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The Queen Mother Sleeps

June 25, 2012 / Seán / 10 Comments

“You have fifteen minutes.”

I cross the threshold and throw down carry-on and run for the shower to wash off the residue of airports and airplanes… And then I emerge to run around the house with cuffs unbuttoned, nibbling Rosemary and Olive Triscuits– my substitute for lunch.

But still this isn’t real.

When I left, my little grandmother was tired. But she was alive…

No longer.

. . . .

In this house, my mama is the Queen.

So my abuelita was the Queen Mother.

And sometime while I was guiding blind campers through the locker rooms at a swimming pool in Hellen Keller’s hometown in Alabama, she went to her rest.

So, Sabbath a few hours gone, I sat and watched the morning born out a window over the left wing.

And then landed in Albuquerque hours later, a few minutes before my cousin, inbound for the same reason.

But still, it wasn’t real.

It wasn’t real until I walked into the little church and saw her pretty face, all full of peace.

And I was washed over with gratitude…

Because though many call this nightfall, I think of it as just the moment before dawn.

Her night– al chained in by the blackness of a world increasingly impossible for her to understand–

That night is over.

So even while tears washed the piano keys, and I groaned for grace to keep going– happy that everyone was singing and my back was to them all…

Even when, after all the nearest and dearest of our friends had mingled tears with ours, wet our shoulders and let us wet theirs,

Even when they were gone and I knelt before the open casket gripping the side with one hand, and stroking her little, cold, white one with my other– shaking with sobs…

Even then, through tears I could only repeat one thing.

Thank You, Jesus…

Thank You.

Thank you for those little hands. Those hands that would reach around me from behind and suggest chords and harmonies when I was sitting at the piano pecking out compositions… That musical mastermind that always insisted I nail the progression without compromise, and would cheer and clap with glee when I did. She, with the equivalent of a Doctorate in music from the most prestigious conservatory in her homeland, the composure of unnumbered ballads; I, the upstart child that tried…

Thank You, Jesus.

For the gift she drove home for me, starting before I even knew my own name… By her endless creativity, her bottomless passion–

The gift of love for beautiful things.

Butterflies. And flower petals. And shimmering plumage. And harmonies just, just so.

And symmetry, and color, and shades and songs, and sunsets.

She’s why I’m drawn right into the heart of a flower the size of your headphone jack.

And she’s one of the great reasons I’m drawn right into the heart of God Whose idea beauty was [is!] in the first place…

Thank You, Jesus.

The Queen Mother sleeps.

Twice a Crime

June 7, 2012 / Seán / 14 Comments

To deprive Christ of His bride by flirting with His enemy–

This is high treason.

But to shrink into a corner when the morning illuminates the sin,

And to refuse the open arms of the God Who is Love because

I’m filthy dirty. And guilty.

And I’m not good enough,

And He deserves something better; someone better.

And that someone else could make Him so much happier…

This is twice a crime.

Let Him be the judge of all that.

Just let Him love you.

“I have loved thee with an everlasting love…”

Light Up Your World

June 6, 2012 / Seán / 2 Comments

My phone rings and it’s my friend with the ever-cheerful chuckle.
(Even at 11:00 pm.)

The onions are all out drying on the lawn up at Grandma’s house… And the thunderstorm is at the county line.

The thousands of onions.

Might I lend a hand?

But of course. I peep through the blinds. The clouds west blink like they’re being hotly pursued by an army of strobes.

I jump in the waiting truck. And we race. Pallets, and crates, and two hay wagons full of onions. And just as we run the last of them into the shed, the wind slams into us in all its Oklahoman glory. And the showers of blessings begin to fall. And we jump into cars to keep our pajamas dry…

I’m suddenly seized by the urge to watch the light show.
So I duck into the house just long enough to grab 5D and tripod, and return to the hilltop alone…

It doesn’t take long. I’ve sat for 10 minute waiting to get the shot before. I only dare stay for 10 minutes this time.

But the light is so captivating…

I suddenly understand why Jesus said “Let your light so shine… that they may see… and glorify your Father.”

Because light in the darkness rarely goes unnoticed.

Just Like Your Father

June 4, 2012 / Seán / 8 Comments

Radio in my lap, yellow lines blink by out the driver’s side.
The feeling is familiar, but the road… not so much.
I’m not coming from home. And I’m not wearing my uniform.

I am, in fact, wearing light blue with french cuffs. And my tie is branded Kenneth Cole Reaction.

But just the same…

“Catron S.O., 2466 on Davenport”
“On Davenport, go ahead.”
“Yes ma’am, we’re on scene at the rodeo grounds.”

