Trust

Last year in February my daughter’s school (Summit Christian Academy) had priority enrollment for returning families.  In Real Estate, often you find yourself in a situation of feast or famine, and at the time, I really needed to wait a few months before we had the funds for enrolling Julia, and upcoming kindergartener Noah. We were really trying to be good stewards and didn’t want to borrow the money.  Also, we knew that if we waited a few months then we’d have plenty so we didn’t want to apply for assistance from the school.

Two months later when we sat down with the principal to discuss enrolling the children, she informed us that there was in fact, a waiting list for kindergarten.  With five kids on it.  I shook my head… but what does that mean? She explained as tenderly as she could that we’d waited too long and kindergarten was full, and then some. 

In a very un-Heather like moment I burst into tears.  I wasn’t hearing her words any more.  I was imagining balancing three children in three different schools with different start times and holidays.  I wondered if we could pull that off for a year if there’d be any difference and if we could even get him in for first grade.  I was imagining having to tell Julia that she couldn’t be with her friends, who she loves, because we couldn’t stay at the school that we loved because I’d failed.  Failed to sign them up quick enough.  Failed to make enough money.  Failed to plan accurately.  I was devastated.  We added Noah’s name to the waiting list and pulled out of the parking lot. 

My head was spinning.  We were going to have to visit schools, meet with administrators, look at new fee schedules… we didn’t have time to add this to our crazy life.  But when I slowed down and took a breath, I felt almost a burden to rest…. It was almost like God was reminding me that He had this all under control.  I didn’t feel released to do ANYTHING… I really felt like this was a season where I waited on Him, to guide and direct.  So I didn’t Google any schools.  I didn’t make any calls.  I didn’t do anything.  And that felt really weird, and honestly irresponsible. 

It only felt irresponsible because I’m so independent.  Which really at the end of the day means despite the fact that I muck things up on a regular basis I’m still inclined to trust my human efforts over the sovereign destiny my Father has for me.

There’s a fine line between doing things in excellence and striving in our own strength.  There’s a fine line between fear and wisdom.  Sometimes fear causes me to strive, but I pretend like I’m properly planning, and being wise.  Real wisdom never asks you to take your eyes off of the One who spoke the world into existence and places responsibility on the shoulders of imperfection.

Fast forward…. Noah got into Summit.  Turns out they had so much interest they started another class.  I was temped to lament the fact that Noah would be in a different class than Julia had been… But then I reminded myself that God was orchestrating the whole process.

Noah’s teacher is wonderful. She is kind and driven by a big heart with love for Jesus and her students.  She inspires the kids to learn.  She is perfect for my little man cub.  And God knew that.  And He knew that if I’d done things “according to schedule” Noah would have missed being in her class.  This wonderful, smaller class, with kids that he knew from his preschool where he was destined to be

Noah is learning how to read.  And write his name.  And what numbers represent.  And that Jesus loves Him, and that he is writing his Jesus story right now…. And I’m learning.  Learning that His ways are higher than ours. Isaiah 55:9  Sometimes in the middle of the unknown, we can't see what's around the corner.  Sometimes things don't work out the way we want them to.  Sometimes, they work out better.

I just got to go on a field trip with my boy…. I watched his eyes wide in wonder.  I watched him laugh with his friends.   I watched him learn and play and I was grateful.  Grateful that God is directing his steps… and mine too when I choose to rest and trust in Him.

His thoughts are higher than ours… His ways are higher than ours.  His plans…. They are even better than hours…. So we can rest, and hope and be confident in His plans for us.

I know the plans that I have for you, declares the Lord.

They are plans for:

(peace, completeness, wellness, soundness)

and not

(adversity, affliction, bad, calamity, displeasure, distress)

Plans to give you a hope for your future….

Jeremiah 29:11

I pray that God, the source of Hope will fill you completely with joy and peace, because you trust in Him.  Then you will overflow with the confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit. 

Romans 15:13

My Favorite Pics from Belmont Pumpkin Farm

Perspective....

