Pooh Bear and Tator woke up sick this morning which cut my teaching load exactly in half and increased my mothering load by double. I am spoiled in that I cannot remember any of my children being sick one single day this entire school year, and I began school in July. I thanked God straight away for our general good health and that we have nothing pressing to do today or any other for that matter as a result of the Revolution. Buck sleeps after crazy work shifts, the children and I study hard, and by evening we all peter out just after dinner.

I admit an angst about the one day's delay of school's end, but I grateful for the time created to clean out the fridge, grind wheat, catch up on laundry, and bake a little.

An outline for a book came to me Sunday, but I am certainly not convinced I have the time and space to write it anytime soon. It's just nice to feel inspired.

Something I intend to remember

Today dear ones brought lunch and their families to lend their hearts to our family revolution. They had vision to see we could use some good old fashioned lovin', and it was a beautiful thing. These folks listened to Buck and I share our mistakes and the steps of revelation toward the higher goals of relationship with our children which ultimately we hope to lead us to a more authentic faith and deep friendship with our children as adults. We were both encouraged to look forward rather than backward and count our mistakes as lessons learned. What a burden lifted! These dear people prayed over us. One recounted the Pearl of Great Price we'd found in laying aside all other things in exchange for the best- a family as closely knit as winter wool sweater. Another compared us to the image of a strong fort in Florida which took twenty years to build- when impacted by cannonballs, the porous rock compacted and simply became stronger. One prayed for a love so strong between Buck and I that our children would stand staring just hoping for something so wonderful for themselves one day. Now isn't that the way to go? Claire shared a picture of a giant footprint in the sand with bunches of little footprints everywhere around, "Who left this enormous indention? People stand around it gaping and utterly puzzled looking down into the depression of gargantuan toes and a heel. It represents the positive impact of your family in this world from the choices you are making now." One gentleman had the audacity to say that he was encouraged by all our self examination and would do more of the same on behalf of his clan. What have the Vyne's done to deserve any of these fine individuals to come to our home and our messy lives?

Behold what manner of love the Father has given unto us.

I've drawn the outline of a marvelous giant foot in washable purple marker on my bathroom mirror inspiring me to press on toward the goal set before me.

Nobody told me a new Amy Tan book was published! Though I rarely buy new fiction books, I snatched up a paperback copy off the rack at Target when I stumbled across Saving Fish from Drowning. This means I totally missed the hard to paper back transition period. How long has this book by one of my most favorite authors been out while I've been pining away for a mental escape under the snuggly covers of my bed for ancient Chinese secrets? I obviously haven't taken time to wander aimlessly through a bookstore as if time did not exist. Though I've been to Borders at least three times in the last few months, somehow I've managed to completely overlook Amy's art.

So, this is a cautionary tale for all you book worms out there. Once a person has children, there's no turning back the clock to entire weekends devoted exclusively to devouring a really good book. So far this particular weekend for me has been dedicated to two fabulous children's birthday parties. This is why I was in Target in the first place- Pooh Bear needed to choose pink and purple presents to bestow on lovely birthday girls.

And if anyone would be so kind as to let me know if and when Barbara Kingsolver releases her next book. I'd like hear about it before my six year old daughter graduates from college. I'm obviously out of the "great newly published book" loop.

Sigh. Yet another reason to consider myself as no longer hip.

As a part of my parenting revolution, I've taken a long hard look at myself, my strengths, weaknesses, my goals, and my purpose. I am nowhere near where I want to be, but through the tears of introspection and soul searching, I've clawed my way back to the hard but right path.

And wouldn't you know it? I found encouragement twice- smack dab in the middle of my children's homeschool.

The first astonishing moment flew from the page straight to my heart from our family read aloud- The Wilderness Family by Kobie Kruger. It's a true story of a family who lived on nature preserves in Africa to protect the wildlife. At this point in the story, Kobie, who raised a tiny lion cub named Leo, struggles to let go of her now full grown lion.

