Happy 17th Birthday 1-31-2012

She emerged from the knitting place, and her first touch was mine.  She came slippery to my hands, and changed everything.  Seventeen years have gone.  A daughter fills a mama's heart with hope, and I remember standing by her cradle late at night singing that song from the Sound of Music.  "Somewhere in my wicked childhood, I must have done something good."  To have such a girl.  A girl who...

Dreams big dreams.  Reaches high and hard for heaven.  Brings it down somehow, and fills this home here with it.  Music and painting.  The way she makes the Shoulders laugh.  Pulling him into her, and all of us.  How she reads her Bible at night and in the morning.  Teaching us how to live chasing after God.  The way she inspires this heart.

The way she still holds my hand sometimes. The way she likes it when I pull her long ponytail through my fingers.  The way she still lays her head in my lap, and the way I am still amazed.  This girl become woman gives me strength and lives a life that says, "Don't be afraid, Mom."  A daughter who calls me up higher, who believes in me and plants seeds of hope in me while breathing life into my silent dreams.  When did Sarah become my friend?  And how can I begin to count such a blessing?

Happy Birthday to the song of my heart.  Sarah, I love you.

Mama

Tic Talk

Sitting now in the too late.
Listening to the clock talk.
Tick.
These few short minutes.
Before I go to bed.
Lay down head.
Take time.
Just to sit alone with Jesus.
And be still.
Shhh...
Still.
The only place my heart is truly known.

And loved.

Bernadette

COME, FOLLOW ME.

A Thanks...

For Your blood, Lord.
For the holes in Your hands.
That my life put there.
For a Love so pure.
I have to close my eyes tight sometimes.
Because I might burn up in You.

Thank You that You said it.
"COME.  FOLLOW ME."
And thank You for the faith You gave.
For me to put my hand in Yours.
And isn't that The Way?

Peter, James and John were fishing.
Andrew was following John the Baptist.
Bernadette was drowning in the dead life.
When Jesus said.
"COME.  FOLLOW ME."
Whew.

Thank You,

Bernadette

Fly Away

There do come days.
When it hurts too much to speak.
To Jesus.
About the weight that crushes your heart walls.
Because you know.
He knows.
And you wish you could fly away.
From a God Who hides His face sometimes.

And leaves you feeling alone.

Bernadette

Foul Trouble

Brother's and Sisters behaving badly.
Lashing our black stripes to the referee.
While our children play a game.
And learn.
That technical fouls aren't shameful.
Because we parents are foul.
Sitting on our bleacher butts.
Reliving made up glory.
While the whistle blows.
And the referee goes.
Up and down the court calling "Foul!"
We squint blind at his eyesight.
And ask which way his stripes run.
Lose sight that there is a person under the zebra.
Instead, we act like animals.
We whip him hard.
And I.
Ride home in fading light feeling just...sick.
At what we've all become.
When the whistle blows.
How we call foul everywhere but here.
HERE.
Reach and slap and block and charge!
Stench of soul.
As the whistle blows.

And Jesus calls, "Foul!"

Bernadette

Word of God, Speak.

Oh, Word of God Speak.
Into all that crowds the mind.
The heart.
Soul
Ushering in such madness.
Stealing us away.
From You
From Your still small voice.
Oh, Still Small!
Speak now.
That we may forever hold Your peace.
Word of God.

Speak.

Bernadette

UNDER THE WINGS

It seems long.
Since I have been Here.
In this Place.
Right under Your wings, Lord.
Feeling the rush of Your Life.
All into mine.
Tears stream.
Washing the dirt of this day.
Away.
The living in a world that is strange to me.
Where my light flickers dim.
So I hide beneath Your feathers.
Letting You fly high over this little life here.
Rushing Wind.
Fanning dying ember to flame again.
Covering me.
Father.
You cover me.
Making me new.
And strong.
And real again.
Heart of stone.
Melting at the sound of You.
Calling me Daughter.
Calling me Friend.
Calling me.