So.... I took the kids camping.  Well,  Erin and I took the kids camping.  As it turns out, Erin and I make a terrific team and the weekend was wondrous!  It was a bit intimidating, because Brian had previously committed to going to an NFL game and choosing to go camping with my brother and his wonderful family was exciting and a bit scary without the support and assistance of my sweet husband. My brother booked the sites back in the spring time.  When my brother Nate goes camping he always goes to Crabtree falls in the western part of Virginia.  It's tucked away in the Blue ridge mountains, just outside of skyline drive.  The campground is nestled right along the banks of the Tyre river, and the waters that run come cascading down Crabtree falls.  According to Wikipedia:  Crabtree falls is one of the tallest sets of waterfalls in the US east of the the Mississipi.  It's credited as being 1200 feet high and has a series of five major cascades.

Nate only believes in tent camping, right along the river.  A minimum of a five minute walk from the parking lot, with no water or electricity on the sites...  The campsites are private, and secluded, far from other campers, and city noise.  Due to the canopy of trees, you can only see shadows and the glimmer of brilliant stars.  The river provides a soothing serene ambiance.  Cooking happens over the open flame of the campfire, or a camp stove.  I know that roughing it is completely subjective, but taking three little ones to a campsite in sub thirty degrees with no heat was a little nerve wracking.

Erin and I ran the show like a machine,  loading up kids and wheel barrow we had the tent established in less than ten minutes and the  car unpacked about a half hour.  We set up beds.  We put on jackets, we started a fire....

The weekend had everything that a camping trip should.  It had s'mores, and hikes, and fires, and and hotdogs and coffee from a percolator.  It had jackets, and runny noses, and leaves, and dirt and grime.  It had cuddles by a fire, and the laughter of children and falling leaves and gravel paths.   It had frigid cold temps, and cuddling just to stay warm.... it had glimmering sunshine through the trees.  It had solitude, and simplicity, and the hard manual work of lifting and carrying and setting up and tearing down.  And it had lessons... so many life lessons.

Not everything went perfect.  Despite our best efforts, and near perfection, Erin and I made the slightest mistake in setting up the tent.  I think that itsy bitsy mistake cost us about 15 degrees that night.  It was so very cold....  Two out of three of my children fell in the Tyre river.  The third has a bald spot from where she got gum stuck in her hair.  There were falls, and a twisted ankle, and tears.  Everybody was exhausted and each of the kids asked to go home separately and at least once...

Surprisingly,  that's not really what I remember. It's not what the kids remember either.  They remember:  Laughing.  Playing. Singing.  Praying. Hiking.  Cuddling.  Campfires.  S'mores.  They remember having an adventure.  Conquering the cold.  Being a family.  Climbing a mountain.  Seeing a waterfall. Roasting marshmallows. Building a fire.

I remember... Being given the chance to take a chance at living life....  and taking the risk.  The risk of getting lost, the risk of messing up the tent, the risk of cold, the risk of failure... and taking the chance to live....  and embrace the good with the bad... and the reward, was oh so worth it. In the freezing, frigid 24 degree weather... I felt alive....  When I was cleaning up my kids and drying them off, and drying their shoes, I felt alive....  When they laughed, when we hugged, when I comforted and carried them... I felt alive.  

And I realized, that I always have a choice.  I can choose what captures my gaze... What monopolizes my thoughts... to what I dedicate my attention... my energy, my worship.....

I have felt recently like I'm being challenged to focus my attention... Not on what is directly in front of me... but on what we can not see.... because it seems to be those things that matter.  The eternally significant, the forever moments that can pass by... I can be safe, or I can live... but I'm not sure I can do both.....  I am choose life.  Life without worry... or anxiety or fear....

For so long I've heard: be anxious for nothing... that's so hard for someone like me. Because I'm a doer, not watcher.  I don't know how to not... only to do.  So without an alternative to not being anxious.... well I'm just anxious.  Recently while reading in Matthew 6 something struck me.  You know the scripture.  Everyone does, consider the Lilies, don't worry... etc.  But one verse stuck out.  

"Your eye is a lamp that provides light for your body.  When your eye is good your whole body is filled with light."  Matthew 6:22

I think that what got to me was that there was a revelation that I could do something, something active not just choosing to not be anxious, but really choosing what to focus on.  Because if our focus is clear, and holy, than our whole lives are filled with His light... 

"So we fix our gaze, not on what is seen, but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:18

The mess doesn't matter.  Literally or figuratively.  If we focus on what is directly in front of us, instead of on Him who holds the stars in His hands... Then our vision isn't clear.  When our vision is distorted, everything is dark and confused.  

There really is a choice... what captivates our attention....  I'm choosing light. One day at a time... And I'm waking up... just a little more every moment....

