When the Maker of all things moves heaven and earth to be born a babe, die in your place and exchange His righteousness for your filth, I think it’s safe to say you’re His princess.

So glad that my Father did tell me. He left me His book of love and invited me into His story so that I’d never question it. May I never look elsewhere to validate my place in the royal family.

Blue skies for the second day in a row. Trader Joe’s run with Community Group friends. Lunch and laughter at Corky & Lenny’s (smoked turkey in a sundried tomato wrap for me). Pretzel-Chocolate Bar samples at Malley’s.

I think it’s safe to say it was a happy day for this little heart.

Thankfully, dinner is waiting. The crockpot of chili you put on before the work began.  It’s been simmering in there all day. As you walk through the door and into the kitchen you are greeted by the smell of it. The goodness can be served up in the next 20 minutes or so. After hands are washed and cheese is shredded and table is set.

But, that 20 minutes can seem like an eternity to the tired, ravenous bellies. The options are few: stave off the hunger by snacking on junk until the meal is ready (this is usually the choice of the children), control your appetite (maybe you’re on a diet and you’ll have a slimfast to suppress your craving), or refuse to settle and just wait for the good stuff.

You’ve probably done all three at one time or another.

It occurs to me that we often do the same thing with our spiritual hunger. Living this life can mean weariness. The toil, the stress. Fighting the law of entropy – trying with everything we’ve got to stop the decay and the tendency toward disorder. We know that everything around us seems to be falling apart.

And so our souls cry out. We are ravenous. Hungry for something to fill us up and fuel our inward places. Maybe the longing isn’t for something but for Someone. “Abba, I’m starving…”  

So, we take our hunger to the One who made us. He who knit us together and knows the deepest longings of our hearts.

But sometimes He doesn’t fill us up the way we expect Him too. Maybe we have to wait too long or His feast is not the meal we had in mind. Again the options are few: we can fill up on junk, we can try to tame the appetite, or we can wait for the good stuff.

The temptation to fill up on junk is a strong one. We do it all the time. “If only I can numb the longings with other things. Something that will give me a quick fix.” The junk food can take on many forms – some more obvious than others. Sometimes we dress it up and try to make our Biggie Fry sound healthier than it is. We can even make it sound spiritual. An event or a program or an experience. Even a relationship.

But, truth be told, taming the appetite is often no better. It looks better on the outside and it’s often the favorite in religious circles. But it’s often just legalism. Controlled, scheduled times of religious duty. Our attempt to keep God under control in our box in the closet.

But, what if we rejected both of those options and just let the hunger burn? What if we refused to settle for anything short of God Himself? What if we let the desire consume us?

It might be messy at times. Maybe even a little crazy to the people around us. Loving God does that. People don’t always ‘get it’. Especially if it changes things. Too much passion makes us civilized Westerners uncomfortable. We’re OK with religion as long as we can keep it in its nice, tidy, politically-correct box.

But the omnipresent, all-powerful, all-knowing God of Heaven & Earth doesn’t fit very well in a box. And neither does hungering after Him.

Perhaps Mr. & Mrs. Beaver said it best in The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe:

“Ooh!” said Susan, “I’d thought he was a man. Is he – quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”

“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver, “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”

“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

“I’m longing to see him,” said Peter, “even if I do feel frightened when it comes to the point.”

Let me join with Peter and long for Him. Let my hunger for Him be a consuming fire. Let it undo all my manipulating and efforts to control my appetites. Let them instead be fed in Him – even though it might not be safe.

___________________________________________________________

Thankful to be hungering for God with Ann and others at A Holy Experience.

We’re in the hard stretch of winter here in Ohio. The sky is gray. The snow has gotten dirty from plows and road grime. The novelty of snow angels and crazy sled rides has worn off a bit. Caleb sighs as I remind him once again that he needs his hat and gloves before he leaves for school. Even the magic of whipped cream on a frothy mug of hot cocoa doesn’t seem to fill them like it did in January. 

I can feel it in the air. This pervasive sense of longing. For blue skies and bird songs. For greens to peak out and color to return. For lawnmowers instead of snow blowers. For flip flops instead of boots.

And, it’s not just the kids. The grown-ups long for it too. I can see the question in their eyes: when will the Spring come? March always feels like such a long month as we wrestle with the reality that Spring is still several weeks away.

In this season of hopeful longing, I must continue the list. Bringing color to my gray days with splashes of gratitude. Looking for beauty and filling up on the good stuff.

