Scattered

Late autumn leaves lay scattered, curled and brown on weather faded lawn. Morning showers have given way to chill breeze and clouded sunshine.

The responsible firstborn in me says, "You really should go rake up those leaves." The would-be poet sits...and studies...and looks for metaphors.

In the light of the writer's eye, all of life's snapshots are suspect. There are always lines to be read between. Images to suggest deeper images. And so I catch myself staring and doing the daily volley of right brain, left brain, deep lob by right brain, left brain standing with forced civility saying, "And that was helpful because....?"

Today the sitting wins and the leaves speak of life's fragility.

Seasons come and go and the leaves' claim to bold branch living is tenuous, at best. At least their demise is predictable. First the cold snap. Color flushes in...last gasp on grasp of life? Every shade of red-orange-gold imaginable in a stationary parade of brilliance. And we marvel, and sigh, and consume the sights and smells like desperate men before a last meal.

It is Fall and fall they will. We who live the seasons know this well. Yet there is time to prepare for winter's coming. We put the beds to bed. Coil hoses. Rake leaves. Don storm windows...and rake more leaves. Firewood is stacked. Snow shovels stand ready.

But for many...too many lately...the cold and the dark, illness, death, calamity of one size and another have snuck up with unwelcome surprise.

So as light wanes I gaze once again upon my leaf strewn yard and see a reminder of waning strength, of life, so brief. Of griefs endured and night-long bedside vigils. Of fractured families and broken hearts. Of wars and strife and loved ones far from home.

The leaves are scattered like so many lives and so many pleadings for prayer, and hope, and help. So many needing comfort, healing, protection, provision, forgiveness.


And I speak to God...



Why do I still so easily whine? How is it that my heart must be constantly led back to Thanksgiving? Truly my light and momentary troubles are nothing. And truly I am always held by my loving Father. Every valley of the shadow of death, or despair, or depression has been traversed with You, my wise and tender Shepherd. Every one. 

How many times have You carried me?

Jesus, You are refuge and strength. Thank you for making a way for me. Will you make a way for those I love? You see all that's scattered. I know You can make it whole. In Your time. In Your ways that are above my ways. You are the God of the holding and the healing. You see the faces and families that run through my mind in this moment. 

How I thank you for these lives that touch mine...rejoicing and weeping. 

There is no love where there is not risk. And You continue to show me that it is a privilege to ache for others, to bear with unloveliness, to stay in the journey, to lay my life down. 

Thank you for Your life, broken for mine... How I long for that day when all that is scattered will be made whole.

And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 

“Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. 

They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 

He will wipe every tear from their eyes.

 There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain..." 

Revelation 21:3,4

Why We Battle

My sweet granddaughter. Silly, spirited, feisty...and dearly loved. Her father, an officer in the United States Air Force. But to her, he is "Daddy."

Such a precious image as we honor the sacrifice of our military, past and present, this Veteran's Day.

But this picture also reminds me that so often, for all of us, life is a battle. Battles without and battles within. Conflicts encroaching on our safety, our health, our joy, our sanity. On foreign fields and in our own homes. Some of us in uniform and some not.

Little ones like her are why we persevere...why we get up everyday, give thanks, and continue to struggle, sacrifice, and press on...no matter what. Each generation laying it's life down for the next.

We are men and women of the battle, but we need not battle alone...

"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." ~Isaiah 41:10 

And a few more thoughts on this day...

I'm very conscious this Veteran's Day of the fact that as I sit in my safe, quiet living room with my husband rummaging closely by in the kitchen, many are far from their loved ones with safety being a moment by moment blessing. Many families are soldiering on without Dad, or without Mom. And so many in this country have and are giving their best...their youth, precious time with families, their health, mental wellbeing, and their very lives to engage in defending our freedoms and to come to the aid of others around the world. 

For those in the military who have and are sacrificing much of your freedoms for ours here and abroad, I say thank you. For those wives and mothers, husbands and fathers, and for all the children who by enduring separation bear a huge part in this sacrifice, I am humbled and grateful. May the Lord hold you close, be your protector and provider. And may none of us allow ourselves to be so comfortable and self-consumed as to forget those lives and freedoms laid down on our behalf. 

