Remembering

It is funny what we remember and what we forget.

I was scrolling through the pictures of our recent trip to Haiti and thinking to myself, "I don't ever want to forget!" I posted a picture from the trip to my desktop as a constant reminder. I am trying to position Haiti in my mind and heart in ways that I will not forget.

Since coming home from Haiti, Dustin and I have been making some changes around our house. We have totally gone through our clothing and cut back on all we are keeping. Basics, necessities, and important things only. "Why do we need so much?" we keep asking ourselves.

I have been in the process of organizing our memorabilia to get things cleaned up. Each person has a Tupperware with their stuff in it. Andrew and Ethan both have some of their teeny tiny preemie clothes, little things they have made, pictures and other memories of their little lives. Dustin and I have baby clothes in ours too, precious reminders of what once was. Dustin has a heap of crazy things I drew, weird books I illustrated and a bunch of other odd things I made for him while we were dating. As I have carefully gathered these things up and gently placed them in their boxes I have done a lot of remembering. I have smiled, cried a little and laughed out loud at some of the things that we have so that we can "remember!"

I found a paper from when I was a senior in high school. We went to Romania when I was a junior and it forever changed my life. I wrote about that in Senior English. I remember that time. I remember that I felt God calling me to the ministry so strongly. I remember the places, the faces, the experience of Romania. But as I read that paper there was something that I had forgotten.

When we went to the orphanage the children didn't know what my braces were. I was embarrassed to have all of that metal in my mouth just to make my teeth straight. I wrote in that paper, "$3600 for straight teeth! $3600 could have bought 3600 loaves of bread." I had forgotten that. Had forgotten that feeling. Forgotten my own angst. Forgotten the desire to have less. How could I have forgotten? How?

I don't want to forget things like that anymore. I don't want to become comfortable with how things are here and forget how things are there. I don't want to remember just what happens to me and to forget what is happening to them. We know so much, have seen so much, and yet we so quickly forget. Life gets in the way. That stupid tyrannical urgency of our society fogs our memories and blinds us to what is important. How can I forget anymore? I can't.

$3600 could have bought 3600 loaves of bread. I don't want to forget that.

The $4 I used to spend on a cup of coffee could mean life for Haitians. I don't want to forget that.

The money spent on my birthday and Christmas gifts could provide food, education, and hope for countless people. I don't want to forget that.

Haiti has changed me, again. It has helped me to remember things I already knew but had forgotten. From now on I'm working on remembering.

www.haitiwaterproject.com

Tears

I'm thankful for tears...

They pour out passion. When I hear a song that resonates with my soul, tears form in the corners of my eyes. I'm thankful for the visible sign of the deepness in my soul that is otherwise hidden by smiles, skin and words.

I'm thankful for tears...

The tears Jesus shed over Jerusalem and her wayward, destructive, confusion fill me with a sort of thankfulness I can't explain. Thank you for those tears, that passion, that poured from Your eyes over their lostness and mine.

Those eyes wept for a friend too. Thank you for the story of Lazarus and how it shows that you are like me although vastly different in Your sameness.

And I'm thankful for the tears in the Garden of Gethsemane. The sorrow You held in Your bosom couldn't stay captured there. It broke free and burst forth, flowing freely down your face! Flowing for me, and for You and for the world. Those tears remind me that my salvation wasn't easy for You.

I'm thankful for tears...

Tears are always a sign of love really. I'm thankful for the words they speak as they leave a glistening trail down my cheeks. I'm thankful for the puffy eyes they leave behind, physical signs of the spiritual, internal, emotional.

I'm thankful for tears...

I'm thankful for tears of joy, tears of anger, tears of fear, tears of wonder, tears of thankfulness.

Thorn in the Flesh

I'm thankful for a thorn in the flesh.

I wish it was thornier really. I wish it would cause me more angst. I want to be more thankful for it.

I want to be more mindful of it's pain, more moved by it's prick, more shaped by it's stab. I wish the thorn gave me a limp or something! If it caused me to limp maybe I would do more about it. Maybe if I had to wear a lift in my shoe I'd care more. Because then I'd have to more carefully choose my shoes. Maybe I'd have to fork over extra money for American made shoes, or fair trade shoes, or sustainably made shoes. No Chinese sweat shop shoes when your feet hurt. Maybe if it was a constant dull pain I'd try to do something to relieve it. Pain so strong I wouldn't want it to come back so I'd prevent it. I want to be more thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

