Jesu Juva

I read recently that Sebastian Bach not only signed each of his scores with the letters S.D.G, Soli Deo Gloria at the end, but he opened them with J.J. Jesus Juva (Jesus help).


Jesus Juva

Jesus, help. Breathe life and beauty into my work.

Jesus, help. I can't do this without you.

Jesus, help. As the Israelites in the desert willed their gaze upon a bronze serpent.

Jesus, help. As I beseech this cup to pass.

Jesus, help. As I pray Your will be done.

Jesus, help. As I take Your yolk upon me.

Jesus, help. As I tend my flock.

Jesus, help. As I run the race, fight the fight, live my faith.

Jesus, help. And haste the day when my faith will be sight!

Jesus, Jesus....be glorified.

friendsick

There is a Portuguese word that doesn't have a direct translation to English. It's kind of frustrating not to have a suitable word, actually. The word is "saudades" which translates something like "missings". One would say, "I have missings". Doesn't work. I'm forced to choose other words like homesick but that's not it because it's about people. I don't just miss people I am a bit heartsick about it -- not to be overly dramatic. So friendsick, my own made up word. Really, why do we have carsick, homesick, heartsick and not friendsick?

It's hard not having history even if the new people you meet are wonderful. I sense the promise of friendship and trust the Lord with these seedlings. But the sheltering trees, the fortresses that shared experiences have built amongst these towering pillars, a beautiful source of nourishment... these, I miss.

A simple question like, "How many children do you have?" can be a bit angsty. I don't want to be that way. After all, I have dealt with this for a few years now --just not to this degree. And not without softer places to fall, places of understanding. Of knowing.

I'm ok. I just have missings.

classic

Me: I have a surprise for you!
Him: Is it food?
Me: No, it's a poem-- for your birthday
Him: Oh! A poem!

Him: chuckles, "That was such a neanderthal question-- was it FOOD?!!"
Me: Heehee, "And I'm such a girl, "It's a poem (said with a squeak).

Seen

He cups my face;
Takes my taste to his lips
O self, close your eyes
and see

*"What sacred delight
What infinite wonder
I am precious in your sight
You love me like no other"

At sink,
wiping down a days grime
Close your eyes to see
a Man washing dirt
off disciples feet

At table, not overly wise
to laugh, to share
his day and ours
O self, see?

Not eloquent as the world perhaps
Rather, a sight other-worldly

At break of dawn, a man who prays
not proud (or loud) but sure
of heart

I see
His very self,
inscribed with love
for me


*stanza in bold is the chorus to a song by Sunday drive, entitled Sacred Delight

stream of consciousness...

Words gather then scatter to the winds and I wonder what in the world is worth saying.

For a homeschool writing assignment, I will sometimes ready the kids with a prompt, set a timer and "GO!" There's no stopping the pen for ten minutes or so, just write, write, write until the timer dings. My girls usually beg for more time, the rush of words blowing strong so that they don't want to stop. They can lift their eyes brave and proud to read out loud because I don't look, just listen, and hear them, see them, not their mistakes. Later, we will choose which freewrite to revise and edit. At that point, their spelling and grammar will be tackled but by then their ideas have heart. They are invested and much happier to hammer it out.

Anyway, I am assigning myself similarly. My prompt is a real e-mail I received recently with "What not to say" (when a beloved friend is suffering) in the subject line. Specifically, as our mutual friends tred through the minefield of cancer with their teen son, Thomas.

The last line of my response to her follows:

"The truth is, as long as we are motivated by love, I think it is all we can do. And it is enough."

During our family's trials, we have received such an outpouring of love and grace that to mention the few things that might not have been helpful seems downright irrelevant. Not to mention that I have walked away kicking myself more than a few times for my rather obtuse insensitivity to the pain of others over the years. I certainly am no authority on what not to say! More convinced than ever that love overwhelms all things and covers a multitude of thoughtlessness, I believe love redeems the offenses that curiously accompany greater afflictions.

Still, there is something to note in the fact that Job's friends initially did well to sit silently with him in his sorrow. It was when they opened their mouths that they went askew. Miserable comforters they are called. They compounded the pain, multiplied it even, with their opinions too freely shared. It is enough warning to clasp my hand over my mouth and cry, "Please, Lord, have mercy and shut my mouth!"