I loosen my collar a bit, single windsor slightly adrift.
And I push open the back door of the ambulance to smile down at a mother and two seriously good looking little boys.

“Hi there…”

“Hello, my son hur– [gasp]

You must be Dr. Nebblett’s boy!!”

And I wish you could have seen her smile.
I wish you could have seen mine.

“Yes ma’am, I am indeed Dr. Nebblett’s boy.”

I sit on the gurney, across from the brave little boy with big dark eyes. He with his cowboy hat, me with my cufflinks.
And I examine, and poke, and ask questions, and watch his eyes. And compare and consult… and tell his mother what she should do.

And we are instantly friends.
And someone pulls a pack of instant ice out of the cabinet, and I squeeze it until the bubble breaks, and it transforms in my hands.

And when he steps down from the ambulance, his mother tells me to tell my dad I’d seen them, and that they sent greetings.

And I did. And my father lit up the same way she had…
Because those boys were his friends, who’d moved away. The ones that would reach for him whenever they came to the office, starting at 4 months of age…

I watch them go for a quiet moment. And I turn to Jared, stethoscope around his neck–

“I think I look like my dad.“

He smiles; man of well-chosen words.
“You think?”

– – – – –

I ponder. I wonder…

That reaction– Do people see in my face the likeness of my Father?
Is that likeness striking enough for them to catch His features at first glance?
Even when distracted by some other stress?

Even if they’ve never met Him?

Harvest of Dreams

May 25, 2012 / Seán / 6 Comments

We sow.

Seeds.
And smiles.
And laughter on the wind.
And conversations that have nothing to do with gardening.
We sow little moments stitched together.
With our time fast running out.
And the dogs watch, and the sun turns us darker still…
And these are just little things. Just the seeds of this life.

But you know, if we take time to plant,
(–such a tiny part to play,)

Jesus brings the harvest.

– – – – – – –

Leaning on my rake midway down 170 feet of row, I tell my sister dear with a wink that

“If this is a hobby, it’s gotten a little out of hand.”

She straightens up, all smiles. Cocks her head a little and tells me in no uncertain terms

“This is no hobby. This is serious business.”

He Knows

May 24, 2012 / Seán / 4 Comments

So the next one will be in five years… And they can tell you month, day, minute, and second.

And it won’t be late or early. I take comfort in that…

“Like the stars in the vast circuit of their appointed path,

God’s purposes know no haste,

and no delay.”*

So what if He doesn’t tell me month, day, minute and second… All I need to know is,

He knows.

Desire of Ages, p. 32

Ruthless Transformation

May 19, 2012 / Seán / 4 Comments

“This the power of the Cross-

Christ became sin for us…”

I rub the creases in my forehead, my eyes all squinted shut.

Three days I’ve tussled with those words–

Arms folded in the morning sun by french doors; watching sunrise through the ambulance windshield; on my feet, at the kitchen sink; on my back, late and early; in my seat at breakfast, in my seat in the office, in my seat in the car… On my knees.

And I don’t understand.

I don’t understand how that Jesus could suddenly be that which was completely opposed to His nature. How He could be so thoroughly, so ruthlessly… What? Transformed? No… yes.

I don’t understand, other than what the verse says…

“For He hath made Him to be sin for us,

Who knew no sin;

that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.”

II Corinthians 5:21

That is to say, the Father made His Son to be sin for us, though (even while!) it was completely foreign to His beautiful heart,

that I might find freedom, which is totally foreign to mine.

I don’t understand.

But I hear this little question, ringing through the halls of my mind:

If Light was willing to be made dark to accomplish God’s purposes in freeing a race,

should not smiles be willing to be made tears?

should not fullness be willing to be made hunger?

should not rest be willing to be made sleeplessness?

Should not I be willing to be made anything?

Anything Providence desires?

Even if it is entirely contrary to my nature?

Even if it is a ruthless transformation…

The Gift of a Song

May 18, 2012 / Seán / 5 Comments

It was more than 25 years ago that my brave mother and father decided that their boisterous urchins would learn the art of song…

And we sang alright. Wailed, in fact.

Lots of times…

And the noises could hardly be called music at first.

But we’ve fallen in love now… And we wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Maybe that’s why our house is full of boisterous urchins from across the county every Tuesday.
(If you telephone, don’t do it on that day.)

Not really.
We think they’re angels… 🙂

Spring Recital – on the lawn

neighbor girl

They don’t all fit in the living room any more…

teacher’s violin

unfortunately, photographer doubling as pianist, the performance photos are thin.

that’s the musical genius behind Sweetwater Musical Institute.

love that hair!

