When a Child is Born, so is a Mother.

Twenty-one years of hands to work.  Twenty-one of the same;  the hidden and the glorious.  Hidden work inside walls decked with beloved faces,  grazing past brave works of art reaching for milk or cheese.  Blessed  years learning to patiently speak or not to speak at all, learning to respect the unspoken words, and reassure with special "glances".  

Twenty-one watching, awestruck gazing--offspring amazing, racing heart beating out love rhythms.   Twenty-one years watching new eyes unfolding his world of wonder.

Twenty-one years of gardening, washing, teaching, learning, bandaging, scolding, praising, buying, creating, repenting, cooking, budgeting, hosting, laughing, and crying. Twenty-one years of the same; twenty-one of loving.  

Years being all full and emptying all out.  Years;  cherished, unblemished, hands open, heart throbbing to be all of this.  

Twenty-one years looking into grey-blue eyes of glass;  trusting eyes, laughing eyes, innocent.  
Growing, learning, searching eyes, questioning, finding. Grey-blue eyes like glass, deep as cool well waters, eyes exquisite reflecting heart and reflecting soul. Twenty-one years adoring.

Twenty-one years thankful, and twenty-one blessed.   

                Happiest 21st birthday Josiah Tyler Drain 
                When a child is born, so is a mother.

 

Boyhood Passing

He helps me around here.  He pulled the carpet tacks out of the floor and helped haul away the old carpet.  There was no stopping him until the floor was all clear of tacks.

He and I swing until the bats come out.  He says we should count them every time.  He wants to talk with me into the night; how blessed am I. 

He went on vacation with Uncle Wayne and Aunt June.  He packed this perfectly organized suitcase himself.  

He always wears a hat, except on Sunday which we've declared our one day to enjoy the site of his shiny brown hair.  And he owns more than one black Captain America t-shirt.

He is excellent in all that he does and fries fish to perfection.

He has a highly developed sense of humor and sometimes plays the mandolin or drums. 

 Some more of the things I love about him: 

He's the only 11 year old that I know who uses the phrase, "Woe Nelly!" 

 He likes to cut down trees and make his own glue from pine tree sap and charcoal.  

One of his favorite friends (and heros) is our 82 year old neighbor, Mr. S. I love how he stalks the fence line waiting to see if Mr. S. will come out to work in his yard just so that he can snag a few minutes to talk to him.  

When I tell him how wonderful he is, he always asks me why.  I  tell him all the ways that he blesses me and why I am so proud of him.  It always takes awhile.

I've been thinking a lot of how he will turn 12 in a few months and how these little boys days are drawing to a quiet close.  So, I plan to hold his hand in parking lots every chance that I get, even though he lets go when he realizes what he's doing these days. I plan to let him come out as often as he wants and interrupt my prayers in the pine thicket, because he only wants to chat for a minute, and I hope to sit with him and count the bats into the  night for as many nights as we can see our way out to the old swing. 

Fishin' at Gar Creek

These Gifts, This Maker

created by Michelle Xiao

I look at this painting and sigh.   A blank canvas lay on a shelf somewhere until.........And then brushes were assigned by steady, skillful hands, colors spilled out and settle,  then all is still when  first touch of paint smears canvas.

Magical.

The day he was born was too.  I lay awake wondering if the pains were real labor, were those that ushered babies into air and light.   And when I saw him in that climax and the trauma fell away like a heaving wave falling into mist, I collided with the unearthly, the indescribable, and the miraculous.  And we, suspended in awestruck wondering, were incapable of understanding how our regular, clumsy, reckless living could have ushered in this designed perfection.

 A perfect child......and I/we had done this....yet not, but only willing participants in this glorious design set in motion before I was.  Who formed the lungs that pull life in from the air, highlighted each strand of chocolatey hair, sketched sinew to bone, decided the heart's rhythms inside of me?  Never could I even  attempt what God flings forth in just a breath.  Yet, we created with our Creator...and because of Him.

 For You formed my inward parts;
You covered me in my mother’s womb.
^{......................................................
16} Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed

And I stand amazed that the greatest thing that I've accomplished this far is the one thing that I had so little to do with.     In only "being" and then availing myself, this miracle was set in motion, and me along for the ride.

 ¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.

And I blush at the thought that it would be harder for me to render the painting above than to co- create ( To create together) this child with God!    And there lying sneakily in that truth is another; our most pivotal moments are those born out of a surrender;   the birth of a son, our own birth,  death, our birth into the Kingdom. 

