Doors

I have been avoiding this blog.

I haven't been able to capture words and fix them to the page these last few weeks.

And what makes this more challenging is that I always write in one sitting.  Today's has been piece-mealed throughout the last few days.

My son flew through the doorway to manhood.  

Yes, you know already.

And though I celebrate this passage,

there have been moments ~

 I have felt the rush of wind,

 heard the resounding boom in my ears,

and been startled out of blindsight of the 

minutia mess of relationships

~the daily grind towards raising up love.

Moments when it seems the door to his childhood closed with an abrupt slam 

and I feel cheated out of the gradual closing of a door.  

And I've thought really, who wants to hear about that?  

And why now, when I have so many things to say, can I not find my voice to write?

Pages of journaling, gratitude counting, and me ~ needing to resist the urge to break the silence fast by trying to share with you in one meal all of the bread of communion 

I've been fed these last few weeks.

Who will read these words and see between the lines to the truth I know?

That moments of grief always come when one door closes and another opens, 

no matter the size of the door.

That I rejoice he has flown through and celebrate 

that he is discovering more of who he was created to be.

That the hinges of my heart's door are well-oiled,

and lovingly maintained,

so that the Lord may enter in with the softest of knocking.

And this time, it closed behind Him in silence.

My soul has been grateful to be quiet with Him.

I am well.

These are Katie Luther's doors.  She found it essential to carve (literally) a space out for communing with her husband, Martin Luther.  I wonder if these seats bear witness to the silence of communion as much as the speech of it?  Between Martin Luther's roles as professor and pastor
 (oh, and Father of the Reformation) and Katharina's roles as his wife ~
*administering and managing the vast holdings of the monastery
*breeding and selling cattle
*running a brewery
*caring for students who boarded with them
*operating a hospital on site
*and bearing six children in eight years
~I wonder how often these two shared seats of silence, treating words as delicacies to be savored, instead filling up on the quiet respite of each other's company.


I love these doors.


I love that the seats of communion are carved out of stone.
I love that creating a space for time is an intentional act.
I love that these seats are placed on either side of the door ~
 a visible reminder that to face doors, cross their thresholds, or have them close in your face, 
you will need Him.  
Always need Him.
 And more than you think and more than you remember.


I love these doors.

I have clung to this door these past few weeks ~
Come to my help, O God;
Lord, hurry to my rescue.
Psalm 70:1
To cling is not always to announce despair.
Silence can be infused with joy, as suffering pours out to leave empty spaces for His filling.
Come to my help, O God
~that I may always keep you in my mind
Lord, hurry to my rescue
~that I may cry to you in the face of any danger
Come to my help, O God
~that I may confess I am frail
Lord, hurry to my rescue
~that I may watch for you as I wrestle with fears and failures
Come to my help, O God
~that I am assured you hear me
Lord, hurry to my rescue
~that I am confidant Your help is ever present
Come to my help, O God;
Lord, hurry to my rescue.
For You are my Only Hope.

Favored One, may you know the sweetness of the feast of silence at His table.

Counting on with Grace...

1271.  a noisy dinner, with 86 MUNS spouses enjoying each other's company

1272.  the second-hand, reminding me that each second of my life is a precious gift to be guarded as treasure

1273.  vanilla-Rooibus teas

...

1276.  a four-hour dinner with Gayle, reminding me how restorative it is to be with women

1277.  refusing to allow the voices of the church to shame me

1278.  looking forward to the voices of brothers and sisters to rebuke me and lovingly hold me accountable

1279.  a sadness that our Lenten fast did not run the course I had hoped

1280.  a gratitude, that often times I feel an obedience in emotion or will to You that is less about action and more about being still

1281.  sensing that stillness is all about the maturing You alone have done in me through Christ

1282.  pondering - could this be peering through the crack in the door in understanding better about coming to You like a child?  In simplicity and trust, learning to trust the feelings that I have previously labeled as always fickle, unreliable and dangerous.  Could it be that feelings are not a by-product of sin but intentionally knit us together, spun strong by the Father's hands?

1283.  grateful we recognize each other best through emotions we share, not intellect, not talents, but emotions

1284.  recognizing that if emotions are our strongest connective fibers, then they will also be most easily stretched, snipped, frayed, worn.

...

1286.  my husband waits patiently for his turn

1287.  I love to write