Yours,

Bernadette

The Lord of the Harvest

My daughter says I look sad.
Takes my hand in both of hers.
We are learning to speak the truth here so...
I look up from my chair.
Into all that beauty framed in long blond strands.
When she says, "Look me in the eyes, Mom."
There is nowhere to hide.
The grief days I have sometimes.
Over what has been lost.
By following this Jesus.
She says it is nothing compared to what has been gained.
My life.
The life of this family.
I nod numb.
Because nobody can take Jesus away from me.
And nothing can snatch me from His hand. 
I know where I am going when I die.
Heaven.
Just...
Don't want to be missing anyone on the other side.
Sit up late tonight and pray.

Lord of the harvest, bring them in.

Bernadette

The Battle

Dragons hang red neon signs in the bare window of this soul. 
They blink on and off for everyone on the outside to see.
Inadequate.  Hypocrite.  Disqualified. 
Words that land hard. 
Hit their mark, and prick my heart. 
The soul on the inside. 
That's me. 
Tries to run for cover.
But all the windows to my life are open. 
All the lights are on. 
And there can be no hiding now. 
Not here.
Because I am not enough today.
Kitchen clean, laundry underway, grammar and history.
Music now, and I sit because I can't bear the burden.
Of all my plans to breathe and be.
Overcome by the crush of "to do."
And my spirit sinks low.
Satan says I do everything half ass with a big ass.
He cuts down deep and makes me cry.
His favorite. 
Blood and Tears.
And I'm so torn up today, he achieves both.
Ever have a day like this?
Lace in, feet, and run.
Fly away, sparrow.
And I do, you know.
Straight to the heart of my Father Who understands.
All my strangling insecurity.
To the arms of Jesus Who died so I don't have to live in torment anymore.
He hung.
So I don't have to.
I hide myself in the folds of His character.
Righteousness.  Holiness.  Power.  Protection.  Truth.
My Father is more than enough.
He is for me.
Though I may fall into canyon traps of lies.
Though my foot may get caught in the fowler's snare.
His righteous right hand upholds me.
Remember Isaiah 41:10?
Who can stand against GOD?

And who you messin' with now?

Bernadette

SAFE

Isaiah 41:10

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Hearts prone to wander.
Like this.
In the vast and forever wilderness.
Of soul.
Hearts getting dry.
Cracked.
Broken.
HE says, "Do not fear."
HE says, "Do not be dismayed."
HE says HE will be our God.
Now there is strength and help.
Because HE doesn't just hold everything up.
HE holds YOU up.
We are sparrows in HIS righteous right hand.
We are HIS children.
He'll not turn his eye away.
Nor will HE crush us in HIS grip.
Though we fall again.
And fail again.
Again, again.
HE upholds us with HIS righteous right hand, and...

We are safe,

Bernadette 

A Thanks

White orbed moon velcroed to velvet canvas sky.
The Shoulders holding my hand.
Holding little girl on my lap.
Kissing cheeks that still hold a pink sleep.
Loving that she still calls me Mommy.
Hugs from the boy, and prayers for him early in the morning.
Touching those two moles that I love so.
Marking him mine.
The Kind and Compassionate's work ethic.
The Strong Soft reigning as queen of the living room dance floor.
Soldier sons.
A blue sky.
The gym.
Bloody ax, bloody stump surrounded by chicken heads.
And the photo opp that makes them all smile.
Laugh at this life on a little farm, and The Shoulders taking those pictures in his underwear.    
A new read aloud.
Reading HIS book.
HIS love.

Grateful,

Bernadette

Meditation

We come together on Friday.
Blessed day.
Great time for women to be on their knees.
Drawing close to God.
Love Him drawing near to our hearts.
Touching us with His.
Breathing on us.
Just so we can breathe again.
Inhale Jesus.
Good meditation.

God,

Bernadette

DAUGHTER SAYS

Great balls of fire, the laundry is piled.  Daughter says it's Mount Everest.  We emerge from Christmas while still keeping Christ. 

Ugh.  Clear out the sugar.  Enough red and green.  Haul out the planner and try not to faint because it looks like somebody puked on it.  Daughter says I need to get ready for the craziness.  Of schooling and driving and bleacher butt.  Ahhh, the rush again, run again, reel again, and the trusting that God is good and full of grace.   