Some of my favorite memories:

 Consider the Lilies....

The Wedding Cake

I'm making a wedding cake..... I'm adding a bit of this and a bit of that and I'm remembering.  I'm remembering the bride before she was a bride.  I'm remembering the bride when she was a teeny tiny newborn girl with silky dark hair, fuzzy peach skin, and rosebud lips. I'm remembering her smile, and coo, and cuddle and blow bubbles....  I'm remembering the little girl her run and giggle, and twirl, and sing. I'm remembering the willowy teen-ager with a tough girl shell and one of the sweetest spirits I have ever known.... I'm remembering the young adult her... between the girl and the woman, and seeing her mature right before my eyes...  And the in-love grown-up girl, with sparkly eyes and blushing cheeks...

I'm remembering my own wedding cake and all it represented.... donned with my favorite flower, and the flicker of the candle light.... (actually the flicker turned into a flame, but that's another story.)  I remember starting this journey called marriage.... and my fairytale wedding.   Marrying the man of my dreams surrounded by beauty and friendship and family.  You can forget the magic that was that day after twelve years of days to fill your memories.... Unless you take the time to remember.

Making a wedding cake is an intricate process.  It's made with special ingredients to make sure that it isn't dry, doesn't crumble and is strong enough to support the weight of all of it's layers.  It's got to be very precise, and delicate even in it's strength.  I guess the thing is, I'm not very good with precision.  I like results, to pound things out, to produce....  precise is a bonus.  But not with a wedding cake... Creating a wedding cake takes time, and thought and care and patience.  You even have to carefully prepare the pans, because such large cakes have a tendency to have a difficult time cooking evenly. Rushing through it causes the cake to fall apart to pieces.... It takes time.

I used to think that making cakes was all about making them pretty.  I think that's because truth be told, I don't like to eat cake all that much. I like to make them, which is really interesting considering that I'm really not all that crafty.  I think maybe there's something about making cakes that's a bit cathartic to me.  When I first started, I largely overestimated my abilities and underestimated the challenges.  (Typical me!)   But I never made them for fun.... Only for huge life events for other people. So failure was not an option.  There were many a midnight trip to the store for more supplies, to procure ingredients for round two when I'd ruined the first.  Most of the time there were tears.... Great frustration and disappointment over my lack of ability.  And then I'd pick myself up off the floor and start again.  I'd pray and pray. In most instances the finished product didn't look like I imagined it would.  But I was almost always thrilled with the result and sometimes it even looked better than I'd hoped.

I remember when I realized that it was important that the cake taste good too... some really good friends (you know who you are!)  lovingly told me that it's not just about how it looks, because the most beautiful cake can be offensive if what's inside the beautiful exterior isn't sweet, moist, and full of flavor. Kind of like the marriage.

People say:  It's a journey....  It's a process.... It's a fairy tale.  And it is, all of those things.... and making a beautiful marriage, like making a beautiful cake can be hard too....  It can be frustrating and disappointing and painful.  And it requires patience, and time, and grace for the chance to try again, and the right elements to make it strong, and firm and stand tall able to bear tremendous weight.... and the emphasis has to be on what's inside.... Not just how it looks, but how it is.... Possessing a flavor that is sweet, and full and appealing. Bathing it in prayer, and being willing to keep working on it. Accepting sometimes that there are flaws and cracks, and that's part of what makes it beautiful... the imperfections, and how they work together to create a masterpiece.

Happy wedding lovely bride.... You are as beautiful as the day you were born. Welcome to the family, her groom... We can't wait to get to know you better and love how you love our Leela. I'm so blessed to celebrate your beginning with you and to be able make this token for your special day.

And Happy Twelve years... man of my dreams....  despite the cracks, and the flaws, and the imperfections, there is depth and beauty and strength.  It hasn't always looked like I thought it would, but I think in truth that what is being produced in us is far more beautiful than I ever knew to hope for...

1 Corithians 13

⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

⁸ Love never fails.

Burlap to Cashmere

When Brian and I first started dating he introduced me to a band called Burlap to Cashmere.  It was a folk Christian band.  Their songs were catchy and fun.  I haven't thought about the band in a long time.  However, recently burlap has been catching my eye.  Its really vogue right now, all rustic,and frazzled and earthy.