"So I would wake up at night, feeling sad and restless. Leo loved us and needed us. How could we even think of abandoning him? I paced the house, tyring to think of other solutions. We could all move away to some remote wild place where no other people ever came, and live there happily ever after with our lion.

But how would we live?

We could establish Leo in some remote corner of the Kruger Park (one of the nature preserves)- where no one would know about him- and we would visit him as frequently as possible, often spending days camping with him in the bush.

But how would he live-unable to hunt and unable to fend for himself? Unlike the Save Valley(the preserve far from Kobie's home Leo was scheduled to move into) that had as yet no lion population, Kruger Park had lions all over the place- wild lions who would defend their territories against interlopers like Leo.

It seemed stranger to me that the lion, powerful as he was, should be the most vulnerable of hand-reared orphans when reintroduced to the wild.

During those long sleepless night I would often think back to the day that Hettie (Kobie's oldest daughter) had first gone off to university. We still lived a t Mahlangeni then, more than six hundered kilometers from Johannesburg. We took her to the airport at Phalaborwa, and as her ariplane started taxiiing across the runway for takeoff, I wanted to run after it, shouting for it to stop and bring back my child. I wanted to explain to the pilot-and everyone else- that it was all a mistake. She was just a child of the wilderness, unprepraed for city life... she would feel so bewildered, so lonely, so lost.

But who would listen? Who would understand?

After she left, I couldn't sleep or eat properly for many days.

And then , when Sandra's (Kobie's second daughter) turn came the following year, I thought I was better prepared for it, having already been through the whole trauma once before. But harsh experiencecs don't make you stronger. They make you more vulnerable.

I decided that the only way I could prepare myself for the eventual parting with Leo was to rely on my belief that happy memories made the future bearable. And so I set about collecting good moments with Leo to add to my memory's repertoire. I also check my diaries to make sure I had recovered all the good memories of the past."



The second moment of encouragement came while Wise One read poetry from his language art assignment.

What is Once Loved

What is once loved
You will find
Is always yours
From that day.
Take it home
In your mind
And nothing ever
Can take it away.
Elizabeth Coatsworth


The sand sifts through the hourglass at a breathtaking pace concerning the days with my children spend beside me. I intend to make the most of it.

January Pet Peeve

Let's say I faithfully go to the gym for nearly 4 years now. I know who comes on a regular basis and who does not. It's all good.

Then the calendar page flips to January.

People start flocking to the gym, and suddenly the machines are all very occupied with unfamiliar faces I am unlikely to ask, "Can I work in a set?"

I know it's impatient and selfish, but I really don't like waiting on my favorite treadmill.

And if I even want to go near the free weights, I have to try and ignore the GUN SHOW. Tonight there must have been 10 men gathered and cheering around Edwardo as he chest pressed hundreds of pounds. Please.

Good thing I have an ipod to crank to block out all that testosterone.