May we honestly consider how we might encourage and come alongside these families and veterans in our own communities, today and everyday.  

If we live shoulder to shoulder, no one battles alone.

If only...

If only I were a daily journaler I might capture thoughts before they crawled into some dusty corner of my brain. I tend toward the reflective in all things, but those reflections don't just bounce to the page on their own.

It's likely the same reason that I'm not a photo taker. I find myself busy living life - truly being caught up in the moment - and so very content to just be that I don't always record things in picture or print. I live them, feel them, think, and process. And, inevitably, I will joyfully sit with others, soak in conversation and watch children's antics...instead of snapping pictures.

I have never been and never will be "say cheese" mom or the scrapbook mom. God bless all of you who are, but I just wasn't cut from that pack of paper. 

Writing is a different type of chronicling. It's own embellishment and interpretation of a snapshot...a thought, experience, or journey. It takes uninterrupted time...which usually means begging and borrowing from what should be spent on other, often needful, endeavors. Sigh...

Thus the dream persists of a cozy attic studio where I hole up with my laptop while my delightfully good-natured live-in housekeeper wrestles everything of house and shopping and cooking into perfect order...and, most importantly, keeps the coffee hot....

(phone rings)

And now, even as I'm formulating thoughts and editing what I've written so far, I receive a phone call from my granddaughter who wants to tell me that she folded up her big rug during nap time, that daddy is flying on an airplane today, that sandwiches are yummy, and would I "please" talk to her on the computer?

(insert: happily resigned shake of the head and an inward chuckle...)

And so she appears, via Skype, snuggling with bear bear, bobbing her cute pigtails, and after a hearty, "Hiii Gramma!" tells me that mommy is making her a sandwich and that she'll be taking a nap later. When I tell her that I like her pigtails, she says, "Tan too." (thank you) And after a long sip on her water she declares, "Deeewishus!" And we talk about how her plate is green and her bib is yellow and her socks are gray...Then Mr. Crying in the Background appears, tears gone, and smiling at his sister. Despite his mom's persistence, he is definitely more interested in sucking his thumb and watching sister than eating his mushy rice cereal...

And on it goes for quite a while longer...until we finally say goodbye...because I really do need to shower now and get to my dad's to cut his hair....

Now I think I know why writing remains only a wish some days. (smile)

But, again, I am living and being. Being with my "kids" who now live many miles away. This happens a lot actually...these texts or calls, "Wanna skype?"

Do I usually stop what I'm doing to snatch a few minutes with these precious little ones, or with my daughters who still like to hang out with mom? Yes, you bet I do! Do I take those phone calls and texts from them...and from my son and his wife...and treasure the chance to share life? As often as I can!

Truth is, I'd always rather be than do
...especially when I can be with them.

And so all my thoughts today about how "life is a kaleidoscope lately...and how it's hard to focus on any one color, shape, thought, feeling...impression"...blah, blah, blah... and how "my brain feels tired"...yada, yada, yada...will wait for another day.

I never want to come to the end of my life with the people in my life as part of the "if onlys." 
And now I'm running late to get to my dad's house. Gotta go!

Life is a story too, even if it remains unwritten,

and I want to live every page. 

An Autumn Tale: Warm & True

Once upon a time when chill came to harken the change of seasons, Husband bought an electric throw blanket. All fleecy and green, it held great potential. But Wifey with the chilly hands and popsicle toes kept forgetting to use it.

Then one night she crawled into bed and her little toes met sweet warmth under blanket and flannel. Husband had covered the foot of the bed with lovely blanket set on high well ahead of nighty night time. And every evening after that, as long as chill persisted...and because her memory was not what it used to be...she was surprised and delighted anew by the warmth and would shout aloud or to herself, "Oh what a precious husband!"

Last night it happened again for the first time this season. 

Wifey is so grateful that Husband thinks ahead to slay the cold and give her tender covering. A good man is a blessing indeed. 

And they lived cosily ever after.

The End

Giving Your Life Away

While reading Ann Voskamp's blog the other day a passage jumped out at me,    

"And I read truth at the table: “…. and whoever sows generously will also reap generously.” All I can think of is...did I break myself generously and did I sow generously and all that you have in the end is what you give away."