Kirsten

refreshments

neighbors and beyond…

Laurie

more neighbors

Of Bok Choy and My Bible

May 16, 2012 / Seán / 44 Comments

Lettuce I can do.
Broccoli I can do.
Kale I can do. (more please?!)
Kohlrabi I do. Radishes, turnips, parsnips, parsley, and fresh asparagus.
Yep. Do, do, do.
Like, all.

And I like liking everything. (everything good.)

Really.
You cannot imagine my horror when I woke up one day and found out there was one I couldn’t do…

. . . . .

My screen comes to life with a swipe.
My thumb dances, my eyes dance. My feet dance all the way up the stairs where I almost blunder into Natasha in the kitchen. I tap the icon with the little red “10” on its corner. Off in my own little world…
But not really…

No, actually, not at all.
I share this world.
I share it with who-knows-how-many other people. 100? 120?
And it’s not the facebook app, (don’t have that one, actually) and it’s not the G+ app, and it’s not the mail app, and its not Messages.

It’s ScriptureTyper.
Typing scripture makes my eyes dance. And I wander round and round the kitchen island dodging Tasha and a huge bowl of hummus, and the wheat thins leftover from recital night, and the rest of the lunch fixings.
And I pound the table with my fist, and she enters right in, and we laugh together…

“You know what I LOVE???”
“What?”
“I absolutely love the Ethiopian! Here’s the guy, sitting in his chariot, puzzling over Isaiah.”
“Yeah…”
“And Philip arrives from nowhere, and expounds,”
“Yeah…”
“And he’s like: ‘See,

“‘…here is water! What doth hinder me to be baptized?'”
(She listens to the same bible I do, so our intonation comes out perfect in unison.)

What a concept. What a beautiful, fresh perspective…
“Yeah… And Philip…”
“Yes! and then they come out of the water and, poof!”
“‘And he went on his way rejoicing…'”

Ha! I would have to….
I would have too.

I’ll be honest, even at the start of this thing I never dreamed that memorizing could be this much fun.
Now, I’ve given up guessing. I’m just rejoicing.

Some of you were on to ScriptureTyper right from the start, before I’d ever heard of it. Well, I’ve heard of it now. And it’s a fixture… I’m totally hooked. Hooked most of all because those that have joined our group in the last week can be just as much a part as those who joined months ago… And we can push ourselves, and encourage each other, and pray for each other… 1,385 prayers and counting.
Even if we’re not (and we’re not! :)) all at the same spot…
And then there are the other emails I get… The other blogposts I read…

And friends from Young Disciple who have developed a full set of first-letter bookmarks for the entire book of Acts, (for download or purchase) so you can take your chapter anywhere… (click here.)

God is building something far beyond our dreams. He’s putting in His children an insatiable appetite for His Word…

Oh, you don’t have time?
No, actually, you do. Perhaps you don’t have an appetite.
But that can change. I promise…

. . . . .

Remember my horror when I found the greens I couldn’t do? (Apologies to my Asian friends.)

Bok Choy and I don’t agree… There’s a violent (and I do mean violent) chemical reaction when I put it in my mouth.

But you know, I’m not giving up hope yet. After all, the people who grew up on the stuff. . .

Wait a minute.

You chose what you’ll grow up on.

Go delete all the games off of your phone and computer,

and then go get ScriptureTyper.

Why We Live

May 8, 2012 / Seán / 10 Comments

Identity determines purpose.

In other words, who you are determines what you will do.

* * * * *

I have a question for you. A question still ringing in my ears from a secret spot on a sunny hillside at Sweetwater…

Can you tell me, in 10 words or less, why you’re alive?
I mean, are you living today for a reason, or are you just breathing, working, studying…?

Let me tell you a little secret:
Identity determines purpose.
Satisfaction is the fulfillment of that purpose.

I’m blessed to be surrounded by some deep, beautiful people…
You know what we’ve been learning of late?

Just living isn’t enough.

Let me gently remind you who you are.

You’re the King’s son. The King’s daughter…
You’re the broken little lamb that the Shepherd keeps charging into the briers to rescue.
(That’s His blood on the thorns, not yours.)
You’re the pinnacle of God’s creativity.
Yes, you.

And you were created to identify with God. And for God to identify with.
And you’ve been broken, and bruised, and horribly disobedient.
But you’ve been redeemed.

That’s who you are.

So now: Your purpose… Your motto. 10 words or less?
Choose them carefully. Because in the end, they’ll be the reason why you breathe, work, study… Live.

Can I tell you why I live? Why I love, preach, blog, breathe?
Why I want to finish Nurse Practitioner and spend 6 months of 12 in a dark land?

“To Make Men Free.”