Writing With My Kids

SOURCE:  www.cocokelley.com

[No, this isn't my very own personal sofa, but I sure do like it, and I'd love to have all of those bookshelves!]

On Thursday mornings in Room 105, I write Thankful Thursday right above the day's date on the board where I post our objectives. Then, if there are no exams or other pressing items on our agenda, I ask my kids to begin that day's class by writing about at least three things they're thankful for.

This particular, fine Thankful Thursday, I took time to write along with them:

March 28, 2013

I curl up on the couch this morning after grabbing a much smaller bowl of Cheerios than I ever dreamed possible to be satisfied with (now, that in itself is something to be thankful for) and a cup of coffee, and I glance around the cushions and at strewn pillows to make sure my Thin Within workbook, my big ol’ flowery wire-bound journal, and my hot-pink leather-almost-clad Bible were all within arm’s reach.  (Dang, I need to remember to get the hot-glue out again for that cover that keeps coming off my preachin’ Bible.  You know I always say that every preacher-woman ought to have a hot-pink Bible.) 

After jotting a few notes into my journal asking Papa-God to slow down and focus my ADHD brain that is currently trying to run all circles all over and around my mental to-do list, I reach for the workbook, silently asking Papa-God to also slow down the clock this morning so that I’ll have to plant at least one or two perfect-for-this-day Scriptures into the fresh over-turned dirt of my soul . . .

I start at Hebrews 10:19 . . .

Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place  by the book of Jesus, 20 by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body, 21 and since we have a great priest over the house of God, 22 let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings, having our hearts sprinkled to cleanse us from a guilty conscience and having our bodies washed with pure water.  23  Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. 

I am breathing in this life-word and wondering what the next verse I’m supposed to look up, Romans 8:1, will yield to supplement it, and I smile a soft, thankful, ah-yes smile as I read, Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus . . .

Yes, You are life, itself, Papa.  Thank You.  Thank You.  Thank You.

With thankful grins,

Pamm

Snippets for Friday

I wrote this one morning after receiving a T-shirt I'd ordered. I'd read about this T-shirt on someone else's blog, and I had to have one. But, sadly, as happens sometimes with mail-order items, it didn't quite fit.  Still, I loved the idea of wearing it . . .  

Snippets from 09 September 2010

"I'm the 'wretch' the song refers to"

     I wear it on my heart

The T-shirt doesn't fit, but to the words I cling --

     "I'm the 'wretch' the song refers to"

     That is everything.

     

"I'm the 'wretch' the song refers to"

     Those words resound within my heart

     They don't encumber me or weigh me down-- 

     instead, they set me free

     Free to burst into Your presence,

               to crawl into Your lap, to cling to

               Your garments, rest my head against 

               Your chest.

"I'm the 'wretch' the song refers to"

      No one else I'd rather be

You came in love to be bound in flesh

      that I might be set free.

I love You, Papa.

Soft smiles and snippets,

Pamm

PS  I may just have to try ordering again . . .  :-)

Snippets for Saturday

Photo Credit:  bijoubaby from Flickr

A Snippet for My Fellow Wigglers and Squirmers

Sep. 26, 2010

Papa. Thank You for helping me in my unbelief.  I am so humbled by Your faithfulness . . . You are trustworthy in the midst of my failure to trust.  You give, in love, even when I refuse to open my arms to receive.  Your steadfastness overwhelms me . . . truly, You are the Rock on which I can stand when all around me is shifting sand.  You are a mighty fortress in the midst of the raging battlefield around me.  Peace in the midst of the chaotic din . . . and yet . . . I wiggle and squirm as I have so often . . . spirtually ADD?

Thank You for being my Father.  My Dad.  My Papa-God who loves me so . . . Thank You for always making Your lap available, for always waiting with open arms, for holding me tightly when I've worn myself out with the wiggling and squirming.

I love you, Papa.  I love you.

Soft smiles and snippets,

Pamm

Sharing Snippets

snip pet

noun

:a small part, piece, or thing; especially: a brief quotable passage

(Merriam-Webster)

Have you ever been in that place where you can see -- really see -- that Papa-God is obviously doing a new thing, and He's obviously including you, but you just aren't sure exactly what it is yet or what it all means?  

Yeah, I'm sure that most of us have been there.  

