Twice today I told stories. Simple retelling of interactions, of people on my path. If someone asks me mundane questions like “How did that go?”, or “How was your meeting?”  they are met with a response in the form of a story.  All of my life I’ve been an observer of people. I am often found gazing over at someone, fixated on their mannerism,  their expression, their posture…all the while wishing we could sit and talk…wishing I could ask, “What’s your story?” 

Today, I told two people the same story of helping a desperate mother do everything in her power to reunite with her children. I told of her fears, serious fears, as I drove her to a court appearance. I told of how I was prepared to speak up for her if they refused to acknowledge her persistence. I was so,so sad for her and the burden of her mistakes, the heaviness of her consequences. I told of how when I arrived at our shelter to pick her up, she was dressed beautifully, and kneeling, head bent in reverent prayer. 

Bend down, O’ Lord, and hear my prayer; answer me, for I need your help. Psalm 86:1

I told of her praying again in the courthouse.

Both times shared, I watched their faces, intent on my words, eyes glossed with tears. Twice today I was gifted with faithful listeners, people compelled to know the story. People who connected. Listening is rare, a commitment of time and of soul. A story shared with a listener is a story that leaves a lesson. A listener embraces and converts the soul of words. An encounter with a listener is a treasure. 

God listened. He listens always, bending, waiting, faithfully responding.

This morning, as is the norm, I watch Heather stomp from her bedroom to the bathroom. She struggles to make it down the hallway without opening her eyes. There’s no need to initiate a verbal exchange because I know better. There’s no need to ask about her plans for the day. Austin, laid back and sprawled out, legs folded over the arm of the loveseat…knows too…and just let’s her be her. Feisty, resilient, outspoken and determined are her strongest qualities. Laid back, quiet, introspective are his. Heather has been known to speak her mind and is prone to tantrums. Austin has been known to have an air of arrogance and lack of connectedness. None of these labels fit. I know the real cores of my children as does their Creator. 

Those cores are deep, deep layers that require a closer look and a closer recall of heredity, bloodline, intrinsic heritage. 

My daddy was quiet, thin, neat as a pin, and believed the only good man was an honest man. My granddaddy, Austin, was a rascal. He had a smile that charmed with an upturned lip and he had a broad-shouldered confident walk. He was a fisherman who mainly fished for solace. This is the imprint of Austin.

My mama was a gorgeous southern woman; but, never agonized over appearance.  She was just “Bette”. A cook who saw cooking as joy. She loved football and soaking up the sun. She was prone to intolerance of petty, “peculiar” people. She was comfortable in her skin whether she was lounging on the sofa in her pajamas or dressed for town.  She dressed down or up, rarely in between.  She had a slow, drawn out way of talking and had the rare gift of listening in conversation. She was one of those people you loved to talk to because there was never any mystery of her convictions. She would put you in your place and you’d find yourself shocked and then laughing your butt off because you knew she was right! This is the imprint of Heather Analise.

Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from Him. Psalm 127:3

My Heather and my Austin are Gifts, rewards I feel so unworthy of, but thrilled to open every single morning!

I have a new response to my creation of agonizingly imaginable incidents occurring in my children’s lives.  I filter my thoughts with “Fact or Fear?”  This morning, I approached the exact location of my daughter’s accident several years ago, an accident that pushed her head-on into a Mack truck. The Mack truck, driven by a law-abiding trucker, had stopped at the railroad crossing and had thereby totaled the hand-me-down Jeep but caused no harm to my daughter. As I saw the police officers clearing the scene this morning, dirty oily stains, skid marks, and shards of glass, I only for a second did an instant inventory of their whereabouts. I stopped myself and I enabled my “Fact or Fear” filter. Heather was by now teaching her precious 4 yr. old students 30 miles away and Austin left at 6:00 a.m. and was by now sitting in Chemistry. These are facts. They are rational and they are true and they do not become inflamed through a mother’s inventory of “what if’s”. So, moms, try my filter…it’s a lot like God’s love…fact not fear

Today, I interviewed a confident middle-aged woman who is anxious for work. She’s in her 40’s and homeless, at her lowest. After hearing her story I thought, “I should give her a job” and arranged an interview knowing I was simply caving to some selfish motivation to save her life. Instead of hiring her, we talked for over an hour about what happens to us when God does something big and scary to get our attention. I told her I was not going to offer her a job because I felt I was doing so out of a need to rescue her. i told her I felt she would feel obligated to stay employed by me and miss out on her true place that’s just around the bend. She accepted my brutal honesty and said she was grateful. We then talked even more about our life journeys and the peaks and valleys and about our conviction that God has a purpose for all seasons. She was surprised that I, a potential employer, a “professional” a person who is not homeless had many of the same detours, failures and worries as did she. Even more surprising for us both was the give and take, the listening, the nods. We, strangers for the most part talked openly about our belief that God has something big for her and that she should not settle for working for me.

She approached me anxious for work, anxious for a solution. She left with my promise that I would be helping her find a job and the reassurance that where she is now is surely a holding pattern for the flight of her life. What a joy to listen, to share, to give and accept honesty. Pay attention to the people God places on your path, especially when it’s an appointment with honesty.

An ice storm described as catastrophic and an earthquake and then I see this. God is in the details.

My son leaves at 6:00 in the morning now. Baseball season just around the bend and workouts begin early with strength,agility, bonding with friends, I suppose.

Yesterday, as the routine goes, he eases from the bathroom to the kitchen, to the door; bat bag, book bag, duffel, scrubbing against the wall as he exits with a grunt sound as reply to my “Be careful,love you.” I listen as the engine starts and find myself straining to hear as I know he’ll be singing along to the radio. I close my eyes, open my hands and give him to God as I pray for confidence,smiles, and good things.

My day then moves to focus my mind on devotion and ritual; but, interrupted by a call. Looking down I see the picture of Austin, incoming call and as does the mind of a mama, I anticipate bad. Yet, I hear, “Hey, I left my Psych project on my desk; can you drop it off?” So, I hurry down the hallway and grab the sketch. I lay it on the countertop and am all at once emotional.

The drawing, a silhouette of my handsome son, a diagram of his brain was a chance for me to understand the connectedness of him and to be connected to him. So, I hurry and adjust my morning and I proudly deliver the drawing to his school, smiling and thrilled to be needed, blessed to be connected.

About.

Quiet time for me is not always quiet; it’s a grasping ritual for the Lord. Now, you would think with a brand-new career minded early to rise Kindergarten aide for a daughter and teenage son, there’s not the requirement for interruption. So, quiet time, should be quiet time. Sometimes it still feels like work. But there’s this searching , yearning, seeking of “quiet time” that is in fact worship. It’s the time, Bible in hand, not a sound in the room except the Beagle’s rhythmic snores…that you happen upon a verse and you read it like it never existed before. You sense the Holy spirit so strongly you become emotional and just sit with that feeling for a bit. That’s Worship! Not hands raised, proclaiming, but peaceful presence and a thing that happens that causes your soul to smile and you long for more it…abiding in Him, that’s worship!  That’s peace and that’s worth seeking!