Sunday, April 29, 2012

Mary's Blog?


"But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart."
Luke 2:19

If there was anyone who knew how fully, wholly human Jesus was...it would have been his mama.
If there was anyone who knew how fully, wholly divine Jesus was...well..it would have been his mama.
From the beautiful pain of childbirth, to the brutal pain of watching him breath his last, she was right there with him.

Don't you wish Mary had written a blog?

Think about it. All the sweet, simple stories we record about our children. The ups and downs. The funny things they say. The anecdotes that add up as we watch them grow into themselves. How fascinating would it have been to have had that relationship with Jesus!?!

I imagine there were times, as the years passed, that she {almost} forgot the miraculous nature of his birth. As the day to day of life took over, and there were mouths to be fed and children to coral, he must have blended in. Fit. Been one of the family. Son, brother. I wonder, did he go through the terrible twos? Was he a cautious toddler, or a daring young boy? As the family grew, and children from the town ran and played together, did he dive in? Was he a leader of the pack or did he hang back as more of an observer? I wonder what she would have written about him?

What were those tween and teen years like? Other than running away from his parents to stay at the temple, we don't know anything about him. What does adolescence look like if you're leading a perfect, spotless life? I imagine him becoming reflective, introspective...studying the law and watching - watching those around him. Taking it all in, wrestling to understand all those around him. Somehow he would have done all this without becoming moody. Or rude. Or disrespectful. How very, very hard this must have been....as he began to see the depth of weakness in all those he loved. I had so many long, late night talks with my son during these years....I wonder how much Jesus let Mary in? Did she hear his prayers? His loud cries? His tears? Did they talk about it all? Don't you wish she had been blogging?

My daughter is 25 and my son is 22. And I'm watching them take steps into adulthood. Education, career, love, marriage...I watch them making life choices. And I think of Jesus, working along side his father during these years. Learning a trade. I watch my son leave for work - up early and home late. Exhausted. And I think of Jesus, laboring for at least a decade along side his father. Not a desk job, or a cushy job with lots of benefits and earning power. Ten years of physical, manual labor. Using his human hands to make, create, build things. THINGS. Things that had no obvious spiritual significance. What did Mary think of all this? She must have loved seeing him work along side her husband. But she knew he was so much more....so why was he silent?

As I read mom blogs. I'm brought back in time, and recall similar moments in my kids' lives. I feel happy for the children who will have this record of their young lives, and such a glimpse into their mothers' hearts. And aren't you glad we have photos and videos that help us remember? Mary's only record of Jesus' life was all that she was able to store in her heart. And though we have a beautiful letter {blog?} about Jesus' ministry years written by his Father...don't you wish we had it all? All the early years, the formative years...as seen through his mama's eyes?

I sure do. Because to me, those thirty years...before that water was turned to wine...those are the miracle years to me. Those years, when his life would have more closely resembled yours and mine...those years when he wasn't being followed, or listened to or impressing anyone...those years when he was "just" a son, a brother, a friend, a co-worker... Through all that time, he was in perfect harmony with God. And his mama got to watch it all.





and
 then, she {snapped}

Linking up with Tabitha
at Fresh Mommy Blog


Friday, April 27, 2012

Listening



My childhood? A lot of talking.
It's been said, of younger me,
that I loved the sound of
my own voice! Children's theater, singing
and acting lessons. Talk. Talk. Talk.

My adolescence? A lot of talking.
My own phone line, so the
house phone wasn't always busy. More
theater, singing ... my words, a playwright's
words ... Talking out life's mysteries.

Early adulthood? A lot of talking.
Convince the husband, train the children,
teach the class...talk in English,
talk in French...purposeful talk, sharing
words of wisdom, life's mysteries solved!

I don't know when the shift
occurred. It might have been my
husband's humor. Or watching my children
discover the world. I wanted to learn
them, to know them, this precious
family of mine. The sound of 
their voices became more captivating than 
my own. And I discovered listening.

Real listening. Ear listening. Heart listening.
More learning than knowing. Some silence.
The irony? As I've talked less,
and opened wide my listening heart,
my inner voice has grown clearer.