Strange dream

I'm alone in my home this morning for the first time in weeks which gives me opportunity to process my vivid and unsettling dream. Often when a transition is on it's way for me, I dream about going away to college for the first time. Last night I dreamed this familiar dream, but I couldn't find anyone I knew (Momma Kass, my roomate from college, where were you?) and ended up having to sleep on the floor with only a blanket- neither was the case in real life. It cracks me up now thinking the dream over, because in the dream I was wishing for a nap mat in my garage now from the time my children went to Montessori school. As I continued to dream, my mom came to pick me up for Thanksgiving and drove me to Berea where my grandparents formerly resided before their deaths. Mom had rented a little house with only folding chairs and tables, when my grandfather drove up in their old timey automoblie with my grandma beside him in the front seat of the car. In the dream, I knew that he'd brought her from the nursing home. In real life, he had died of black lung from the coal mines long before Grandma Eaddie went to the nursing home. Grandma stumbled confused into the door and immediately released a colorful parrot who flew up immediately up and clung to the vault ceiling. I don't remember Grandma Eaddie ever owning a bird here on earth, but my Mamaw Francis had. As the dream moved forward, I helped Grandma coax her bird back to her hands, and I settled this dear woman into a folding chair. "Weeellll," Grandma chuckled her smoker's throaty laugh. I went to the kitchen to help my mother who was warming up already cooked Thanksgiving food. "I bought this food from the nursing home. I didn't suppose I could cook in a rented house," Mom told me. What? I found this very odd. Everyone began to watch television, and I felt uneasy. This is when I had a long look at Grandpa who wasn't just himself. As he smoked a cigarette, I understood he was a cross between Grandpa and my Uncle June with balding hair and a crooked smile. Odd! I thought to myself, "How do I get everyone to talk instead? We never meet like this, and we're wasting our time together watching goofy tv shows. I don't suppose there are any games in this barren house." So I announced, "It's a beautiful day. Can we eat on the patio?" The crowd moved outside which shook up my barely calmed Grandma. Grandpa/Uncle June and I held Grandma's arms and walked her outside to a folding chair on the patio. Outside we found my mother arranging one large potted flowering bush and a dozen gold foiled pots of pansies along the edge of the patio. I made a note that this was my mom's way of trying to make Grandma feel at home, because Grandma loved flowers.
I woke up from this slumber feeling melancholy and confused. Perhaps the terrible migraine headache I had yesterday stirred up an unconcious part of my brain. I thought maybe writing the dream down would bring clarity, but it doesn't.

YES! This year I'm finally using an academic curriculum homeschool for two of my four children which suits the needs of my family and myself without the tyranny of willy nilly ecclectic approach I've used in all the years in the past. However, Peace is in a one day a week co-op this year, and today he's asking to come on back home again next year. Hooray! No more horrid Monday mornings leaving the house at 7 a.m. with four fed and groomed children, lunch and drinks, and all homeschool materials necessary to complete while brother finishes his classes. We'll only need to find fine arts outside our home for next year. Hip! Hip! Hooray!
I suppose it's God's mercy to allow us a year of rest before the enormous challenges of high school begins.

What have I been up to lately? Christmas Eve through the week after, we hosted three sets of guests- Grandmas, Grandpas, aunts, and cousins. I am so grateful to have these splendid folks sharing their lives with us.

The following week, Buck and I spent intensive one on one child time at home every day as part of our parenting revolution. Of all the research we’ve done, this tool of focused positive attention transforms relationships more than any we’ve tried. And we’ve found that the majority of parenting books and advice contain the wrong focus- behavior instead of relationship. Thank God for Ross Campbell and his Relational Parenting book. It’s been a gift to our family.

This week, we’re getting home school back on track after the long holiday break. I was completely exhausted after the first two days over the books. However, once we finish academics, the children are still longing for all that fun time with me. I see I’m going to have to find a fine balance. Perhaps, I can take an hour to recoup after school before launching into one on one time. Not easy to do as Pooh Bear follows me around with her fairy coloring book and fairy song CD in hand waiting for me to say, “It’s time for just you and me.” I’ve finished Pilgrim’s Progress with Wise One last night. I’m reading The Education of Little Tree with Tator. Peace and I are etching out an art project. I do enjoy the company of my own children. I think I was too busy the revolution with my own projects to see that.

From now until the end of school, I must stay on this narrow path, so I’ve been canceling all of my own personal activities except limited gym time. Some of the hardest things to cancel have been retreats, even some where I was to present Still Waters contemplative materials. This also requires giving up dance with church for this season. There will be time enough for those things I’ve laid down once heart strings of this family are tightly woven again.

It's happened. Suddenly I am the mother of a teenager. Peace turns 13 today. I'm not quite in for the "I need a cell phone, have a girlfriend, and can't wait till I drive" type teen, because this particular teenager is still a boy in many ways, including the sweet and thoughtful ways. I think Buck and I will plan a manhood passage ceremony of some kind next year, because it just doesn't feel like he's ready yet. The most teenagery thing about Peace is the beginning of pimples around his nose, that bigger than a boy smell, and the occasional negative thinking aloud.