 I decided that for my day off with the kids we'd begin decorating for fall...  We'd unpack the fall decor, made some crafts and maybe a list of things we need to get to really make our home feel like Autumn's coming.  The kids were super excited.  I'm not sure what Noah thought was in the fall box- but he literally could not wait.

So I went to Michael's. I haven't been there in ages.  They have some really cool things right now.  I'll admit I was a little overwhelmed.  I had a list and a goal, and pretty much stuck to it.  I bought burlap, a wreath form, some canvases for working on our projects. I was really excited for the big kids to come home so we could work together.

They were excited too.  They dove right into their little wreath craft while I worked on mine.  At first it was the bliss that I'd imagined.  "This is the best day ever!"  Happiness, and laughter and joy.

Then something changed. They argued over where to put the leaves and banner.  Over who would do what.  I quietly chided them, encouraged them to work together.  We unpacked the fall box but that was a bit of anticlimactic. I still don't know what Noah was expecting but that box failed to meet his expectations.  He tanked hard. "This is the worst day ever". Ouch... What happened to the give thanks spirit of the wreath they were making.  Noah swallowed his bitterness and let it grow.  His attitude declined and he was really having a tough time. I watched my son's countenance change as he decided to give in to disappointment.

I swallowed my own disappointment.  I gently corrected him.  I firmly corrected him.  I corrected him multiple times.  He did not acknowledge me.  The pillows in the living room were awry. I kept working on the burlap. Cutting and pulling and pinching.  I twisted wire and molded and shaped.  I pricked my finger.  I thought about The Blood.  I kept working, hoping to make something beautiful out of something simple and tattered, and in pieces.

There were scissors and paper scraps that spanned to rooms.   Noah and Hannah were running around like banshees and I just knew someone would end up with stitches.  I got over my disappointment and got angry. I held my tongue.  Help was on the way.  Brian was going to come and run around with them outside.  It was beautiful.  I was going to get a chance at redeeming our evening.  If I could just hold on, hold my temper.  Julia joined in the fun.  The running and screaming and shrieking.  I hung the wreath.... I couldn't believe that I made it. It was even better than I hoped it would be.

The feeling of accomplishment shattered with the sound of glass breaking.  I quickly went to the dining room where I found the big kids piled on the floor, timid and sheepish and surrounded by my Grandmother's china teapot in pieces all around.  "It fell."  So did my heart. The teapot was irreplaceable. The consequences of disobedience are sometime irreplaceable. I sent the banshees outside.  It was safer for them that way.

Brian cleaned up the china and I vented my woes.  They could have gotten hurt, really hurt.  They have to learn to listen.  They have to understand that sin hurts people around them.  They have to understand that there are consequences.

We talked to the kids.  We issued the discipline. My heart was breaking again.  Because this time, there wasn't any reactionary screaming.  No flying off the handle.  There was calm explanation and planned discipline.  There's a price for disobedience.  I heard understanding.  The kids seemed to get it. There was remorse.  Repentance.  Noah mentioned that it must be nice to be a Daddy, because no one ever disciplined you.  Brian explained that the older you are, the higher the standard, and that the consequences are even more painful when a Daddy sins. He seemed to comprehend.

"We can try again tomorrow right, to have a good day and make the right choices?" -Noah, at bedtime.  Yes baby, His mercies are new every morning.

 This morning when I woke the kids were already up.  They were so excited!  Turns out, the irreplaceable tea pot was rare, but findable! (Thanks, Brian) The kids surrendered their allowance "life savings"  and ordered one online.

This is powerful.  This was pain with a purpose.  This is really teaching, and really learning.  This is turning Burlap into Cashmere... He makes us new... He is making us new.

Some times dead things bloom....

A few years ago, my mom gave me a Crepe Myrtle that had naturally seeded in her yard.  She knew that I loved the beautiful canopy of blooms that surrounded the yard of our first home.  I really like the lacy flowers, and the rich simplistic beauty of the bark of a mature Crepe.   I think I miss those trees more than anything else about our first home together....

The tree my mom brought over was a little shoot of a thing.  My instant gratification nature failed to properly appreciate it.  I didn't even plant it, she did.....  You see, I don't have nearly enough natural patience to appreciate the process that is growth.....  She gathered the children, dug a shallow hole  and buried its roots.  She challenged me to water it so that it could properly take hold of its new home and the earth around it.  I didn't.... I forgot about it completely.

