting block anticipating the rigors of the race because every new year is a fresh opportunity for teacher and student to taste of the Lord and see that He is good…. (Psalm 34:8)

He will not let you stumble and fall…. (Psalm 121:3)

He gently leads those who have young and carries them close to His heart…. (Isaiah 40:11)

He has plans for you, a future and a hope….(Jeremiah 29:11)

And so I retain the beauty of my northern summer and embrace the opportunities of my southern fall with this focus:
“There shall be an eternal summer in the grateful heart.”
-Celia Thaxter

And I choose to be grateful…..

Our Double Life

Published on August 14, 2014 by Hope WebsterLeave a comment

It was our grand finale—a trip to Ludington where a dozen delighted kids frolicked on the beach sculpting castles, playing cards, jumping over waves, lounging on floaties and having splashing contests while four moms in lounge chairs enjoyed easy conversation. We cooked hotdogs for dinner sitting in a circle around the campfire and finished off with s’mores before racing to the beach to watch the sunset and dune jump. The sun waved “goodbye” in a blaze of color, as if acknowledging the magnificence of friendships forged over time and shared experiences and we knew it was our turn to do the same–again. There were so many hugs—the little boys resisted. The mamas squeezed hard and long and so did Lily. Tears erupted from turbulent soul volcanoes. “Goodbyes” called from cracking voices through open windows followed by “See you in 9 months,” and “I love you guys,” called out Christine with a “Back to You” returned.

Then there was just the beach and the dunes for miles as darkness descended. Minutes passed quietly except for an occasional involuntary sob. I wondered how to band aid the gaping wound our children were bleeding tears about. What does a mama do with all these tears, especially when you know it was your choices that caused them. I did the only thing I know to do when I don’t know what else to do—pray.

“Hey guys,” I spoke compassionately. “I know we’re hurting. The tears tell us that we love large and we’re loved back– and that’s a gift. The downside of the gift is that it hurts to say goodbye.”

Sigh….. Pause……

“So, let’s take a few minutes to cry it out and then how about if we try shifting our focus away from ourselves and onto those friends we just spent a beautiful day with.” “How about if we pray for each of our friends individually? They have their own stuff to deal with too and we could talk to God about it for them.”
“OK,” Starla responded agreeably.

And over the next 25 minutes, all 16 of those dear people who hold our hearts were brought before the throne of the only One who can fix all this brokenness.

And when we said “Amen”, I suggested we play music.
Robyn chimed in, “I don’t want to hear anything sad.”
So we turned on Jason Gray singing:

…..Every step along the way,
I know You’ll never leave my side.
Whatever the season I can say,
These are the best days of my life…..

And we just kept driving away from the beach.
Just like we just kept driving away from Wheaton College on Sunday.
And just like we drove away from our cousins house yesterday.
And just like we’ll drive past the “Pure Michigan” sign on Saturday– all the way to Dallas to our other life.

The music felt like white noise in the background of my internal banter.
“How did we get here?” I asked myself. “And more importantly, how to do we get out?” I wondered….

I reflected 12 years back.

Like all sincere Christian parents we weighed our options prayerfully when we considered relocation, seeking wise council and did what seemed prudent. Nobody intentionally sets out to break their children’s hearts repeatedly. We were utterly ignorant about the long term implications of our decisions.

When we first drove away, we knew we couldn’t sever ourselves from our northern life completely in good conscience, even if we’d wanted to–which we didn’t. The Bible has something to say about respecting parents and reciprocating the care they blessed us with when their health goes South. So, we came back north to take care of family and that is what jump started our double life—school years in Texas and summers in Michigan.

To some people, it seems almost idyllic—winters where it’s warm and summers where it’s cool. While I appreciate upbeat optimism and grasp for it at times, that assessment is highly simplistic. It might be alluringly exciting for sanguines, but God didn’t wire us that way, and our double life makes us feel alive right in the pit of our stomach.

So what do we do when we can’t find a way to change the trajectory? And there’s no place to seemingly to make a U-turn….

That’s the million-dollar question we can’t seem to escape. We all ask it within our own particular messy stories….

And so we lament—groanings that only God understands.
And we try not to project ahead how many more times He might ask us to do a repeat because we don’t think we have even one more in us.
And tonight in the wee hours, the questions swirling feel a lot like jazz music that doesn’t resolve and leaves you aching with its dissonance.

But all of life is not the dead of night. I hear the girls whispering animatedly in the next room recounting to each other their sweet stories of summer–holding on to the memories in the retelling so they don’t slip like beach sand through their fingers.

Soon, they will drift off to sleep as will I.