What do you usually do while you're in that place? When you're not sure what the dreams mean, but they keep coming?  When you're seeing pregnant possibilities but haven't a clue about the due date or delivery?  When you're getting what I call the links and winks but aren't sure what He's going to ultimately do with them?  (Links and winks are those moments when you know Papa-God has divinely created a connection and He's loving so much that you're seeing the connections--even if you're clueless to what they mean--that He actually grins and winks at you.)  

I'm sure you pray.  But if you're like me, sometimes it's hard to know exactly how to pray or what to pray.  Often when I'm in that place, I find myself leafing back through the notes and letters I've written to Papa in previous days (sometimes previous years) and I use those words.  Not in a pharisaical, formulaic way, but in a praying-my-own-psalms kind of way.  And I find great comfort and peace in walking back through those words written in previous, quiet, hot-chocolate moments with Him. (At Casita 422, anything going on before 5 AM warrants hot chocolate; after 5, I hit brew on the coffee pot.)

I'm in that waiting and watching place right now.  (Maybe you're there, too.  And, actually, in my case, I'm waiting and watching but also wondering what steps of preparation to take as I feel my way through the safe-but-dark, as-yet unknown.)  So I found myself reading those earlier pages this morning, and I thought that for the next few days (or weeks), I'd share some snippets with you.  Intimate, honest, sometimes raw soul snippets.  My snippets speak for my heart, warm me, encourage me, remind me of what I need and from Whom I need it.  Maybe they will do the same for you.  

Today's Snippet

23 July 2010

How long has it been since I've actually told You, "Papa, take this day -- it is Yours to do with as You see fit"?  Too long.  Too long.  Why do I hold so tightly to what is not mine to begin with?  To what I cannot keep anyway?  Craziness.  Insanity . . . Humanity!  (Ah, this damned tent.)

Papa, this day is Yours.  I'm giving it to You.  " . . . keep that which I've committed . . . "

Soft grins and snippets,

Pamm

"How's that workin' for ya?"

Photo: thejennajuice.com

Do you have something on your counter that looks like this?  

I do.  

[Nah, this pic's not mine -- I could've spent half my morning trying to take a good picture of mine and then upload it, but I distinctly heard Papa do that throat-clearing thing and realized I just needed to borrow something from the 'Net and get on with the process!  Score one for listening!  There's hope for my someday moving on to the GT class, after all!]

My "something" consists of two white ironstone mini-pitchers holding pens, pencils, an emery board or two, small paint brushes, highlighters, the occasional pairs of scissors . . . well, you know, 'cause yours probably holds the same kind of stuff.  It's where we all go when we need to grab some kind of tool to get certain kinds of job done (crossword puzzle working, ragged nail smoothing, back-of-a-check signing, grocery listing, appointment noting . . . ).

This morning, right after Papa whispered something about writing lists, I went to my pitchers, grabbed a blue gel pen and sat down to write.  Blue ink came out in short spasms on my crisp white paper, looking pretty darn pitiful for something so essential to the writing process.  Yup, sure enough, ol' blue had done its duty and wasn't up  for any kind of re-enlistment bonus.  As I hauled myself off the couch to said pitchers for another tool, I had a -- for me -- revolutionary idea . . . I was going to actually throw away the tool that no longer worked instead of simply dropping it back in amongst the other tools as I normally would.  

WOW!

Couldn't help but wonder how many times I have hung on to something that just doesn't work, hasn't worked, and isn't going to work --  hung on to it and actually put it right back in a spot that set me up to grab it again at some later time, only to go through the whole dang-this-ain't-working process all over again.  

I am not a big Dr. Phil fan, but I do love me some "How's that workin' for ya?" philosophy.  

What an idea:  If it's not working, let it go!  Toss it.  Recycle it.  Whatever.  But stop hanging on to it.  Grab onto a new hey-here's-one-that-works something.

Wow.  This listening thing is pretty cool.

Listening and grinning,
Pamm

"Listen."

image from http://www.acapela-box.com

Listen.

Harder than it sounds.  (Oops, no pun intended.)

Lately I've been asking Papa-God to speak to me.  A fresh word.  

He asks me, instead, to give him fresh ears.  

I guess that's my word for 2013 then.  

L-I-S-T-E-N.

How simple is that?  I used to teach speech communication, for Pete's sake.  And the first principle I always taught my kids was that regardless of what is said, there is no communication until someone has heard what is said and responded.  

Yup.  I definitely need to start actively listening.  

What does that -- actively listening -- look like exactly?

