Thanks for Shoulders

For the Holy Road.
His hand in mine.
The way only a wife can erase that line carved deep: worry.
And how I can see the way he needs comfort.
Just a soft place to lay his head in the storm.
When he makes himself vulnerable like that.
Because even Shoulders sag sometimes.
The way God made it.
A man and his woman folding into each other.
Becoming one.
Becoming.
Becoming.
And just how the hard things make us.
Hold fast to each other.
To Christ.
To the Line.
When we're hanging by a thread.
He becomes the only thing that keeps us from cutting loose.
And floating out on the wide, unknown depth of the sea.
See?
He is good.
Marriage is good.
The Shoulders becomes stronger still when he is weak.
And I???
I give him a place to sigh.
To cry.
To rest.

To Become,

Bernadette

The Gospel Bent Over A Bowl

The good news is in the green of grass.
And the green of my stomach as it churns.
While resting in the arms of a Savior.
Who loves to care for His children.
The broken down.
The lonely.
The sick.
I vomit life and grief and the weight of all this world.
Right into the bright orange of that bowl.
The prayerful intentions I had for some time away with Him.
All about Him.
Seemingly ruined, but...
He always knows the plan.
And as I crawl across the floor to the bathroom.
I see what I wrote in permanent marker on the outside palm of my hand.
"THE LORD'S"
And it makes me cry out.
"Oh, Jesus,  please not this way.  Not like this."
I cover my hand and groan.
But I know.
He knows.
And He takes all the sick of me.
All that is vomit and shit.
And He wipes it away.
Tenderly.
The God of the universe cleanses me.
He hovers over my bed with washbasin and towel.
Reminds me.
Over and Over.
That He doesn't remember my sins.
That He casts them behind His back.
That He buries them in the depth of the sea.
That He remembers them no more.
Jesus.  Doesn't.  Remember.
But He knows that I do, and He gently washes the stains.
Whispers the Psalms and the Gospel.
The Good News about a GodMan named Jesus.
Who came to save the lost.
The blind, the lame, the unloved.
The sick.
The bed spins beneath my head while He whispers on into the night.
And I drift on His voice singing waves of Grace.
To make the sick well again.
To make us all well.

The Gospel.  The Good News of Jesus Christ.

Bernadette

Flight to Freedom Through Obedience

Daniel is in the garage pounding on his drums.

I sit with this pounding headache.

Contemplating the project.

God's kindness to me in His confirmation.

Gentle leading.

Seeming to provide me with a bit of time.

To be alone.

Because alone with Him is the only possibility.

The only way, I think.

To get free.

Remember?

"The only way out is through."

And so I must...

Walk through the ring of fire.

To have a life of sorrow singed.

Because I need my wings.

So I can fly.

Bernadette

The Invisible Life

Alphabetizing the Invisible:

Asking them to help, Arguing that t.v. is not an option, Angling for a productive summer.
Buying, Beautifying, Boring.
Cleaning, Cooking, Crafting help for the little one.
Doing the Drudgery...Dismally!
Frying, Fixing, Forcing.
Going, Groceries, Garbage out.
Healing a hurt Heart by...Hugging.
Incredible selfishness, Idolness, Impudence.
Job after Job after Job!
Killing when unKind to Kin.
Lying and Laziness and the Lectures that follow.
Mom!  Mom!  Mom!
No!  Not now!  Not ever!
Optional?  No.  Opportunistic?  Not now.  Obvious that your socks are on the floor?  Not ever.
Picking up again, planning meals again, promising play dates with friends.
Sometimes I want to Quit my job Quickly because it's making me Queazy.
Racing, Rushing, Remembering things I didn't do yesterday.
Smarting from all the Sassing.  Sagging!
Training, Teaching, Tired.
Undone, Unseen, Unappreciated.
Vice grip on steering wheel as Voices brag about muscles and proclaim their own Vanity.
Washing dishes, Washing laundry, Washing the boy's bathroom again.
Feeling eXceptionally sorry, eXtremely frustrated and eXtraordinarily "done."
Zoned out and with Zero patience here today at the Zoo.

The ABC's of the invisible life,

Bernadette

For Shoulders

Sometimes when the Shoulders gathers me in.
All strength.
It makes me want to cry.
Just...being close in the sanctuary.
Near to him and all that makes him strong.
Earthy.
His powerful arms could crush me, not small.
But his spirit is tender when he holds me like that.
Like a flower.
And he makes me feel all that is feminine.
After a day of laundry and scrubbing the toilets.
A day of agonizing character training.
A head aching day of heart hurting.
And it seems all might be well.
In the safe well of his embrace.
My eyes leaking everywhere.

On his shoulders,

Bernadette

King

What kind of King comes as a baby?
Birthed through fiery ring and into a stable for animals like us.
Like me.

What kind of King comes to give sight to the blind?
To heal the lepar, the demon possessed, the greedy, the lost.
The unloved.

What kind of King holds truth and justice in His hands?
Weighing righteousness and whipping market place crooks.
Sin Intolerant.

What kind of King shows love by straddling a cross for spikes through the achilles tendon?
Hands pierced by nails, side pierced with the sword, ears pierced by mocking jeers.
Cheers to You.

What kind of King endures that kind of humiliation?
The Creator of the tree and the thorns and...us.
He. Hung. Naked.

What kind of King beckons our hearts?
To acknowledge that we are animals in a stable born.
Sin Sick.

What kind of King offers us gifts?
Though we held the hammer.
Those jeers, our own.

What kind of King says, "Believe in Me and live."
Live now, live forever, live full.
LIVE.

King Jesus,

Bernadette

When All Is Worship

"But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into His wonderful light."  1 Peter 2:9 

Almost thirty gathered close in this living room to worship God; to build Him a throne.  And I am one.  Won by this living Jesus Who loves to come close.  To be personal.  To give that resuscitating breath of life  to tired parents and kids so fried from passion playing that they're starting to crash all over the house.  His great pleasure hovers over us, and I smile so hard it feels like my face is going to split in two.  

Because all the work, and all the weary walking close together become like those piles of shoes kicked off at the door.  Everything put down to come worship Jesus.

Worship in the way we knelt down and prayed that the weekend would be all that He had planned.
The way we had to let go of the pouring rain.
The way kids laughed and played and plunged into freezing water anyway.
The way the Shoulders would hold my eyes to his.  Focal Point.  Helping me birth something new.

Worship in the way she brings all her lightness to balance my heaviness.
And the way melancholy meets my eyes in silent wisdom...her quiet spirit touching mine. Understanding.
The way we're learning how "to do"...together.
The way all those kids loved and prayed for each other.

Worship in the way our men met and chatted like high school girls.  WHAT??!!
The way my children, my brothers and sister in Christ, made music to the King so we all could enter in.
The way a blow torch made creme brule right there in my kitchen.
The way laughter rings the bells of heaven.

Worship in the way Jesus touches down.

Making all of life  and all of us...

An act of worship,

Bernadette