It is my experience that loss begets loss. In other words, there are ripple loss effects to the heavyweights. Relational casualties are a sad reality. Perhaps if expectations are harnessed, naivety to pain acknowledged, opinions stemmed, maybe, just maybe there will be one less.

Looking back, aside from Steve and our other two children, who were too young to understand, I struggled to manage the expectations or relational needs around me well, once our son started showing signs of bone marrow failure. We prized the days together like pearls in the hand. I would allow little else to distract the eyes of my heart, apart from the battles that waged upon the soil of my soul. In the hospital and at home, I needed to be fully present with my own. However, with a sick child I dared not leave, a man to hold, children twirling, tugging at my legs, there was never enough of me. Time to myself was also scarce but afforded a safe place to fall apart. The Spirit of God soothed and fed me, strengthening me continually. In the seven months that Caleb endured on a bone marrow unit, I was rarely undivided. Grateful that my parents were with our babies, I still found there to be a pulling -- such a tendency to guilt. One of the greatest gifts others could give me was time and space, void of guilt. Having said that, I don’t mean that I did not genuinely need or want anyone around me. I did! The hard truth is, at times I wanted a particular person present, but not others. It wasn’t a reflection on them and I felt it a kindness when my dear friends could be thankful that there was someone that I wanted or needed, a confidant that was a comfort in the situation --even if it wasn’t them.

Does this sound hard? It is. It all is.

Please hear me, sweet friends. Faith, hope and love. The greatest of these is love. It is more than enough.

pruning season

Is the tree that's pruned
preoccupied with pain?
standing with its wound
in the wind and rain....

gently transfigured
as sap begins to flow
flowers, leaves,
choicest fruit...

How I'd like to know:
Is the tree that's pruned
preoccupied with pain?

by Ruth Bell Graham


I don't know much about tree pruning but now that we live in Oregon, there is plenty of opportunity to learn! An old, gnarled apple tree in the side yard, highly favored by my children, reminds me of a grandmotherly woman surrendering herself knowingly to the seasons. Well acquainted with the shears, maybe she no longer fears them? She must know that fruit will follow in its time.

At times I feel the familiarity of loss, that cold current. Along with it, flows a reassurance of Christ's steadfast presence. I want more of Him. I wouldn't know Him, that He is wholly trustworthy if not for the pain. Do I welcome it? Not quite. But I welcome Him.

love is a secret

In Cry The Beloved Country there is a dialogue between Kumalo, a pastor and father who has lost his son, and his good friend.

“ — This world is full of trouble, umfundisi.
— Who knows it better?
— Yet you believe?
Kumalo looked at him under the light of the lamp. I believe, he said, but I have learned that it is a secret. Pain and suffering, they are a secret. Kindness and love, they are a secret. But I have learned that kindness and love can pay for pain and suffering. There is my wife, and you, my friend, and these people who welcomed me, and the child who is so eager to be with us here in Ndotsheni – so in my suffering I can believe.
— I have never thought that a Christian would be free of suffering, umfundisi. For our Lord suffered. And I come to believe that he suffered, not to save us from suffering, but to teach us how to bear suffering. For he knew that there is no life without suffering.
Kumalo looked at his friend with joy. You are a preacher, he said.”

I first read this book by Alan Paton ten years ago, the year Caleb died, and have re-read these lines several times since. Always I am moved because they have proven so very true. I want to encourage you that your love matters. The selfless kindnesses poured out to a heavy-laden soul, matter.

To me Christ imparts hope in the cloud of thick, choking despair. This is a secret. The love of those in my life has kept the candles lit in the pitch of night. This is a secret.

Of this thing I am certain, this is one secret worth sharing.

on Thomas and experiences shared

(Thomas and little Theo, his brother, in the CO Rockies. We love this young man, our godson.)


I saw a sign once that read, "BE GENTLE. Feelings are everywhere!" And so it is with trepidation but conviction that I pen the thoughts and feelings that mostly lie unvoiced. Thoughts on hardship, loss, and deep grace. A love story really. The story of our lives.