My being still for one thing.  (Nope, not too good at that; well, unless I'm parked in front of NCIS or Hawaii Five-O . . .  or have the latest issue of Country Living in my hands.)

Eliminating distractions while sitting still.  (See above.  But, at least for me, it also means choosing not to look around the room looking for pictures that need to be straightened, dust bunnies that need to be chased . . . yes, I am difinitely spiritually ADD.)

Carving out time specifically to sit still without said distractions.  (And let's be honest, doesn't it feel like that sometimes?  Carving out -- almost surgically incising -- a slice of time from each crazy-busy day strictly for the purpose of some soul-biopsy.  Often painful, always time-consuming, but so necessary for the overall health of my being.)

I guess I've been wanting Papa to just send me a text or to facebook me.  

Nope.  

I gotta start listening.  Actively.

"Listen."

What's your word for this new year?  You can tell me.  I'm listening.

Grins,

Pamm

They Got It Right

I don't even remember the last time I posted . . . it's been waaaaaay too long.  And, as per my usual modus operandi, I could declare open-season on myself and start firing away--silently in my head and out-loud in print. And then, along with being a writing slacker, I could add to my list of self-deprecation my latest short-comings in my quest to get healthy (I didn't make it to the pool to exercise--oh, yeah, the pool's closed today, so, okay, I'm off the hook for that one--but I did have half a slice of sugar-filled key lime pie at lunch, and I probably didn't get in the water that I should have); I also got busy and forgot to put in that load of laundry I promised myself I would; I still haven't cleaned the master bathroom . . .  I could get on a real roll here, but, nope, I just can't because . . . well, because I got the coolest E-mails today, and they just kind of put things into perspective for me.

My babies--Baby Daughter and her Sailor-Man (a.k.a. "Popeye")--are now in their new home in Colorado and finally ready to look for a church home. Truth be told, Baby Daughter is pretty desperate to find one.  She's miserably lonely, tired from juggling physical therapy for chronic back problems and working two jobs, fussing too much with Popeye because they're both stressed over jobs and future plans and all that stuff that newly-weds still in the adjustment period sometimes stress over, and she flat-out said this morning, "Mama, I am needin' me some Jesus people!" 

After weeks of working Sundays, she finally has the weekend off, and she's ready to be in church somewhere this Sunday, even if it means venturing out on her own because now Popeye has to work on Sunday. (Proof of her desperation 'cause this is a child who, as far as I know, has never gone to church by herself a day in her life!  Truly, Papa-God IS "doing a new thing" here!)

Being the full-service mom that I am (okay, I do some things right), I researched some churches in her area and narrowed the choices down to three fellowships that seemed pretty solid theologically, offered small-group Bible study, and celebrated with the kind of contemporary worship music I know Baby Daughter and Popeye like.  Then. I. Sent. Each. Church. A. Letter. Of. Interest.

Yup.  I did.

Told 'em all about Baby Daughter and Popeye and their needs (other young-married twenty- and thirty-somethings to fellowship with), and then kind of asked them if they thought they thought they'd be a good fit for my little couple.

Now I know that Mondays are usually days off for the pastoral staff of most churches, so I wasn't real sure when I'd hear anything.  But lo' and behold, within an hour of hitting the send button, I got an E-mail from an elder in one of the churches.  A very sweet E-mail telling me a little more about the folks themselves at the church, and assuring me that this brother would be on the lookout for my babies should they decide to visit.

I was impressed.

And then, this evening, I got a second E-mail--an E-mail from another member of that same church.

This time I was literally moved to tears by the genuine interest she showed in my children--interest and concern and an eagerness to be of any help she could in making their adjustment to a new area easier.  All of this after sharing with me her love for her church.  (I couldn't help but grin when, while listing its other attributes, she wrote, "The people in this church actually like each other!")

It didn't matter anymore what I might have let slide right off my to-do list earlier in the day--I had done one really, really important thing:  I had reached out to the body of Christ--nameless-, faceless-at-the-time brothers and sisters, and they had reached back. 

Trust me, I, as quickly as anyone else, could make you a list of things I think the American church does wrong on any given day--areas where we fail, things we focus on but shouldn't and things we should focus on but don't.  But on this day, at that moment, all I could think of was that one precious body of believers who got it right.

A pastor who read my words and then shared my concerns with just the right brother and sister whom he obviously knew would also see through my words right into my heart and then take the time to let me know that, should they walk through the doors of their church, my children would be their children.

Thank you, Church.


Grins and blessings,

Pamm