• Extra time to create and indulge on scones and fresh whipped cream when we had the snow day on Friday;
• Family game night and discovering a new, fun game together (yey for Little Red Wagon and its wonderful, creative game selection!);
• The whistle of my tea kettle;
• The feeling I get when I pull up to the great brick house on Longmere and find my Grammy home for a chat;
• Watching my own kids explore said brick house where I once played – creaky steps to the attic, pokey rug on the landing, Werthers in the bowl;
• Time away with a newish friend at our church overnight – our friendship is becoming a sweet, comfortable place for my heart;
• The firm conviction that God does “raise the dead” as I pray for dear ones in broken marriages and hurting friendships;
• KidSingers “standing like an elephant” in worship yesterday;
• A surprise book in the mail (a just-because delivery that was a BOOK about TEA from my MOM… how good can it get?!?!);
• The hum of the furnace kicking on just before the alarm goes off in the morning.

The list of thanksgiving holds the bleakness at arms length and allows me to keep looking for beauty – even in March. Thanks for joining with me and others in the Gratitude Community this first Monday of the month.

How I thank God for this family.

For a husband who resolved that “the buck stops here” and fell at the feet of His Lord, ending a chain of dysfunction and addiction that had haunted previous generations of McKee men. A man who said “by God’s grace I will engage with my children and love my wife like Jesus loves His bride, the church.”

For two children who are learning to live with integrity and love with abandon.

Thank you, gracious God, for the sounds that fill this house. For all that they represent.

Thou hast made summer and winter, day and night;

each of these revolutions serves our welfare

and is full of thy care and kindness.

Thy bounty is seen

in the relations that train us,

the laws that defend us,

the homes that shelter us,

the food that builds us,

the raiment that comforts us,

the continuance of our health, members, senses,

understanding, memory, affection, will.

But as the stars fade before the rising sun,

Thou hast eclipsed all these benefits

in the wisdom and grace that purposed

redemption by Jesus thy Son.

Gifts and gratitude recorded ages ago on the pages of a Puritan journal. Words left behind that resonate in my heart today.

Will I join him in a chorus that echoes across time and place and circumstance? A chorus that rises up as a pleasing aroma to the Giver of all good things? May my list of the bounty take its place in the neverending song of thanks…

• Crazy But True popcorn and the sweet friends who are venturing out with a new business idea (who knew that curry could make such a yummy popcorn flavor?);
• Down comforters and being cozy under the covers;
• Anticipation of new life and a precious church body surrounding a young girl-becoming-woman as her belly swells and she prepares for the days ahead;
• Laughter and vulnerability and love amidst the brokenness as we share life stories in our Community Group;
• Eight-year-old girl chatter as I pass Madison’s room and hear two friends playing with their American Girl dolls (will the day really come when they will be too “cool” for dolls?);
• My morning cup of English Breakfast tea while the house is still dark and quiet;
• Glimpsing Caleb alone on the couch singing praise songs to his Lord (he thought no one was looking but this Mamma saw it and was deeply moved);
• Crunch of snow under my feet as I walk in the woods;
• Trying a new recipe and discovering Taco Soup as a new family favorite;
• Books that never grow old.

______________________________________________________________________________Today I’m starting the week with the ongoing “gifts list” by joining other bloggers in the great chorus of thanksgiving:

The walking trail beckoned this morning and so I answered. Gentle flakes fell about me as I set out into the quiet of winter and the beauty of it took my breath away. So magical that I half-expected to meet Mr. Tumnus as I rounded the bend.

How often do we miss these moments because we’re too busy to notice or too inconvenienced by the weather conditions to care?

Perhaps the winter would seem less daunting if we spent less time complaining about it and more time soaking in the beauty of it.

‘Tis the road less traveled, my friends. Won’t you join me on it?

The simple, purposeful recording of life’s goodnesses.

I know I can be thankful without the list. There’s nothing magical about a list. It’s not the list that makes me grateful. It’s a heart tuned to the bounty all around, eyes searching to see, and hands open to receive.

And, yet, the list helps me to pause. To remember.

I forget so quickly. I move to the next thing on the horizon and sometimes fail to embrace the beauty of the thing right in front of me.  

And, so today I am back to the list. My record of the goodnesses. A testimony to God’s grace and a place for me to remember.

•  Valentine reminders of love – kid style.

• Sleeping next to my beloved and the sound of his breathing as he drifts off.
• Anonymous card sweetly delivered to remind us that we’re loved.
• Brotherly concern over little sister’s fevered brow.
• Minestrone and bread to chase away the winter chills.
• Snowy piles of boots, gloves, scarves and the like. Evidence of fun times and backyard snow forts.

• Sunday afternoon naps.
• Reading 39 Clues with the kids each night. Our read-aloud time is one of my favorite parts of the day.
• Our school and the little squeals of “Hi Mrs. McKee” as I drop off the kids. How I bask in all those hugs and greetings!
• Sunrise came a few minutes earlier this morning. The days are getting longer again!