Our first son, Ty --and Dad

And going beyond this idea, what compels us from deep within are  these gifts given in darkness (Romans 12:4-8) set just inside flesh and blood, those which express unique humanity, and a part of a larger body of glory;  the body of Christ himself.........And how explosively powerful this is, and yet how easy in surrender.   And the blasts of "us" can be felt for generations.  

Yes, the painter paints, and this is easy for her........she is gifted, brilliant,  and she can't help but express the uniqueness that is beautifully hers alone. The teacher builds bridges of knowledge as she also builds up the Kingdom, the drummer lays the foundation of song leading the saints in praise, the gardener paints in flower and foliage urging worship to God.  These gifts given  in darkness, they long to be brought into light.  And when they shine in sweet display, they remind of the skillful One who worked in secret. 

 When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.

  I knew a man who worked with iron and earth. And when he had finished a job, he would  drive us to the job site to see a yard  expertly sculpted, or a new pond with molded earth ring around,  a new winding road made from shale.  In his heart was kindness, mercy, and a heart that gave extra and charged less.   And when death visited our town, he would kindly dig a perfect grave and always for free.   He seemed to see himself a simple man, felt uneducated according to the standards of today,  but this idea was sorely lacking.  And in his work was his transformation;  out of this simple fellow would emerge a "hero" who felt he could do anything and against any odd in his field of work.   And when he died a whole town mourned for him and at his funeral a slip of paper was passed to me from a lady who knew him for the man he was and the work he did (his creating).  On the slip was his obituary and at the top she had penned her description of him;   it read,  "A God Man".  I  wept at the three words as I sat in the shadow of his casket,  and at this "simple" man who rallied such words and such love.  His death ushered a perfect conclusion, one that spoke of one great name, "Creator". It shouted "God" without a word--- and for all to hear.  

Ms. Angie's words

And someone heard.

Always being our hero on his backhoe

Elijah wanted to be like Papaw at 3 years old, and still does at 14.


And I sit imagining about Him; the extravagant, marvelous, lavish Maker.  And for days wondering who I am in relation to Him and what His gifts in me and you mean in relation to our world; what a complete surrender of all of them would mean.  And it seems  something like the heaving wave falling into mist. 

  And knowing that He, indescribably wonderful---He imagined me and imagined you.  And not stopping there, He, at a specific time in history, at a special time of year, and a designated time of day or night, unveiled some of what He'd done in secret.  Unveiled at our birth the secret work of the womb.  And as we surrender to His plan for us and surrender the gifts residing, I wonder if we too will shout His name in the end?  Shout of His greatness, speak of His love that stretches into the forever.

And we were meant to bless Him with all that is inside of us......those gifts implanted by the Almighty.  And
 as we live on-- the unveiling continues, showing that we are more than flesh and blood.  And who we are is easy to be, if we only we will surrender.  And we can shout his name in the end.

 You covered us in our mother's womb ...................
...and skillfully wrought us

 And in Your book they all were written,
The days fashioned for me,
When as yet there were none of them.
(Excerpts from Psalms 139)

What He Really Needs

He said, "I need a Chinese water stone", used to sharpen the blades of knifes, scissors, hedge clippers, machetes,  and axes, etc.  Why a boy of 11 needs to sharpen all of these things remains a mystery to me.  Do we even own a machete?  

He said, "I almost have enough money saved to buy an ax."  I wonder what does a boy this size do with an ax?  He says, "I will cut down trees that I can use for stuff". Since there is no ax here (yet) he and his brother have gone out to saw down a small tree for bow making.

Last week he said he needed a roll of black string; he was making a net to trap animals with (we buy our meat from the store!).  He needed a piece of wood.  He was making a net making tool.  Always he needs new and curious things to work out what he's been working on within. 

net making tool and card

He's just this little boy with a big hat and bigger thirst for bringing his imagination to reality every day.

I felt Him nudge me as I thought of my son; nudged about imagination and the way in which I use mine, or don't.  I've never liked it much....didn't have many  little girl dreams,  didn't "get" the dreamers of this world, didn't read fiction ( a waste of time, I thought)   A teacher once coined it, "The Theater of Your Mind".   When my son's imagination engages, I can only imagine that he is the greatest hunter ever beheld; trapping wild game, shooting the 12 point buck, trapping the craftiest bobcat, raccoon, and possum, catching the leviathan of fish. Only occasionally does he have to scale back his assault when he inadvertently snags a goat by the hoof, or the biggest catch of all, the day he caught his father while he brush hogged the pine thicket.  Quickly a request was made to remove all high hanging snares that could possibly endanger inadvertent human prey.  (Dad was able to stop the tractor in time to save his hand).  There is no hiding what exploits he's dreaming of  as it all spills out around here in visible heaps.  