I have been asked a few times over the years what I found helpful (or not) during the times Caleb's marrow failed. What got us through the long trying months on a bone marrow unit. I've been asked how faith survives the loss of a child, how a marriage grows. Steve and I are regularly approached regarding adoption. There are some that wonder what life is like when your child has significant disabilities or medical needs. For years, I've contemplated sharing our life experiences but my attempts have seemed either too puny or my heart laid too exposed. It is much easier to delete or stuff the pieces into the back of my chipped desk drawer!

Very recently, as our dear friends, the Maedas, have had their lives capsized by their son, Thomas's, cancer diagnosis, some of you have thoughtfully asked to glean from our experiences. If you are reading this and don't know them, please pray for them. You can follow Thomas' story at http://shapingheartshome.wordpress.com/

My fierce love for them coupled with the psalmists assertion in Psalm 40,vs.10

"I have not hidden your deliverance within my heart; I have spoken of your faithfulness and your salvation; I have not concealed your steadfast love and your faithfulness from the great congregation."

has become the impetus to write more about the realities, the comforts, the difficulties with you, my friends, that God may be glorified. Likely, the posts will be incremental. The words may be slow in coming, so perhaps one sentence at a time. :)

12 and so sweet

For their twelfth, a fun day downtown with the whole crew (Steve took the day off). OMSI ( Oregon Museum of Science and Industry), coffee from Stumptown (caramel lattes for the birthday girls), Powells City of Books (and cash to spend at their leisure), dinner at The Flying Pie (gluten free pizza that rocks), and ice cream cake at home! Perfect.

waking

I love the toddlerness. Maybe its the wedgie, the hair, her outgrown pjs, or her crazy-loved Bunny. Maybe its that she raced to the window to check on Fred (her snow-friend). Or how she stood, wide hearted and hushed.

And winter's now come fairly

We enjoyed our first snow flurry yesterday and made quite a to-do. Ayisha preferred the view from inside so no pics of her here. Fred, the nut eyed snowboy, has since been checked up on and prayed for faithfully by a chatty three year old. :)

artist's journal

A handmade, hand-sized leather journal for Emma this Christmas is rarely left unattended. Dovetailing nicely, her interest in bookbinding has peaked as she also received an instructional book for 28 handmade books. During our break I have read aloud the Hobbit while the older two usually did some kind of handwork (drew, whittled, crafted). It was all very cozy.

hello

Well, I'm blowing the dust off this old blog space in the hopes that it will offer up a little window into our lives. To my dismay, I am not a faithful corresponder to the many precious friends and family strewn across the globe. You have lovingly asked for pictures and news more regularly and Rambling Views is, at least, part of my answer. I confess that the blogging world --actually the internet, overwhelms me to the point of paralysis. I'll do my best to shake off the perfectionism that strangles the joy of sharing.

Our family is settling into a new season -- new state, new job, new home-- and are slowly, slowly making things our own. We miss our friends, our intimate fellowship, and the ease of familiarity. Still, God's inward work in us has been stirred, kindling a sense of wonder and adventure. It is, of course, a picturesque landscape He has brought us to in the northwest, so I expect to post landscape photos often.

As I sip my morning tea, this ancient Japanese Oak sprawls its flaming scarlet leaves and welcomes me. Isn't it lovely?

Little Miss Busy

Our Spy Summer

This summer, child spies, disguised, stalked the halls. Photos of enemy targets, shoved down over sized apparel while t.p. rolls, rope and tape made up necessary gadgetry. Eight children in one house became the backdrop for almost daily Spy Kids adventures.

It's funny how a household with four children feels oddly quiet after we have enjoyed eight! Jason and Linda (my brother and sister in law), and their classic four were able to stay with us for their summer school-break in the U.S. We laughed, swam, played, exercised (a little), refereed (very little), cooked ethnically, and cleaned every once in a while. Mostly, we just shared life and I am deeply thankful for the opportunities we had to re-kindle relationship. If, when they left, we could have thrown up blockades, we would have! Unfortunately, our high tech gadgets were on the blink on the day of their departure and they are now safely settled in Morocco. We sure miss their faces around here.