Something going on with my skin.  Causing hot spots of itch that drive me crazy to scratch it off.  Daughter says no.  She holds my hands down and rubs them with gooey junk.  What is it?  Well...is there anything I have NOT eaten in the last month?  Diet...definitely diet.

Ugh again.  Because going to the gym isn't the cure for the crush of sugar and caffeine.  Daughter says it's time to ease back a bit, and I know she shows me that much grace because she doesn't know that I've been stopping there at the drive through for java more often than she thinks.

Are y'all with me?  Aren't you thankful for the New Year and the new beginnings and the fresh starts?  Time to take a look at last year, and put something like spring time in our steps, our thoughts, our lives. Yes.  Time to look forward by looking back.

Last year, we waited and prayed for METAMORPHOSIS within our family.  Certainly, we have seen some of that, and aren't we grateful?  We've seen our share of still ugly caterpillar too, but who can stop hope of more change into beauty?  Butterflies are beautiful.  Each one unique and hand painted by God.  Like us, right?  HE makes us uniquely HIS and sets us free to color in the Body of Christ with a delicate beauty that is pure and clean and makes me cry.  Daughter says we should all flutter our wings so we can flood the world with light and color.

Metaphorical painting of hands reaching down into the darkness to draw us out of sin, daughter says.  She paints too, coloring all this crazy kaleidoscope of beauty in our home.  She says HE is reaching for us.  And I'm going to fuss about her red paint plops on the carpet?

NO.

Daughter says,

Bernadette

Grace in the Moment

He is a boy late in reaching for manhood.
Today he's got these songs playing from Disney movies.
Crooked toothed smile and gums for a mile.
Eyelashes, velvet curtains opening and closing on wide open blue.
Over break he most enjoyed playing with an eight year old boy.
Chase with Nerf guns and capturing the girls.
Delight on his face. 
Excitement.  Intensity.  Suspense.
I watch and wonder...
If I've been too hard, too mean, too grace-less.
Too fearful.
That God can't handle this one.
Who drives me to my knees for his now and his future.
Here HE puts a serious mama with a fun loving boy.
And, boy, do we rub each other!
He plays a song for me with a reaching smile, and we laugh.
"Why do I have to live with my mom?"  Some of the lyrics.
We sing the grace of this moment, and our love for each other.
Love.

Still covering a multitude of sins,

Bernadette
  

On Being Light

So even though words have been your closest friends over the years, you can't help wondering what in all the world they matter.  Like those unmatched socks in the basket, pen and paper help you to match things up.  Make sense of the world.  Sort out your heart.  Make it all slow enough for you to take a real breath. 

Why does God make folks a certain way? 

You know I teach a writing class.  Tell my kids never to write in fragments. (smiling)  I've had students who love to write, but haven't met one yet that needs to write.  Write to live.  To stay alive in there.  But I remember Mrs. Nixon teaching high school ecology when I was but fourteen years old.  "Miss LeMieux!"  Hand on hip.  Southern accent.  "You 'bout finished with that novel?  You gonna be a writer or somethin' 'cause ya'll are always writin' somethin'."  Not notes.  Not not paying attention, but writing my heart down to hold the world still.  Trying to find my niche, as she would say.

So it comes to this.  Learning how to trust who God made you to be even if lots of folks don't really get it. 
Do you know how many times I have been called weird?  So what? Who cares?  You really gonna keep hiding your light under that bed?

In a world that needs all it can get?

Bernadette

Thanking for a Spanking

For the sweetness of reconciliation, and a heart broken of it's... Pride yolk.  
The way God disciplines His children. 
Me.
Hurts so good.
Worn out from weeping.
Humility, a clean dress.
The only one that fits me right.
And feels right on.
I lay down low and good and God.
And adjust to all that making holy.
Of a woman after HIM. 
No.
HE is not a safe God.
Give HIM your life.
Bless His Name, Friend.
HE will take it.


ALL,


Bernadette