Peace rocked my world when he was born and could not be comforted. Until he could walk at fourteen months, he cried constantly. People asked me, "What is wrong with your baby? Shouldn't you just take him home?" And I would have except for the fact that I needed groceries. When he began to walk, his whole personality transformed into a happy child.

So much for the rough start, because now he is a delight. Peace has the rare gift of compassion, and it is amazing to watch him reach out to the unloved and unlovely. He observes nature and cares deeply for all creation. He truly understands awe and wonder.

gone

Faith passed away this evening, but all faith was not lost at True Vyne Farm. Wise One prayed, "God please let Faith have lots of fun running and jumping around in heaven with You."

Losing Faith

I'm afraid to go into the garage, because of what I might find. Faith, our fat grandma goat and beloved family pet is down. Yesterday my son found her star gazing, eyes glazed over and very sick. She stumbled instead of her silly waddle. Looks like goat polio, which is not the same thing as human polio. Goat polio comes about after some other bodily stress and perhaps she has pnemonia or something.

After literally three hours of searching and driving from one vet to another (both my normal vets weren't in) I found a kind vet who let me buy the prescription for Thiamine. It's a super saturated vitamin B, and it makes no sense, other than to keep vets in large animal business, that it's a prescription. Animals simply pee out what their body doesn't use. This particular farm vet met me at a Weigels on the north side of Knoxville, an entire hour's drive from my house, because the local ones refused to see me unless I brought the animal in. Ever tried to lift a 200 pound nanny? And taking her in the van may have been the one stress to put her over the edge. As of her 4 am shot, she's still hanging on. Her breathing worries me.

I don't want to lose her even though she'll never kid again. Faith is just a friend I don't want to live without.

Stealing away for a moment to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

If anyone asks me, "How was your Christmas?" I'd say, "I spent far too much time being Martha, because Mary was no where to be found. Now I'd just like some time to breathe. In silence." Crazy busy is not how I like to spend my time, but Christmas came in a whoosing whirlwind and flies by even still.

My children grumped yesterday that they are the only children in the United States who didn't get to watch one holiday show. I think it's true! No Frosty, Elf, Charlie Brown Christmas, It's a Wonderful Life, or Rudolf. Does that make me the Grinch?

One of my most treasured memories of this year were Peace's words on Christmas Eve, "Mom, I don't care about getting presents this year. I just can't wait to see the expressions on everyone's faces when they open their gifts from me." He saved and squirreled away his allowance this year and truly gave gifts to touch hearts. He gave Buck and I the loveliest clock all on his own. Up until this year, my gifts from the children came from the Dollar Store or Buck. I can see that painfully awkward mix of manly maturity in Peace's thoughtfulness and his boyish playfulness in racing cars with his siblings.

A Now a Word From the Easy to Please Department

Wise One turned hit double digits yesterday.

He picked out his birthday present with his daddy the day after Thanksgiving and has been sweating bullets waiting to open it since. Finally the day arrived, so he popped out of bed before 7:00 a.m. and began asking every five minutes, "Mom, is it light yet? Can I open my present? When will Dad be out of bed?" Buck has been working mandatory overtime and is very tired these days. I'd rather Buck grab as much sleep as possible between shifts so as to be rather alert to prevent major air disasters, than wake him up long before dawn so Wise One could open his package. Buck rose around 8:30, but Peace still slept. Pooh Bear went in Peace's room and chanted, "It's Wise One's birthday and he can't open his present till you get up and watch." After four or so chants, bedhead and all, Peace shuffled to the couch with somewhat of an-about-to-become-a-teenager scowl across his face.