But as it is, I just have a stabbing pain occasionally, and so I take my reusable bag to the store. I have that ache and so I string up a clothes line but only use it one summer. I feel bad about conflict diamonds and want to sell mine even though it's certified but I forget. It's like a pulled muscle, it's uncomfortable but it also feels good to squeeze it--it hurts good. I massage that pain with these little remedies but it does nothing to cure the cancer. I do green, organic things and the pain feels good like in my tiny sacrifice I've done something good for the earth, good for myself, good for my family, good for all of the above. I use my RED card at Starbucks EVERY day. I should feel good about that. I'm helping with AIDS in Africa after all. But wait, I contribute to the landfill as I throw away my cups as my reusable one collects dust in my cupboard. Something is wrong there. I wish the pain was deeper, the tumor bigger, the treatment rigorous, if I don't take chemo and radiation I might lose this battle! I wish the prick was permanent, lasting, constant, that I never could forget. I want to be thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

But I'm so busy. I'm so tired. I'm doing good in other ways. I'm okay.

But I'm not. I have the cancer of consumerism growing in the cells of my body and squelching my soul. I have the infection of apathy bad. I'm not okay. I know it. What I do isn't fine. How I spend my money isn't right. What happens to animals, land and people because of me is sick and sinful. I want to be thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

I am thankful for the thorn in the flesh. But I want to do something about it. I want to be thankful for how that thorn spurred me on to change the world, to live lighter, to be a whole person in a whole world. I want to be always seeing others and be mindful that my gain could radically rob someone else somewhere of a good, rich and true life. I could be the thorn in someone's flesh, and more than that I could be the cancer that kills them body and spirit. I don't want that. I don't want to forget that. I don't want to live like that. I want to be thankful for the thorn in my flesh.

Bridges

I'm thankful for bridges. Thankful for their strength. I'm thankful for their shape and beauty. The curve and form of the bridge high above, the smooth surface, sleek and serene spanning the rough waters below, thankful. The uniqueness of design all for one function: the bridge keeps you on the road, keeps you dry, no fording the river for you. Thanks bridge.

I'm thankful for bridges. Thankful for people who span great divides. Their shape and form are equally beautiful but they are varied and surprising! I'm thankful for those who bring two sides together. Thankful for people who raise me up, who lift me above the raging sea of life, keep me safe and dry, thankful. When the chaotic waters of life swirl around me, when I can't wade through, when my covered wagon has tipped over in my attempt to ford the waters I need those bridge folks. Thanks bridge.

I'm thankful for bridges. Thankful for Jesus Christ who bridged the divide between me and You. Thankful that He sacrificed Himself, laid Himself down to span the distance, thankful. Thank You for the beauty of His humble form, His majestic grace, the serenity His selfless gift brings. I'm thankful for the bridge of Life. Thanks bridge.

Light

I'm thankful for light. Thankful for the beauty of sunbeams bursting out of the clouds, their long arms stretched to the heavens and illuminating the earth. The sight of sun resting on the rolling hills, casting shadows, birthing bright hues of greens and blues and browns, reflecting on glassy waters, brings light to the soul. I'm thankful for the warmth of the sun and how it toasts my skin to a gentle brown.

I'm thankful for the light that reflects through prisms and takes a simple piece of glass and casts a rainbow of colors and light about the room. From simple to complex. From ordinary to extraordinary.

I'm thankful for the sparkle that halogen brings to everything. The twinkle in eyes, the glitter of glass, the flash of teeth, the sheen of metal, the crisp beauty that comes with the crisp light.

I'm thankful for the lights that can be dimmed. As a child I loved the dimmer switch in our dining room. There is something about that darkened light that makes it feel more important, like the room itself has a secret. The depth that comes when the lights go down is almost palpable. The intimacy of a dimmed bulb is strange and beautiful.

I'm thankful for the flickering light of a candle. Thankful for the shadows it makes on the wall as it throws it's meager light across the room. I'm thankful for light's ability to cast shadows. For the things that appear dark in the site of light. It can be a dark darkness or a deepness--a contrast that is a reminder of the light. In the absence of light we are mindful of it's power, it's importance, it's illuminating quality.

I'm thankful for the crackling campfire and the memories that pop into my mind in the way the kindling pops it's hot embers into the night sky. Thankful for the flaming marshmallows that bring laughter and delicious treats, the smell of pine needles ablaze, the sparks escaping the heat of the flame and disappearing like the blurred tail of a shooting star.

I'm thankful for the myriad of stars, the little light they shine that constitutes a largeness I can't even comprehend. Their ancient light landing upon my retina, my cornea, my rods and cones. I'm thankful for their massive galactic light, but a pin prick in the sky.