And tomorrow, we will all wake up to God’s faithful, tender, mercies that are fresh and new for the day.
We’ll open our hand to accept His.
And trust He’ll take it just as He always has.
And we’ll turn the music up loud and on repeat as we pack up all those Rubbermaid plastic bins and sing,

…..Every step along the way,
I know You’ll never leave my side.
Whatever the season I can say,
These are the best days of my life…..

Savoring the Moment

Published on August 7, 2014August 28, 2014 by Hope Webster1 Comment

I arrive parched, thirsty to drink in the delights of the big Lake every June. Hungry for its soul food.

And it never disappoints me.

Our van erupts in squeals at the first sighting.

There it is, the icon of summer—Lake Michigan.

Hello friend!

I have known you in all seasons. I have heard you speak softly as gentle waves dance onto the shore. Other times your voice thunders with rhythmic, pounding surf and in the dead of winter your language is heard in the stillness of the frozen, snow covered icecaps.

No matter how old I get, I never outgrow the wonder of your beauty. You still take my breath away.

Up and down the natural shoreline, towns dot the coast. Each flaunts it’s own unique persona, each with it’s own charm.

But, Grand Haven is one of my favorites.

I love the aroma of fresh waffle cones wafting past the trolley stop where we wait for a ride. The kids board and race to the back where they can stand and wave at all of the cars to the rear. They craft homemade signs with customized messages saying, “Wave if you like ice cream.” And “Honk if you like chocolate.” They they count their responses as they ride. “I got 74 waves, mama, “ Starla says as the trolley drops us off at the beach where we wriggle our toes in the gritty sand and our feet are washed in the cold waves. Castles and moats are crafted and washed away as the tide rises.

The seagulls dive and scrounge, singing.

As the sun sets, we join the masses on their pilgrimage to the end of the pier where the hopeful fishermen cast out their lines. We walk to the very end, out past the lighthouse and watch the historic sailing vessel full of passengers turn into the channel from the lake, as the sky becomes an original artists canvas in front of us, and we wave.

The channel is the main thoroughfare for boat traffic, complete with a parking lot for docking between the big lake and the inland waterway. It’s sandwiched between downtown to the east and Dewey Hill on the west. Every night of summer, for all of my years, the hill has come alive at 10:00 p.m. Massive, colored water fountains dance to the rhythm of music while families eat ice cream cones on blankets and couples cuddle close in the brisk night air.

Sunday nights at the channel have always been my favorite. That’s when people pack into the stadium with its makeshift stage which edges along the waterfront. We fill the bleachers and overflow onto blankets in soft green grass to worship together. As I take it all in, the sights, smells, sounds–the people I’ve loved for decades sitting next to me–a bunch of our kids in tow, worshiping together in the sanctuary only God could design. It’s nothing short of a taste of heaven. And I embrace this beautiful life I am living in this moment. Boat motors chug along and often stop to listen. I see a man silhouetted against the setting sun. He is on his boat, arms extended wide and high and he too is overwhelmed with wonder.

The band called Sidewalk Prophets sings on this night. We sit so close to the speakers that my chest drums out the rhythm of the bass guitar. As the sun says goodnight in a wave of color sinking behind Dewey Hill, the finale is sung. And these are the words:

Sometimes I think, what will people say of me when I’m only just a memory?
When I’m home where my soul belongs.
Was I love when no one else would show up?
Was I Jesus to the least of us?
Was my worship more than just a song?
Am I proof that You are who you say You are?
That grace can really change our heart?
Do I live like Your love is true?
People pass and even if they don’t know my name, is there evidence that I’ve been changed?
When they see me, do they see You?
I want to live like that and give it all I have so that everything I say and do points to You.
If love is who I am then this is where I’ll stand–recklessly abandoned, never holding back.
I want to show the world the love You gave for me.
I’m longing for the world to know the glory of the King.
I want to live like that.

And I think about my years—all 47 of them completed now.

How quickly the grains of sand have sifted through the hourglass. It is more than half empty.

I reflect on all I have been given…. and all I have squandered. I feel an involuntary sigh release.

It’s that melancholy temperament stealing my joy again–causing me to critique when this moment is meant to be savored. There is a time for everything and all moments are not made for analysis.

So I listen closer as the sun dips below the hill and the sky tints pinks and oranges.

And assessment is replaced with gratitude for this brief life that God has gifted me with.

And the song transitions from reflection on the past and turns forward looking.

“I want to live like that”……

And I realize it’s not about where I have been or even who I am today but instead, what I can be as He continues to shower me with His mercies that are fresh and new every morning.

And therein is my hope for the 365 days of year number 48 that is mine to grab hold of.

The LORD’s loyal kindness never ceases; his compassions never end.
They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Lam. 3:22-23