Wise One wildly tore open his wrapped gigantic Lego Valdorf castle and set to work building. He was particularly impressed with the tiny skeleton Lego man. A little later after the ceremony, I called off Peace and Tater for homeschool. They were not thrilled that their brother not only got a fabulous present but also earned a day off school. Wise One often choose to work ahead to have days off for fun things. Oh, if only the other three caught onto that vision so easily!

I worked with Tater on the Vyne Revolution instead of school for a while (the day before had been one of the worst struggles of the Vyne Revolution ever). If you recall, my dear readers, Buck and I are moving from behavior to relational based parenting, and I've never done such work in my life. Friend Miriam said last night in her best English accent, "Often revolutions are very bloody." Though there had been no real blood shed, Tater gave me the Do you love me test all of Tuesday. With white knuckles and nearly broken teeth from clenching my jaw into a pleasant expression, I passed. However, when Tater began to give me a second new day of the Do you love me test so early on Wednesday, I stood in the kitchen staring into his lovely chocolate eyes and began pouring tears. Tater was moved to love and stopped the test for a while.

Tater wrote the world's best report on animal adaptation report which included an introductory and concluding paragraphs. Things were peaceful and I headed off to the gym around noon.

As soon as I was out of the garage and down the driveway, Tater began to give Buck the Do you love me test. Once again Buck passed though I'm quite certain it was a doosey, and we are both sure the exams aren't over. God help us!

Now a word from the Easy to Please Department. If a family must endure such strife, other members tend to step up and make life less stressful.

Even though we don't have time for it with all the strategies, bombs, and battles of love surging around us, our children still insist on eating meals during the Revolution. Buck scrounged around our pantry and called out to Wise One, "How does Spam sound for a birthday lunch?" Buck fried Spam since he knows he can't get away with the smell when I'm at home. It's not exactly my favorite.

Wise One exclaimed in all sincerity after his first bite into the processed canned meat product, "Now this is a birthday to remember!"

Six

The End by AA Milne
When I was One
I had just begun.
When I was Two,
I was nearly new.
When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.
When I was Four,
I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
But now I am six,
I’m as clever as clever.
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

My very own Pooh Bear turns six today. Is it really the end? Yes, in many ways. Though she's not entirely differently from yesterday, I see something, a sparkle of knowing, in her eyes. Our preschool days as a family are now finished as she's officially entered a new developmental plane. Toddler wonder makes way for more complex thought; and I'm going to miss pure toddler wonder.

She refers to things she used to do not so many months ago as "when I was a little." I whisper into the back wisps of her hair, "Stay here in my arms while you still fit." On Pooh Bear's last birthday, she could have passed for an oompa loompa, but now her willowy limbs spill over my lap like long pieces of spaghetti.

She's missing her two front teeth for Christmas, and she does whistle slightly when she talks. Perfect.

For her birthday present, I located a large and furry stuffed lavender pony with a pink velveteen saddle and silver hooves just about the size of her petite frame. Just now, she's dragging the animal behind her by it's bridle and speaking softly to it, "Let's go."

Six will not last forever, and I intend to make the most of it with my girly. Let's go.

A Little Farm Wonder

I had a dream last night that my dog, Ripley, came to me in great concern. When he turned his head on my lap, I noticed he didn't have an eye, just white fur covering the place it should have been. Disturbing. And he showed me his worry about puppies (not his) which had been born in a shallow well in the ground. For some reason, wells in the ground in my dream terrify me.

Perhaps, my dream tells me I'm more anxious than I thought about a hawk which is stalking our chickens. My husband and boys had the horrid experience Friday of finding the hawk attacking our very gentle and sweet chicken, Momma Silkie. She was far and away the most nurturing of all our hens. She constantly brooded and helped hatch and raise chicks. We suppose she died saving one of the newer babies born in September. The Vyne family will miss your tender ways, Momma Silkie.