This hits to the core of my life's passion, bearing the seeds of a personal mission statement, if I were to ever write one. And so I reflect...

Have you ever clearly known God's call on your life?  

At age 16 I knew without a doubt that my calling was to be a wife and mother. (I wish I always heard from God that specifically, but for all the challenges that followed, I'm very glad that I had no doubt about this one.) So at sixteen, my greatest ambition was born. During my junior year of high school my best friend talked me into entering our local Jr. Miss pageant. All the other girls went up on stage introducing themselves and declaring their goals for the future: teacher, nurse, business woman, surgeon, etc. And then it was my turn. Walking up in all my teenage-longing-to-be-an-adult passion, I said simply, "Hi. I'm Bernadette Rivard and I want to be a happy wife and mother." 

I truly did...word for word. It probably sounded corny then too. Especially in that power suit era where being at home full time, "just a wife and mother," was looked on as settling, demeaning, wasting your life. "After all," many people said to me...and the world said to all of us in general, "you're smart. You can make something of yourself." And, "Half of all marriages end in divorce. Shouldn't you have a backup plan?" I am a child of divorce, so I was not naive to that reality. And, yes, I was an honor student with an aptitude for most areas of study...but it wasn't what I was called to do. I'm not against college educations or meaningful careers, though I probably have a different take on life and careers than many people. I am a life long learner...reading, studying, writing. Always a student of something. I remain just an English major wannabe and I'm totally ok with that.

I did not believe that God's call required a backup plan, nor did my sense of worth require a piece of paper declaring some achievement. Over the years my husband often encouraged going back to school if I wanted, but the Lord's direction has always been, "Press on with what I've called you to." And I learned over time that I already had the only fall back plan I needed. Jesus. My Rock. All I ever needed to do was to run to Him...learn to take a stand...right there with Him...to be still and to abide. 

Full time wife, full time mom. Was it hard? Did I ever want to quit? Did I ever shout, "I'm so done!!" Yes, yes...and of course! There was plenty of 20, 30, and 40-something angst, especially since I didn't allow the backup plan of divorce into my vocabulary. (As a kid of divorce I kind of dug in my heels on that one.) That stubbornness carried consequences of it's own, but I'd been counting on a big God, remember? He has never let me down. So marriage and motherhood it's been...for three decades. 

Has God ever shown you that there's more to the story?

Isn't there always more to the story? More than meets the eye? Silvered-lined clouds and all that? That's always what my literary mind is looking for: What's between the lines? Where's this story headed? What happens to our quirky middle-aging heroine when she's no longer a round-the-clock mom?

I like this part. 

So all of those years of pouring into the hearts of my little, and then not-so-little, ones? It gave me resilience, endurance, and taught me more than I ever taught them. And the seasons of battling against my husband, then battling for my husband, now battling together...got me on my knees and desperate for truth...life changing truth...more than anything in my life ever has. It revealed who I was, thus, who I didn't want to be anymore. And it magnified who God is, big time! God's promises became my lifelines and a faith professed became a faith hardened and made sure by the battle. I became fully persuaded that He has the power to keep His promises (Romans 4:21) by actually walking and trusting and finding out for myself that my God is truly wise, loving, and holy. He is utterly faithful; full of mercy, grace, and compassion. Grace changes everything and it changed me. 

Back to motherhood for a moment: In the purest sense my original call to be a full-time mother was not so I could nuzzle sweet babies or chase children around while living a perfect Betty Crocker...or perhaps in my case, June Cleaver...life. I do not love everything about homemaking and I still wish that I had a passion for cooking delicious food and turning trash into treasure. Raising children is no picnic either. The hours are lousy, there are no mandatory breaks, and by the time you get around to sitting down to that hot meal...well, it ain't so hot. These are not complaints, just truths, because being a full-time mom was the best job ever! 

The vision and passion God gave of motherhood was one of continually giving life by giving mine away. Spending my time sharing knowledge, laughter, creativity, a listening ear, firmness, direction, truth and correction with the little lives He blessed to my care. Pouring out. Investing. Shaping. Preparing the next generation for a life of love, integrity, faith, and servanthood. God told me that He had a purpose for my children's lives, and so I have been nurturer and nurse, teacher and taxi, disciplinarian, counselor...and desperate seeker of His wisdom for all of it. 

