my life is good

He has never hurried. I’ve watched and waited for the anxious in him and it comes only when the fear of failing is embraced.

He loves. When we talked of a third child his biggest, best reason was more love. He was right. She is the heart we needed that we wouldn’t have known, even though she is two and she is hard.

He reads a book most all of the time. He has read too much and has to go to the poem now because he’s far, far ahead of us in beauty. He told me one time that it feels good just to be alive. He sat still and demonstrated, invited me to join him. I did. I sat and then felt the small hum under my skin and breathed. He was right. It does feel good to just exist, a gift he recognizes and unwraps and says thank you for.

When a friend asks me, how’s Josh? I stammer around not knowing how to answer for the man that I’ve become one with over and over and over again. I feel like I love him less because I can’t think a thought without him. What do you mean how is Josh? Have I not been sitting with you here? Haven’t you heard me speak with clarity about the life I’m living? Don’t you see our children smiling and talking polite in your direction? Did you like the coffee I’ve made for you? This is how my husband is. This is how he is.

there’s a thread through our story telling of the sacrifice jesus made not to marry.  he gave up a wife and a family.  the last temptation of christ.  but standing in line at cvs waiting for my prescription, i’m reminded that tis not so.  a gossipy tabloid blares the news that royal wedding bells will ring.  the palace says it’s speculation, but i’m reminded.

when a king’s son is married the world takes note.  the lavish tale lives on and on.  the details catalogued, anticipated and watched with gladness, with envy.  when the invitation arrives, possibly still hand delivered, and you are on the guest list, you can know at the very least, that you may be in for the best meal of your life.  the paper and the words spell out the location and the time.  even the deciding what to wear is an event.

i have such an invitation.  except when the son of god comes for his bride it’ll be so glorious the whole damn thing is just over.  the current way life is lived is changed when that marriage is consummated.

that’s when you’ll find yourselves out in the cold, strangers to grace.  you’ll watch abraham, isaac, jacob and all the prophets march into god’s kingdom.  you’ll watch outsiders stream in from east, west, north and south and sit down at the table of god’s kingdom.  and all the time you’ll be outside looking in — and wondering what happened.  this is the great reversal; the last in line put at the head of the line, and the so-called first ending up last.  (luke 13:28-30)

god’s guest list looks different than an earthly royal wedding.  if your father owned, well…everything, and he was about to throw a wedding for his only child, who knows what kind of party might ensue.  we have no idea.

so, no, i don’t agree that jesus missed the boat on marriage.  the limited form that we see here on the planet, even the splendor of majestic earthly kingdoms ends up divorced and young men walk down aisles with no mother present, is not what he was hoping for.  he’s come to start a fire and how he wishes it was already burning.

~z

when something is broken, you throw it out.  or you fix it.  or you imagine you’ll fix it and it sits, untouched, for a long time until you throw it out.

relating to jesus is not the process of discerning your brokenness and then getting down to the business of fixing yourself up with god’s help.  being broken is our lot.  there is a crack in my soul that splinters where it counts all over my life.

the only cure ascended into heaven in a cloud.  before that he ate some fish.  previous to that time he was dead in a tomb.  he’s not fixing me.  he’s changing reality.

a new one where brokenness is our strength.  one where inability ends like a diving board and allows us to plunge into the great unknown.  because, hey — what have we got to lose?  brokenness is a ticket to freedom.  i’ve been admitting i can’t fix myself even with dips into god’s bucket.

is he making me into a new and improved super zena?  one that has the out of control areas in check and approaches life in wholeness?  yep.  but i can’t get there from here.  as much as i bow to the god man, i am changed.

shepherd of all, you remained hidden from everyone in a tomb.  teach us to love our hidden spiritual life with you and the father.

amen.

and thank you…

123.  abe screaming brave

124. eleanor and her coloring book

125. mazzy going back to school

126. new pens

127. new computer

128. faith & writing festival

129. my parents

130. josh and the books

131. little children sleeping better

132. reading back remembering

133. subtle hand of quiet god

134. blankie found

135. april ending

136. my favorite preacher is god’s surprise

137. out of state calls

~ z

my father exhorted me to find the spiritual side of puking.  i had to hang up because he started to make me nauseas.  we’ve been a little sick around here.

it has been staggering outside.  the blue blinds and the green dizzies.  the sun highlighting everything.  it’s too much for a sick one.  the weak one barely makes it on the front porch and looks around, goes in where things are lit, but with corners of dim.  after conferring with her doctor and chopping up a soup, her mother tells her to go lay down.  she does.  but she brings her laptop.

the walls of my bedroom are pink.  there’s a large canvas painted by my husband’s best man that has a milk jug as it’s central subject.  windows are open wide and spring blows in cool as cucumber.  i hear voices.  my mother, come over to help me.  one small woman staring up into a wide sky.  hugging me, i feel her frame and hear her heart.  she is soft as a cross between air and liquid.  she once was both for me.  i hear eleanor calling, “abe - e!”  her love for a big brother trumped only by her love for daddy.  momma last on her list before the cat.  that’s fine with me.  and abraham’s voice, still high.  it may be true that one day it will crack and alter and become deep baritone, but i don’t believe it.

all this from my bed with nothing to do but rest.  it’s hard to rest.  but apparently i need to.

~z

eleanor has become obsessed with a pair of shoes.

in her mind, they fit.

i’ve been helping her in and out of these, feeling like i could take on something larger than myself.

i can still make believe my way into reality, right?

the determination involved in doing what we haven’t yet achieved is tiresome.  real life calmly lets you know there’s a lot that needs to get done around this place.  real life throws up a detour sign leading away from your big idea about every three miles or so.

but not for the child.  for a child the business of fitting into things too big is real life.

these things i haven’t done yet,  i have to get busy because there’s more to do.  these shoes i can not fit into, hand ‘em here because i need to go for a walk.

eleanor has places to go.

maybe you do, too.

i want to do what is bigger than me.  i want to say, like the song sings, don’t tell me what can not be done.

these days a little child is leading.

~z