Now back to Ripley, the amazing dog. A few weeks ago, he was made to take ear mite meds which he hated. So, he'd run when Tator and Buck went to the field holding the bottle. One day, though Buck held the bottle, Rip didn't sprint away. Instead, he voiced the "follow me" bark. Buck obliged and walked behind the big old ball o' fur until they came to a place in the far back corner of the field where a tree had fallen over and squashed the fence. What a spectacular pup! I know if Rip could have handled a hammer and fence wire, he'd have repaired it with his own paws. I can picture him fishing the wire back up the t-post and thinking, "And you coyotes think you had a way in to eat MY goats. Hurrump." The cute thing was that after Buck made the repair and headed over with the medicine, Ripley dashed away

Time and Christmas

I don't suppose anyone has time to read blogs, much less write posts. However, I find writing sometimes clears my very cluttered mind.

Three of my children have birthdays within the next three weeks. Clever other people might have persuaded their delightful children whose birthdays linger around the holidays to celebrate at a not-so-rushed time of year. I, however, have three dear old friends from my youth who felt completely ripped off and overlooked by the lack of attention their birthdays due to the busyness of the holidays. So, I feel compeled to plan a combined party for my two sons, Peace and Wise One, who like the same things, and another girly girl party for Pooh Bear.

Last year, I talked all three into a swimming party at community pool.

For the party this year, the boys want to see Eragon and eat out pizza with all their buds. Fairly easy party as I'll order a cake, figure out childcare for Pooh Bear, and drive here and there in good company.

Pooh Bear wants a snowman themed birthday party. It's God's mercy, because she wants me to plan and implement a multitude of crafts for her guests, and snowman projects happen to be an absolute snap. Also, though I am not a big decorator (actually it gives me knots in my tummy to deck the halls) I bought a few snowman decorations for the kitchen last year, which is the room I decorate for parties. I'll make a couple of round cakes and gather up my Pooh Bear. She'll have the time of her life slathering on the white icing, forming a ruit roll up a scarf, cutting out a cardstock stovepipe hat, and smooshing in candies for the eyes, nose and mouth. I found snowman party favors for 50 cents a piece at Target. I emailed a simple note to all the moms as I am not interested in the bells and whistles of ecards.

Thursday Buck took over homeschooling which allowed me to Christmas shop. Thursday was perfect because the snippy cold wind spitting tiny ineffectual snowflakes combined with the weeknight made for no crowds or hassles. I went to Ten Thousand Villages, a favorite place to shop for those who don't really need, but I want to bless. It works out nicely in that a third world artist feeds his family and someone dear to me recieves a beautiful present. I also hit Target, Walmart, Dick's, Panera's, Bliss, Borders, Brook's Brothers, B. Moss, and Dillards.

The family has handmade gifts to finish, I'll have a boatload to organize and mail, then Buck has one big purchase for the children to handle, but we are well on our way to being ready for Christmas and birthdays in the gift giving department. Buck and I stayed up very late wrapping just in case curious children found the loot I'd just purchased.

Monday Tator and Wise One's homeschool cooperative teacher took us on a field trip to process gifts for the Angel Tree on Monday. It was a simple and yet rewarding experience for all as we organized a teensy tiny portion the multitude of 24,000 gifts bought for Knoxville children in need through the Angel Tree Project. Not once did I hear a child say of the trendy flashy toys, "I wish I could have this for Christmas." The children from the class all seemed to understand these toys went to children who otherwise might get nothing under their tree Christmas morning. I asked Pooh Bear to walk through the process three times with me, and even she, at five years old, could indepently work. I didn't realize the complexity of coordinating vast amounts of toys between boys and girls clubs, orphanages, Dept. of Children's services, civic clubs, ministries to the poor, etc. When our portion was finished, we all had a proud sense of accomplishment.

When our church group service project for next week fell apart, it was an easy replacement suggestion. We're on at the Angel Tree warehouse Monday.