Thursday, April 26, 2012

Age {Bigger Picture Moment}


twenty six years ago I made a phone call.

mom, i said, i'm pregnant!

it was unexpected - the pregnancy.
and her reaction.

we'd been married almost three years and had started talking about trying.
but our first miracle came in God's time, not ours.
and that was just fine by us!

mom, i said, i'm pregnant!

i don't know what i was expecting....
but it wasn't,
"no, you can't be. i'm too young to be a grandmother."
that was followed by lots of words about what she was going to say to people.
about how she was going to explain it.

explain it?
because the fact that your twenty-six year old, married daughter was expecting her first child -
that needed so, so much explaining.
really?
how could she do this to me in this moment?

the hallway of my tiny brownstone apartment grew instantly cold.
and i wanted to get off the phone.
she just sucked the good
the joy
my joy
right out of me.
right out of the room.
and she wasn't even in the same state.

twenty-six years ago i only knew how to shut down and close her off.
we hardly spoke during my pregnancy.
she got another call from the recovery room when my wide-eyed melissa was in my arms.
in spite of herself, she was actually a pretty good grandma when they were little ones.

twenty-six years later, i see my own wrinkles,
and notice a few gray hairs...
even though my eye sight is worse than ever.
my age?
well, i'm old enough to be a grandmother!
 {no, this isn't an announcement}
but isn't that something?!
i'm old enough to be a grandmother!

i will keep getting older and wrinklier,
because that's just what happens.
but i won't turn into her.
...haven't turned into her.
they say that just happens too.
but not over here.
the cycle's been broken.

oh,
did i mention?
i'm old enough to be a grandmother!!



Linking up over at Jade's place.


Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Pictures


"Every picture shows a spot with which the artist has fallen in love."
Alfred Sisley


Long before there was a camera in every phone...
Long before there was a camera in every home....
A French impressionist penned those words about pictures. And artists.
To paint a landscape, or a portrait, took time. Hours and hours of time.
It took stillness, and awareness, and concentration and attention.

Time behind a camera feels that way to me.
I am still and aware.
I concentrate...pay attention.
Details are discovered that weren't noticed until examined through the lens.

Freezing time.
Framing faces.
Falling in love...

Pictures.





Black and White Wednesday

Choosing Words



It's quiet, and I sit alone.
Alone with photos and paper and tape. 
With cutters and stickers and pens.
With possibility.
So many possible combinations!
If I use all my rain photos, I have what I need for two pages. 

There's no noise here. 
No brain noise. It's just the photos, and the thoughts of the walks in the rain. And color.
As I lay out the photos, and attach them, they soothe me.
Do the pearl embellishments remind me of rain drops? I think so. I'll add them. Yes. 

As I choose the words for the title, I think about how odd this winter has been.
So warm. 
I was lucky to have warmer weather for walking this winter. And not too much rain...just enough for a few photos. Look at the rain drops on the leaves and the grass....nice to be focused on something so simple.
Title...title...hmmm.
I think "one" rainy winter sounds good. Like I'm about to tell a story. And it's just this one winter that was rainy. Love these letter stickers. Great color. Simple font...will add some pearly dots. Pretty.

Over here maybe a quote. 
"Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain."
Kinda corny, but I like it. True enough...not that I dance! 
And now ... to write something. 
Adding my thoughts and my hand writing isn't always easy ~ but I want to include both. I love hand writing.  
I'll just write a bit about walking in the warmer weather. Oh, pretty new pen color. Matches perfectly!
I hold up one page at a time.
And both of them together. 
Accomplished. Finished. Such a great feeling.






Sunday, April 22, 2012

Change


I remember changing my barbie doll's clothes.
All the time.
So many outfits - occasions to be invented.
Then I grew up a little and changed my own clothes.
All the time.
School outfits, dance outfits, tennis outfits.
Every day or fancy.
And costumes. I loved changing into costumes.

High school became college.
And I changed my major.
At least twice.
And I changed my career choice.
Only once.
But it was a radical change!

Then there was a name change.
And lots of diapers to change.

And before I knew it, I was changing Barbie's clothes again.

As time flew by, I watched my children change.
The doll dressing little girl is now a wife.
The lego building little boy will soon be a college grad.
Whew!

Funny thing is...
Now,
after all this time,
and all these many changes,
I'm told that I'm going through
"THE change".
I'd laugh - but, as you might have guessed, I'm not in the mood!


Linking up with:


and
 then, she {snapped}








Full of the Spirit


"Nature always wears the colors of the spirit."
Ralph Waldo Emerson






Look up.
Look around.
Breathe it in.
There is life,
and spirit 
and hope
all around us!
Have a wonderful day!



Linking up and sharing quotes at
Fresh Mommy Blog

Friday, April 20, 2012

Love That Dirty Water


Yesterday, beneath the bright, afternoon sun,
I wandered. And watched. And marveled. 
I was alone in the crowd.
Alone with my thoughts. Nowhere to
be, my camera in hand. Anonymous.