A couple of years accumulated Christmas gift--live traps

 So the idea that HE would like ME (and maybe You too) to dream and imagine is new and bewildering--- and not just a little exciting.  And I have been doing it....doing the work of a dreamer, blowing the dust off of the imagination station and seeing big things.  

When I was very small I had one memorable dream...I imagined having a pony of my own.  When I was 39 years old a woman from out east called to inquire on purchasing sheep from our farm.  In the course of the conversations, she, a Christian, felt lead of God to give me a gift.  She sent a photograph .

Why would a complete stranger want to give such a gift?  It had been more than 35 years since I had dreamed the dream of having one.........and I didn't ask for a registered Welsh pony of such quality.  I only  wanted a pony. 

I tried to trade the woman, my sheep for this animal, but she would not have it.  She said a gift is not paid for, it is given.  In the end, she purchased our sheep and delivered this beautiful pony to our farm.  I don't ride him, yet I enjoy his presence like no other animal I've ever had.  I hug him, I brush him, I watch him run with this glory that is unearthly.   I imagined and He supplied.  

So, these days of imagining and day dreaming, I'm asking Him to supply even the dreams and let me see in my  mind's eye what He has for me .  I'm asking that He won't let me shrink down His plans, not dowse His flames, not limit Him and me.   And I think that what He is working within will have their day, will have their moment in the sun like my son's secret thoughts revealed in real time and real life.  Never had it occurred to me to ask the Almighty for imagination until the day He invited me to. 

And I made the statement at the start, "What He Really Needs" and I pause thinking.  Until right now, I'm not really sure.  Until now I didn't know that I needed it too.  He needs to stay there, right where he is.  Stay in the place where he broods over the well spring that his dreams flow up from, that place of wonder that is God's. 

And lastly, I will add that today we brought home an ax from the farmer's co-op.  He saved enough.  We chopped down a tree.  He is going to "use it for stuff".   And I am going to see where my imagination takes me as well.  ;)  Takes me away into His will.

Something About Her Was Beautiful

I'm remembering the day I first saw her at Gar Creek and how I was beside her before I noticed that she was there. I thought she was amazing and beautiful. She had apparently been laboring a long while before I crossed her path and I'm sure she would have preferred that I never did. It's strange to express how mesmerizing she was to me, and how profound the moment. If I tried to tell you later what I'd seen, I would mumble something about seeing a turtle on the path at the park in my clumsy, uninteresting speech, but could never articulate my real regard for her.

In her movements there was no hurry, worry, or tension. Her presence was patience and resolve. She had already burrowed, apparently, with just her hind legs, a narrow hole that descended into the earth. I think she was resting, or attempting to remain unseen when I stopped, and in deference to her holy work, I only watched for a moment. I only watched for a moment, but I came around to her many times for the next hour or so. Sometimes she'd be resting and sometimes she'd have her leg inside of the hole as she removed more dirt. One of the last times that I came to her, I saw them; shining, white leathery balls. They lay softly tucked inside the hole now, but later she would push them further down and out of sight before burying them completely. This was the treasure that she had been working for all along; her offspring, her babies.

The next day when I arrived, I headed straight to her, only she was not there. No, I didn't expect to find her, but I wanted to see how it was that she finished. I had made note of the spot, though there were no real good markers, I thought I could remember. I searched but couldn't find it, it was as if she hadn't been there. In time I thought I found it, swept clean and all but hidden under the shade of the sugarberry trees. I marveled that no one else but me, no one knew what she had done, and that in two to three months the ground would give way to a great increase, and what was hidden would burst forth and have the potential in this tiny lake ecosystem of multiplying many times over again. In secret the seeds of life were planted.

So what of it all? Her ancient ritual of God-breathed instinct seemed to utter unspoken words. And I couldn't help but imagine a parallel between her and me. Only she was carrying on her calling and I, I deny the gift inside it's due life because of fear and insecurity. She was no more than a mother turtle, and me, I wonder who it is that I am at times? Is who I am made to be o.k. to just be? And I bury the clutch so deep that no one will ever see what God has planted there, yet she, having no reason to do anything but what her instinct told her to do, was doing what was necessary to see an increase.


I resolve. I resolve to be more like her because she spent her days doing what she was made to do. It's so simple, yet so profound to learn from her, and something about her was so beautiful.