The Angel Tree reminds me of our struggle to adopt Tator. Since was a foster baby with us, his second Christmas we signed him up to be an angel tree recipent, because his future with our family was so incredibly precarious. We didn't know day to day if he'd be with us, and we wanted to ensure he'd have presents no matter what. He never once had to leave our care, so we still have a colorful Kwanzaa picture book from those early uncertain days. When I thumb through that particular book, it brings me back both to the incredible pain and ultimate grace full joy of foster care.

Another activity which demands my attention lately is that of the dance we are working on for next Sunday's church building opening day. Shelly and Hauna have coreographed a celebratory banner piece for ten women to lead the way into worship. I don't get to observe as I did at Easter; participant must have foot surgery, and I'll need to step into her place on a banner.

I am also working with a small group of advisors on behalf of a friend named Ruby, launching into service of the Kiowa Native Americans in Oklahoma. She's worked there since April 2004 and has the high honor of being adopted into the tribe. Claire and I find our fingers flying across the keyboard typing out informational pamphlets, invitations to support desserts, pledge cards to enable Ruby to quit work and focus on service.

Tonight is the Loudon Christmas parade and walk through the town. Pooh Bear woke up and began to put on layers of clothing at 8 a.m. this morning in preparation for the 6 p.m. parade this evening. However, when I last checked this afternoon, she had stripped to a t-shirt and a thin skirt to run around the house.

Tomorrow we hope to attend an updated version of the Nutcracker with Svetlana and Anna. I wonder what updated means exactly?

My work recently and already formerly known as Shepherd's Stew has morphed into being named Still Waters. I believe the name change occured when some vegans (wink) in Washington, D.C. conjured the thought of the Good Shepherd eating his poor little unsuspecting sheep in the Shepherd's Stew imagery...

Anyhow, Still Waters, a series of themed mini-retreats I've written are offered through The Center for Children and Theology . I've twittered away a little too much time lately dancing with my printer to work up the set titled Emmanuel for Christmas, but it's finally finished and ready for shipping. If there are any profits from this Still Waters venture for me, The Center has generously agreed to designate the money for The Shepherd's Call work.

Someone needs to tell me exactly where homeschool, cooking, and laundry fit in between all this planning?

Adoption Day

A portion of an adoption poem by Monica Palmer concerning a portait of a family painted by God:

He blended dark shadows with subtle hues of Gold.
Using the richest colors, a picture began to unfold.
One very special child, two fathers and two mothers.
The image began taking shape with such beautiful colors.

Splashes of Love outlined colors of Pain.
Shades of Joy and Sadness
were mixed throughout the Picture,
among Stripes of Sorrow and Gladness.

The Portrait was finally complete,
He gently framed it with His Heart
He hung it in the Halls of Faith
. . .A Priceless Work of Art.

I see these things in you my son.

Splashes of love outlined in colors of pain
You are a child who knows exactly what it means to be deeply cherished and yet feels deep hurt all in the same breath.
Shade of joy and sadness
Noone I know abounds in delight like you, but I still notice the grey of mourning doves peeking out from behind the glowing light in your eyes.
Stripes of sorrow and gladness
Evidence of scarring remind me your fragile heart has been wounded, yet I observe giggles, wide smiles, all out laughter mixed into each new day.

A priceless work of art
Nothing compares to you. No glorious painting, no beautiful sonnet, no perfect song comes close the pearl of great price I have in you.

I see you.
I know you.
And I love you.

Lessons on Becoming Me

After making significant progress on some important thinking work, I nestled under my cozy red blanket to catch a breath and snuck in a few last minutes of Oprah. The topic may have been “Lessons on Becoming Me.” Oprah had some stars talking about finding themselves. Their answers interested me, but most didn’t ring true for me. Most of the stars gave variations on the theme “love myself first, so I can give.” Yes, I do love me- which gives me something to offer. However, I believe there is an essential step long before loving myself.

How can I love myself if I haven’t taken the time to explore and find my purpose here on this earth?