___________________________________________________________
Joining with other bloggers to remember the bounty…

For us it is more than physical sustenance. Our dinner time  is nourishment in every way: physical, relational, mental, and spiritual. It is full bellies – well-thought menus made with wholesome ingredients lovingly prepared by a momma’s hands.

It is caring about each other –  a time to listen and share highlights from four different days. It is pause for the heart – a candle lit and soft music in the background to calm and speak “you’re home now”. 

It is soul food – opening the Word together to talk of God’s eternal food and His living waters.

But lest you think that it’s always a picture-perfect sort of night, let me assure you that it’s not. The peaceful tone can be commandeered by the antics of the Pappa… and the children happily follow.

I roll my eyes at them all. But my heart rejoices. I suppose laughter is its own kind of nourishment.

But, the evening ends with this…

… and this. So, I’ll take it!!

Happy weekend, my friends. May you and yours find true nourishment together!

I think in some ways he was also testing his own heart. Did he even want to obey? What kind of character did he really want to pursue? What does it mean (really) to be under another’s authority?

It was an exhausting time for all us. Then came the final most difficult hurdle of all (for that season, anyway).

“If you get another warning at school this week, you won’t be allowed to go to Dalton’s sleepover.” Solemn words from father to son. Caleb knew he was serious.

Two days creeped by and there were no warnings from Mrs. Y. We rejoiced with him, relieved to have a break from the struggle.

“One more day, Buddy.” High fives on a Friday morning. Words of strength and honor uttered between them as Dad sent him off to tackle his day and his choices.

Then came 3:15 p.m. My hopeful expectation turned to sorrow as I watched him round the corner in a cloud. There would be no high fives this time. Only defeat. Eyes downcast. Shoulders slumped. “Mom, I got a warning today. Could you talk to Dad? Please don’t take away the sleepover…”

The walk home was an agonizing one. My heart teetered back and forth. Were we too harsh to tie it to the sleepover? His four best buddies would be there. They were to sleep in the backyard. It was to be his first non-family sleepover. Ahhh, but no. I knew that we had to follow-thru. He needed to feel the weight of his own choices. It was truly better for him this way.

By the time we arrived home, I knew what would have to be done. But, oh, how I wanted to give in and just let him go. Had it been up to me alone, I probably would have gone against my better judgment and given in.

Mostly out of ease. I knew it was going to be a long, hard night. The weight of it hadn’t hit him yet because he was still hoping we would reconsider. But, when the final word came down, I knew he would be distraught. The pit in my stomach revealed my angst. I really just wanted to avoid the whole, big ordeal.

But, thankfully, it wasn’t up to me alone. Rick and I were in it together. He would lead our family well, with vision for the bigger picture. And, I would be his helper, coming alongside to encourage.

Later that evening, when I came to sit with my sobbing son (it had been hours of all this emotion), I looked at him and said simply “Son, we’re following through on this because we love you. I just want you to remember that.” He looked up, unconvinced. In his mind, the most loving thing would have been to sweep it under the rug and let him go to Dalton’s. He had no idea how hard it was for us to love him beyond that to the deeper places of his developing character.  

Every mother wants her children to be happy. A lot of times the best stuff does bring them happiness. But, sometimes the best stuff is the hard stuff. It’s making them drink milk when they’d rather have soda. It’s encouraging them to read when they’d like to watch TV. It’s following through in discipline when they’d rather receive leniency. It’s looking down the road into their future when they’d rather be gratified today.

Jesus’ love is like that sometimes. Sometimes we ask for things that aren’t really best for us. Sometimes He says “no” when we’re pleading for Him to say “yes.” He reminds us that He loves us and that His way is for our best. We look up, often unconvinced.

Of course, loving like Jesus means that the truth is always coupled with grace. Sweet, unmerited favor. Even in the saddest, most disappointing of places, there is grace.

Eventually our Caleb was able receive that grace. Later that night we laughed together some and had a family night. He was still sad whenever he thought about his friends all there together and him here at home. But, he wrestled through it in the context of our love and grace (albeit imperfect love).

And, would you believe, the discipline began to bear fruit. Something was born in his growing character that weekend. Oh, he still gets warnings from time to time. But, they are fewer are farther in between now.

That exhausting season had finally come to a close.

I know this won’t be the last bout with a rebellious attitude. But, I pray that this mother’s heart will keep learning to love like Jesus: full of grace and truth. Even when the answer has to be “no.”

_____________________________________________________

Reflecting on loving like Jesus with other bloggers in Ann’s quiet corner of the internet…