Until it grew.  It grew and grew and grew.  Within just a few seasons it was nearly as tall as me.  I know, I'm vertically challenged so it doesn't seem such a feat.  But that little tree finally had my attention.  It survived with my lack of appreciation, lack of nourishment,  lack of care.  It took hold and grew strong and tall and full, and it became obvious that we needed to move the little tree, to a place a bit more visible and a place further from the house.

We moved the tree to the other side of the yard.  My husband dug and I helped replace the dirt in the hole.  We'd always wanted a tree in that spot....  It seemed bare and empty, and just like it was wanting a tree to take root.  While planting the tree last fall my neighbor stopped by to give us some friendly advice.  He mentioned that the family who'd lived here previously had always tried to grow a tree in that very spot and never succeeded.  (Thanks for that unsolicited vote of confidence, buddy.)  All of the sudden I wanted that tree to grow.  To grow and grow and grow some more.  (For those of you who don't know I take doubt as an opportunity to succeed whenever possible.)

We watered that sucker.... we bought this plant food and religiously fed it. Maybe we over fed it.... I'm not sure, but that sturdy little tree wilted up and died....  It was really sad.  I had just learned to appreciate it, just started to really want it, and it was gone.  Plus I had really wanted it to grow as a monument that would stand tall and proud right on the corner "THE LARSON'S CAN GROW A TREE".  I guess I was imagining that's what it would silently say....

Instead it was silently advertising failure. A sad little washed up attempt, it's last wrinkled leaves fell to the ground it the tree stood naked and bare and hard.  A crisp brittle tallish wisp of missed opportunity. I imagined my neighbor felt the proper mix of pride and pity.  That stung a little.

I really wanted my husband to just dig the thing up.  After all, every time I walked outside or pulled up it seemed to be this monument solidifying "THE LARSON'S ARE AWESOME AT KILLING THINGS."  It sat there all winter.  Four months of brittle deadness.  We couldn't even properly bury our failure.

Some time though, a few months ago, I glanced at the tree, and did a double take... It had leaves!  Legitimate leaves.  My very first thought was "Wow, sometimes even dead things bloom..."

My kids and I are trying an experiment.  A friend shared with me that if you put the bottom of a celery bunch in water, it will bloom again.  I figured that we had nothing to loose, so instead of pitching that last part I cut it even and stuck it in a bowl of water....  That was three weeks ago.

That little plant started to grow the very next day.  No lie.... it was even one day and had a protrusion the next... and then another, and the next thing I knew it had stalks and leaves.  I didn't even know that it was still alive!  It had been sitting cold and hard in my refrigerator for God knows how long, and I just placed it in some water and breathed life right back in it....

I guess what I'm learning... Is that sometimes dead things really do bloom.... I'm realizing a little more every day that the key to life, is really death...  Death to our desires.  Death to our rights. Death to pride.  Death to needs.  To really really live.... sometimes you have to be willing to die.  There's life that comes from death.  Even when things seem cold, and brittle and hopeless... and then they bloom.  Bringing beauty, and newness, and opportunity with it.... Whoever seeks to save his life will lose it, but those willing to lose their life for Him, will really really truly live....Mark 8:35

The Storms....

I'm not much for gardening.  In fact, the past few years have been packed so full of, well honestly surviving that I haven't given much thought.  I guess that's not true.  I've given it a lot of thought.  I have books, and read blogs, and have recently added two square foot garden boxes full of "miracle mix"  but I haven't taken the time to plant.  Partially because it seems a bit late in the season, and partially because I'd rather not try than fail at something.  It's an age old weakness of mine- when I'm not absolutely convinced of my ability to succeed, sometimes I just don't even try.  Anyhoo- I do have a small flower spot in front of my front porch.  A few years ago my handsome husband hooked some overgrown shrubs to the back of the wrangler and pulled those suckers right out of the ground.  In the space that remained we planted some dwarf shrubs, colorful plants, lilies, and three of my most favorite flower of all- hydrangeas.  I absolutely hate weeding that flower box.  I get itchy, and dirty, and the weeds seem endless no matter how often I do it.  They are strong, and seemingly strategically placed so that they entwine themselves in the beauty that is my garden.