And in the most practical sense, this also is what it looks like to be a discipler. One who invests in the lives of others. Jesus said in Matthew 28:19 - "...go and make disciples..." It is our call as His followers.

If I had merely given birth to my children then just left them to their own devices...well, in truth they would have died. They needed food and constant care initially, then they needed to be taught how to eat for themselves...and what to eat. Many things taste good, but are not good for you. The hot stove is tempting, but it burns. Selfishness must learn to share. And with the lessons as well as the rebellions, someone needs to be there to reassure and redirect, to forgive and help restore. 

A new believer in Christ is no different. We can't just say here's Jesus. Believe in Him. Be forgiven. Now go and have a nice life. Children of God are also raised up...by those who are older in the faith. And just as raising children is time consuming and challenging, so is walking alongside a fellow believer...guiding, loving, encouraging. Being that fountain of living water that refreshes and gives life.

Giving your life away goes against common sense, but do you really want a common life? 

Jesus says in Matthew 10:39, "Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." I really like the New Living Translation's rendition..."If you cling to your life, you will lose it; but if you give up your life for me, you will find it."

And, oh, the rewards! It's a life of listening to the Spirit as you listen to others. Asking questions, planting seeds. Trusting, not meddling. Learning when to step back, be patient, and let the Spirit work what you cannot. And through weeks, months, years...seeing growth in other's lives: baby steps, walking, running...falling, yes...but getting back up again and pressing on...vision expanded, heart enlarged, faith settling, and then watching as they become the ones coming alongside others. My heart is recharged every time I see it, and my passion grows to raise up more "kids."

This is the rest of the story. The story within the story. While following God's call to raise up my children and to work alongside my husband, He was raising me up to be more than a mom, more than a wife. That time purposed for them became my training ground. He was giving me a life and a career with eternal value. Teaching me to give myself away and in return making me a very rich woman. I've not added much to our bank account over the years, but I wouldn't trade the life I've had for a dozen 401k's. 

"All you have in the end is what you give away." In truth, I think you receive much, much more. What He's given is an abundant life...to the full and over-flowing...so that it has to be poured out. 

Do you ever feel this way? Compelled to give away what you've been given? Like you would burst if you didn't?

Why do I write?

I've been writing a lot lately, so I've also been reading much - including blogs. Author Beth K. Vogt recently posed a question on her blog In Other's Words that stopped whatever brain journey I'd been on and beckoned me to rest and stew a bit:

"Why do you write?"

    Well, I write because... "Um...no, delete that." 

I write to... "No, that's not it either."

So, I let the question simmer overnight. Slow-cooking makes things tender ...including my heart sometimes. 

Awakened much earlier than usual, I was drawn to the old blue sofa and tattered leather-bound Book...John, Job, the Psalms. Words that spoke. Even white steaming mug sat neglected as I searched for fresh bread instead. 

Satisfied, I heard the call of lonely keys and found the hard black bench as comforting as old sofa once the songs began to rise. Melody after melody...lyrics praising and echoing the Word spoken just moments before. 

Peace...

Heart, and aging hands, finally paused. I returned to nubby worn cushions...and yesterday's question:

Why do I write?

I write because I see life as story and feel breeze as poem. Whether tragedy, comedy, wee tale, or grand epic...eyes close and I breathe…and long to paint with words what my heart and spirit sees.

I write because the Lord breathes new life into me everyday and I need to share the air…precious truths, spacious places of rest, grace that heals. My cup runneth over…and finds home on lined canvas.

And until recently I hadn’t dared to dream that I could be a painter.

Many days it seems only folly, for next to His words mine are so tiny, His thoughts so far above my own. But He reassures that when the Spirit fills they can bear truth to challenge, encourage, or give laughter to a heavy heart. 

I know full well that words should not be scattered carelessly...so I labor over my letter-painted pictures. Praying and waiting. Listening and looking...and looking again. 

Where it all leads, only the Lord knows. But as long as He gives fresh bread for breaking and seeds to be sown...I will write. 

* * * * * * * 

We're not all called to write, but if you're following Jesus earnestly, you are being equipped with fresh bread and seeds to be sown. 

• How are you sharing what you've been given and sowing into the lives around you?