Thousands upon thousands came, just like
me. There were babies and grandfathers,
students and business men...large groups
and loners. We came for photo
ops and autographs...to sit in
the dugout, touch the green monster
and step onto the warning track.


I sat behind home plate (cause
it was free, and I could!)
and ate a Fenway Frank. Yum.
Drank my icy diet coke from 
a 100 year anniversary souvenir cup. 
And watched the people - all here
to celebrate this magical, century old,
memory filled, home town ball park


We hold on to our history
here, and cling to our traditions.
I love calling Boston my home.
And I love this ball park.










Today's word? Hold.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Remembering a Book {Bigger Picture Moment}




Today is Holocaust Remembrance Day.
I wouldn't have known this, but one of my favorite bloggers posted a beautiful poem about her father ~ a Holocaust survivor. I've read her poem several times this morning...she carries such beautiful memories of him with her ~ her poems are full of him! It just fills me with pain to think of all the generations of daughters and poets that are lost, forever. I'm glad she posted today and put out such a gentle call to remember.

When I was a senior in high school, I wrote my senior English thesis about Holocaust literature. More specifically about children in Holocaust literature. I compared the books written about the children of those years to the books written by children from that time. In my research for this paper, I discovered a book that left a permanent mark on my heart and soul. Walking around the town before work today, I saw this Thoreau quote on a bench...and immediately remembered this book. It marks, in my mind, the end of high school, and home...and {perhaps} childhood.


This is a beautiful, haunting collection of poems and drawings that reveals the hearts of the children subjected to the horrors of those years. The reason that this book (along with the Diary of Ann Frank) made such an impression on me was that in spite of it all, there was hope in their young voices. There was color and home and heart and dreaming....IN SPITE OF IT ALL. The life lesson that I learned as I wrote that paper was this: The adult literature was dark...dismal and angry and knowing. An adult knows the absurdity, and the cruelty and understands the devastating consequences. There was no hope in the literature written by the adults ~ even as they wrote from a child's perspective. But in the words and drawings of the children, glimmers of hope shone through. I will always remembering being altered somehow by this observation - that all of that horror could not silence or still or crush or destroy the hope that is the human spirit.

Interesting that today, of all days, I noticed that quote on the bench. And was brought back to that book.
And that, not an hour later, I read Ayala's poem.

Hope.
We've all got those child-like places in our hearts.
I hope that open, hopeful, colorful place in our heart sings loudly today.
And that we listen to our heart song.

Simple BPM
Linking up over at Hyacynth's place today.

Days of Remembrance
The internationally recognized date comes from the Hebrew calendar and corresponds to the 27th day of Nisan on that calendar. It marks the anniversary of the Warsaw ghetto uprising. In Hebrew, Holocaust Remembrance Day is called Yom Hashoah. When the actual date of Yom Hashoah falls on a Friday, the state of Israel observes Yom Hashoah on the preceding Thursday. When it falls on a Sunday, Yom Hashoah is observed on the following Monday.
2012  Thursday, April 19

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Folks Around the Pond



As the weather has gotten warmer, more and more people come out to enjoy the pond.
Some come alone, looking for that quiet place to think or walk or read.
Some bring an old friend ~ I wonder how long those guys have been fishing together in this spot.
There are families and dog walkers and bikers...all stages and ages and walks of life.

I'm still just walking, and watching and snapping away!



Black and White Wednesday

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Off the Path


Yesterday, as I was walking around the pond, I wandered off onto an unpaved path.
Even when I couldn't spot any other people, I kept along the path and ended up beside a smaller, marshy pond.
There I spotted a beautiful swan sitting on her nest!
After watching her for a while, another swan came to visit (perhaps to relieve her?)
And another visitor, a blue heron, landed near by.
Some geese and ducks, started chattering...and the heron flew off. 
It was a lovely afternoon at the pond!






and
 then, she {snapped}

Under Construction


"Each of us is carving a stone, 
erecting a column, or cutting a piece of stained glass 
in the construction of something much bigger than ourselves."
Adrienne Clarkson

Oh, how I want to be constructive. Helpful. A part of building up....never tearing down.
With kind words, a gentle touch, a small gesture of kindness...I pray to contribute.
Let me not worry about the part I play or if it's important enough.
Let me not hold back, pull back or sit back.
Let me not criticize, complain or cut the legs out from under a fellow builder.
Give me the heart, the energy and the vision I need today to do my part.
Send me answers, show me the blueprint.
And help me to keep laying stones even if all I see are questions and blurry lines.

Thank you for this day.


Linking up with Tabitha at