We've had a lot of storms this year....  Thunder that rolls so much that the pictures on my walls rattle and shake.  Lightning so electrifying that it illuminates the sky all around in a big splendor of majesty.  Driving wind, and rain so plentiful that it pools in the streets and the gutters can't keep up.  I like summer storms.  They seem big and powerful keep the earth around me from being so dry in the oppressive heat.  My children however, especially my furry one, do not like the storms.  They are frightened in the midst.  We do our best to comfort them, and assure them that we are safe inside our home, the peaceful dwelling where we abide.  However when a storm is so big it shakes the walls of your home, it threatens your security.

It's a lot like that with spiritual storms too...  Emotional crisis, unyielding grief, and suffering loss that seem to shake the literal walls of our soul.  The devastating things in life that we we grapple and struggle with and don't know how to process.  The fear, and the rage that swirl around us in the aftermath sometimes of unspeakable pain.... It takes our breath away, and if we are honest, we are shaken... and frightened in the midst.

We had one of those storms today.  We drove through it, barely making it to the car before the heavens opened and the rain poured down.  The thunder crashed and lighting was visible even in the light of day. The clouds were ominous.  It poured and poured.  The dog trembled... the walls shook and the rain came down.  In the aftermath, when the sky was dry and all was quiet there was evidence of the storm.  Scattered debris, and the ground all around was saturated.  My grass is enjoying the rain.  Even in the midst of storms, life grows... The tree we thought for sure was dead has produced beautiful flowers. I reached down and grabbed a tall weed in my flowerbed.  Without any effort at all, it came up- roots and all taking with it rich deep soil, which was loose from all the rain. I was amazed.  I pulled one after another, weeds that just days ago seemed firmly cemented in the soil, marking their rightful place my garden came up without any struggle at all, they surrendered their place amongst the flowers.

I thought about the storms in my life, and the lives of those I love.  The unexplainable losses, the grief, the tears, the threats and the fears.  And I  wondered.... could those storms loose the deep bitter roots in my spirit?  The unbelief, the independence, the pride, the un-forgiveness.  The roots that grow deep, and expertly in the soil of my soul.  The strategic root systems that steal the sun, the nourishment, the living water that choke the life out of my spirit just like the weeds in my garden.....  Can the very storms that cause me struggle set me free?  Because the storms don't plant the weeds, and if I let them, they might just till the ground enough to uproot them.  If I let the moment pass, they just give life to the very things that seek to destroy me....

I want to be like a tree.... who's roots grow deep and are not threatened.  Who will stand strong in the midst of the storms... because, while we're on this side of heaven, the thunder will surely roll.

³ He is like a tree planted beside streams of water^[d]
that bears its fruit in season^[e] 
and whose leaf does not wither. 
Whatever he does prospers.
Psalm 1:3 HCSB

Falling Deeply....

I remember the early days... The very beginning of my fairy tale, when I told My Love that I felt like I was falling.... As weightless as the leaves that fell from the trees, suspended, and guided, floating on breezes and gusts that make the branches dance. I remember seeing life through lenses of wonder- amazed by every season...

Slowly my appreciation for wonder ceased, as I took on the weight on responsibility of my new roles. Wife, Mommy, Budget Balancer, House Keeper... The list goes on and on. Can you hear the choruses of"Cinderella Cinderella night and day it's Cinderella". Here's the thing though.... It's impossible to be weightless and full of wonder when you voluntarily carry the weight of your world on your shoulders. And it's a crushing weight. A soul crushing weight. It's a blinding weight- robbing your perspective of all that is full of beauty... How is it that the beginning of the Fairy Tale was full of wonder, energizing tummy jitters, and delight- but that the reality of our life together has become full of to do lists, and frets, and worries and fears? Where is the line between wisdom and fear? When did I surrender my appreciation for all that was wonderful and trade it in for my perceived grasp on reality?

I'm trading it back. This weekend, I saw grains of sand individually falling from my baby's grasp, and I was as full of amazement as she. I saw a tapestry of clouds in a masterpiece of sky outlining a Carolina sound, and though- "God must have had quite a time designing that one." I saw the brilliant gleam of sun, outlining those same clouds on its way down, sinking sinking, seemingly right into the sound- giving way to a big bright moon, and it's stars that surround it. I felt the gusts when fall came. Not gently this time, but abruptly and determinedly taking its rightful place.... Soon leaves will turn, and then fall... And I want to fall with them. Deeply and gracefully in to the arms of a Loving God, full of wonder...

So, I surrender. I surrender the roles, the responsibilities... I'm wiggling out from underneath the weight of what was never mine to carry.... and I'm falling, little by little, day by day....