I'm thankful that Jesus is the Light of the world, The Light, the True Light. All that is beautiful or noteworthy of light is truest in Him. I'm thankful that in my darkness He has shown His loving, merciful, hope filled Light. Thankful for the Light He continues to shine on me.

I'm thankful for the light that allows me to see, to live, to function. Thankful for the process of light bringing me health and happiness. Thankful for the light that gives me life, body and soul.

Music

I'm thankful for ears to hear. Thankful for the vibrations as the sound enters narrow canals. Tiny bones working together to process waves are something to be thankful for. I'm thankful for the pounding in my chest when the bass drum pounds. Literally I hear with my heart. I feel the music inside of me. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the rise and fall of the notes in their melodic tones warming me heart and soul like a cozy blanket, a warm fire and a hot drink. Something about the tune sings within me. There is a primal sense to it. It is a song I was born to hear. Not just me, but all people from all time. Something about the purity of a note speaks of the purity of my Lord and Savior. His grace like a beautiful melody sings in my soul. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the myriad instruments that sing in varied voices. Thankful for the sobbing of the violin. I'm thankful for the depth of emotion from the heavy strings of the cello. Thankful for the haunting song of the oboe. Thankful for the beat of the drum like the beat of my heart bringing life to the music, carrying it forward. I'm thankful for the sweet plunk of the piano keys that lift the melody. I'm thankful for the delicate guitar strings that ring true like the words of Jesus. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the sound of singing. For the variety, the creativity, the unifying ability of the voice lifted in song I am thankful. So many voices singing songs that move the heart and change the world. I'm thankful for voices lifted together in praise--goosebumps! I'm thankful for the intricacies of harmony. The same words are sung but the layered notes add richness, depth, emotion to one another. Even though the notes are different they belong together, knit together. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the acoustics in old chapels, auditoriums and hallways--the echo chambers that make one voice sound like many. The reverberations of voices and instruments don't merely echo in a room, they echo in the soul. For this I give thanks.

I'm thankful for the words of songs that speak what my heart longs to cry out. I'm thankful for the faithful teachers who hand down the passion to not merely know music but to love it as well. I'm thankful for the voices of my children singing. I'm thankful that I can open my mouth and sing. Thankful that I can express what is within me through song. I'm thankful for generations of musicians who have brought glory to our God and king. Thankful for songs of Redemption that ring in my ears, cause my heart to pound stronger, flow through my very veins and carry me through this life. For all of these I give thanks.

I am thankful for music, for songs, and for the melody of Jesus Christ that sings to me, in me and hopefully through me. For this I give thanks.

Thankfulness

Try to spend fifteen minutes being thankful. Don't do anything else but list the things you want to say thanks for. Thanks for this, thanks for that, thanks for them, thanks for those. Try it. Some of the women I meet with for accountability group tried it and found it very difficult. "That is a long time!" one of them said with a look of exhaustion on her face. "I was thanking God for green grass, leaves on trees, trying to find anything to be thankful for," another piped up. They were discouraged by this exercise. I was surprised really. 15 minutes doesn't seem like that long to be thankful. Certainly I could find things to thank God for that amount of time. So I took it on as a challenge.

I decided to write my thankful thoughts in my journal. I sat down. Pen in hand. Time to be thankful. This should be a piece of cake. I touched the tip of the inky pen down and lifted it up without drawing a stroke. What am I going to write? What do I want to say? How do I want my thanks to come across? I'm thankful for the green grass but why am I thankful for it? Is this a list of thanks or is this a river of thanks?

I think I prefer the river. I am, after all, thankful for rivers. I love how they flow up and down, side to side. I am thankful for the way they shape and form rocks and banks. I am thankful for the sound of the rushing water that takes me back to my childhood and draws me forward as it surges by. I'm thankful not for a list of good things but I am thankful for life and all it is about. It is more than a list, that's for sure.

So in my quest to spend time being thankful I decided to choose something that I knew I was thankful for. I guess I started to make a list in my head, maybe there won't be that artsy river after all. Hmmm, I'm thankful for my family, my church, for all kinds of things. But I don't just want to say what I'm thankful for, I want to say why! Focus! So I started with music. I am thankful for music. I am. That is a fact. But that didn't take me fifteen minutes to write, more like 15 seconds. I am thankful for music... and then I kept on writing.

Here is my thankful journey. I want to express my gratitude, not in a wooden list of facts but rather like a gushing brook, babbling and snaking through my heart and life. Cause that is what true thankfulness is, moving, shaping, growing in us as we acknowledge it and acknowledge it's source. I really am thankful.