I was probably born face up.  I was a caesarean baby, but even so, I was probably up facing the doctor and daring him to move me all the while hoping he would move me.  My whole life has been that kind of paradox.  Wanting the things that I need, but having the things that I don’t.  Longing for normal and courting the crazy.  So it only makes sense that I should be the single mother of eight.  Me. Lover of solitude and independence.  My idea of an ideal day is as follows. Summer:  a warm canoe, fishing rod over the boat, and a glass like lake.  Winter: a warm fire, over-stuffed chair, glass of wine, great book.   However, no matter the season, when I finally tumble into bed (if it’s not got a child or two in it) it’s typically with a happy smile after chasing and cleaning and correcting and cleaning and refereeing and cleaning up after the whole wild lot of them and I’m so content it’s next door to criminal.

We wouldn’t have been complete without Thaniel.  It wouldn’t have been right. Thaniel was the candied cherry on top of our nutty Sunday.  My two oldest daughters say often… “Mom.. is he the cutest baby ever??”  or “I don’t know what it is.. I love my other siblings, but there’s just something about Thaney…”

That’s why, when someone pokes the bubble of my happy place I take it especially hard.

There are some people who view Thaniel as a burden or a hardship.  (I’ve only gotten to enjoy the ‘puppy’ phase of his life so, you parents of older kids please excuse my delirium) to those I say “hardship is size 2 pantyhose when you are clearly a 4”.

Some view my plate as over full and my hands under equipped.  You would be right, which is all the more reason for my obnoxious grin and hearty singing during the Sunday morning service.

I once heard a story that fits that whole mentality….  ‘There once was a single dad who sent his son to Sunday school each week just to get the boy out of his hair for a few hours. A staunch atheist, he was hopeful the childish bible stories wouldn’t sink in too deep. One Sunday morning his worst fears came true when Jr. Came home exalting over the miracle of the red sea crossing. He stopped his son’s exuberant retelling and attempted to correct his son’s theology. “Son” he said, “ it wasn’t the ‘Red sea’ it was the ‘Reed sea’ . It was only a little marsh kid,  a few inches deep and a stiff wind blew it aside so there was dry ground to walk on”

The young lad LOST it! He danced, he whooped, he shouted “hallelujah! God is great! Praise God!”   The dad was stunned. What had his son misunderstood? How could this impress the boy?   “Son” the dad said “what is it?”

When he had calmed down enough to speak the boy replied, “That’s even MORE incredible dad!! That means God drowned all those mean soldiers in a few inches of marsh!!!”

Take that all you poo-poo-ers.

Some don’t say anything at all.  They smile and nod. And it’s in what they don’t say that I find all sorts of barbs.  It’s in those silences that the face up-ness of my spirit comes out.  I want to shout back, and goad.. I want to dare those eyebrow raisers and thin lip smilers to just go ahead and speak.  My name means ‘loving’, ‘sweet as honey’, But I am itching for a fight and daring anyone to throw the first punch.

But who does God ask me to be in the quiet?  Who is He saying He is in the midst?

“In quietness and confidence shall be your strength” Isaiah 30:15.

I’m supposed to answer back in kind. With a silent nod, and a genuine smile.  Hard as it is to ignore the unspoken challenge.   God help me, I’m trying! Haha.

dinner is served.

 

i won’t go

you can’t make me

i won’t shake

you can’t break me

and i’ll bow

but in victory

so keep talking

keep walking

I’ve forgotten your game

you get high

standing on things

you get by

pulling puppet strings

but i fly

i’ve got seven wings

so keep talking

keep walking

limping and lame

cut the nose from your face

hide your face in the sand

watch the hourglass

eat your words

eat your words.

shoot yourself in the foot

put your foot in your mouth

bite the bullet and

eat your words

eat your words