And how does a woman find one’s purpose? I believe it comes down to asking the Artist who made me. What did the Creator have in mind when He formed me in my mother’s womb? I am quite certain I would not give one flip about why I was made if I didn’t believe the following with all my heart, soul, and mind:

The One who made me, loves me. Intimately. Deeply.

I don’t know why. I can’t imagine how God can look into my black stained heart and find anything to love, but He’s given me a clue in my own unshakable love for my own children. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter why I am loved- I just am.

One of the guests on Oprah mentioned something like “loving and respecting myself is like a light which causes those around me to love me as well.” I see some truth in this but don’t find it always true. Yes, authentic dignity stretches out like a proud Willow Tree, but people are capable of overlooking humanity altogether despite the good kind of enourmous self-worth. Sadly, I add myself to the "overlooking" category at times.

On Oprah's show, Sheryl Crow mentioned how she really pared down to only surrounding herself with people who were positive and supportive once she was diagnosed with breast cancer. Smart woman. I really resonated with her statement of literally “making a home with people who know who you are and what you want to be.” If you haven’t found that place to make a home, keep looking! Or even better, trust the one you already have and offer the gift of forgiveness and an open heart when things get off track.

Reba McIntyre’s quotes from the show were my favorite. When asked, “What would you say to the little girl you once were?” she replied, “Don’t wait so long to love yourself.” Next came the question, “What do you know that you know?” She responded, “ I have a Creator who loves me.” Whoa, I think she gets it.

I feel like putting oneself first doesn’t automatically take a person to self awareness and love. Listening to oneself apart from the Maker, one is likely to find the crowd of self critical voices which inhabit the human soul, or worse, end up in with a complete void. The empty seeker is then left to desperately beg everyone else around, “ I don’t like what I am. Please tell me what to be. What will make me happy? You tell me.“

I find no other satisfying way to look inside myself for answers without acknowledging and listening to my Creator. Once I’ve sought myself by abiding in Him, I’ve come out loving myself, because He found great value in me first.

There are many paths I take in abiding. Silence, dancing, running, meditating, writing, reading, walking, praying, gardening, creating all work for me. And then there are the dark nights of the soul which preserve and sustain me-

One particular moment in my tumultuous life, I particularly wrestled with becoming me. I found my deeply disappointed and disillusioned self sobbing in the shower, running my clenched fists down the dripping wall, while hot water washed over the skin of my bare back. I cried out, “God just tell me who You want me to be, and I’ll do! It’s torture not knowing. Tell me who I am! Tell me now!” I got the gentlest of all answers to my question in my next breath, “True, I could tell you to be a teacher, or a mother, or a writer, but I’d be limiting you. I want so much more for you than a few titles. If you must have Me give you a name, I have only one to offer-

Beloved.”

Peace flooded over me; a peace that still remains in the very center of my chest. What a precious name! Beloved. I can’t be or do something more to please or impress God. I already do please Him, simply because I’m His.

Knowing I am Beloved has set me free to explore my passions without fear. I write without feeling criticized. I enjoy and learn from children. I dance in front of a thousand without a care. I teach or lead with uncommon confidence.

I am free to love and forgive as I have been loved and forgiven. That’s what I’ve become and am still becoming.

Pooh Bear crafted a yellow paper rose for me. When she handed it to me, I hugged it to my chest and fainted into a pretend sleep on my bed.

In her best irritated voice she announced, "Mom, Sleeping Beauty doesn't wear blue jeans! She wears a pink dress."

"Mumhumm," I sounded through make-believe slumbering lips.

I slightly opened one eye for a peek at my daughter and noticed her cute little hands on her tiny hips.

"Mom, Sleeping Beauty does NOT have red hair! It's blonde." she continued in disgust.

"Right" I answered briefly, but I still maintained my resting posture.

When I snuck another peek with a single eye, she rolled her eyes in outrage and added, "Mom, Sleeping Beauty does not have pimples!"

She got me there. None of those Disney Princesses even owns one tube of Clearasil.