Life In Liminal Land

It has been an interesting past 7 or so months.

• We “closed the doors” of our church plant, Common Table. (Aside: doesn’t that saying give away our dominant metaphor of seeing the church as a building?)

• We had our third daughter.

• We jumped into another local church plant with some of our friends from Common Table.

• We put our house up for sale.

Ever since these things began to occur, we had a sense of calm as we’ve entered into a season of rest. In many ways, it has felt like a sabbatical as we haven’t had to plan, organize, teach, etc. However, it has also been a bit unsettling, especially at the beginning of this period. As such, it has become rather confusing and tended to make us feel uncertain.

These are hallmarks of what has come to be known as liminal space. Liminality carries the idea of entering into an in-between period; a time when the old ways of doing things has come to an end and new ones are emerging. The word is derived from the Latin limen which means “threshold.” In anthropological terms, it refers to standing at the threshold of a new time due to an initiation or rite of passage, yet still maintaining our place on the threshold. In other words, it is a middle state between changes – politically, religiously, ritually, economically, etc. – in which we have an eye on the past but an ear to the future.

Having sensed this reality for the Church in the West for some time now, we have been engaging in cultivating ecclesial practices that attempt to stay true to the tradition handed down to us while creatively moving into the future. The challenge of harmonizing innovation and tradition with humility and hospitality is daunting yet necessary. Doing this on a personal level, however, has (somewhat surprisingly) been disorienting.

The questions that have come along with this uncertainty and confusion have primarily revolved around the selling of our house. From there, they have naturally lead to levels of second and third results and furthering questions. What happens if we don’t sell the house? Perhaps, more importantly, what happens if we do sell the house? Should I stay in my current job? Is now the time to pursue more education? If so, should it be a PhD in theology or another Masters, this time in Education? If we stay 30 minutes away from our larger Jesus-community, how does proximity play into community? The list goes on.

In the midst of life in liminal land I have  noticed a few recurring thoughts and have been given a few through my friend Andrew.

Life in liminal land has the potential to freeze us in our tracks. Doubt, confusion, and uncertainty are potent. They have the strength to pull us out of being aware of what is happening around us. Together they redirect our attention, thoughts, and ultimately our actions to the future ahead of us. As Andrew has said, they form a concoction where we merely exist in life instead of living life. I have seen this play out in varying degrees over the past several months. Rather than being attentive to the people and places we live our life with and in, we bypass them for the unknown future ahead of us. Neighbors, co-workers, and friends become shadows of themselves as we overlook and neglect those among us for what lies on the horizon. We need to be self-aware and cognizant of this propensity.

Life in liminal land can give us permission to rip the beauty out of the short-lived. Here in America, we have been taught, whether explicitly or not, to be utilitarians. Usage of things is what they are for. People, neighborhoods, jobs: we suck the life out of them for our own maximized gain. Combine this with consumerism and individualism and we have a cocktail of misuse and abuse where neglect, power-wielding, and brokenness are left in their wake. In short, we are formed to see things as our own personal tools made for our personal gain; beauty is a bygone characteristic.

Moreover, we favor the short-lived, making it our main mode of existence and thus become blind to its beauty. It is like telling a fish to identify the water it is swimming in: we have become so accustomed to the short-lived and rootless that it has become the water we unconsciously swim in. To continue the water imagery, rather than diving in to our present situation, we get out of the water by isolating ourselves from our places and people. Presence and availability wane: two of the vital structures of community.

What I have been learning in our liminality is the beauty of change. I have been given fresh eyes to the beauty of our particular neighborhood. Now is the time of year when mayflies come out, followed by the annual return of the swallows. Their aerial dance reminds me of the grandeur of our shared ecosystem and interconnectivity. Neighbors begin to emerge from our long winter, changed from the months of snow and cold. Internally, the process of liminality has opened up areas of my own life that would have continued to hide in the dark. All in all, liminality offers me (and you) a chance to see the beauty of the ordinary in which we swim as move towards the future.

Life in liminal land reveals the interdependency of life. One of the main areas this time has revealed from its hiding is the reality of the interdependent life. The numbing effect of the everyday can fool us into thinking we are living life as independent beings. We lose sight of our interdependence and interconnectivity to the ecosystem we are a part of as we roll through the rhythms of the ordinary. Unconsciously, we assume we are autonomous beings without need of community found in God, neighborhood, and creation.

This becomes obvious to me when decision making becomes a solo act. Within the familiarity of my regular days, weeks, and months I see no need to confer with friends and family because I assume the ordinariness of everything will continue.

I’d rather remain in the presumed safety of my own decision-making than move into the messiness of communal life.

Yet in this in-between time (and, obviously, it should be all the time) I’m much more aware of my limits and the need for question asking, wisdom seeking, and conversation engaging. This manifests itself in prayer, chatting over coffee, and late night talks with my wife. Discussion and dialogue in community gives clarity as I begin to see that I’m not alone in this liminal life, but that we all share in limitations. My eyes and heart become more open to our need for each other and how God weaves us together and how this liminality actually forges community.

In the midst of life in liminal land, my main prayer is that I will stay attuned to the work of Jesus in me and through me for the sake of others. I pray I will not run away from it, but allow this time to do its work. Of one thing I am sure: I must remain present within this liminality so it can do its Spirit-filled work.

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So, how about you? What have you noticed about life in liminal land? How have uncertainty and confusion contributed to your life? In what ways has the regularity of liminality built community?

Sometimes I forget: Reflections on My Middle Daughter’s Second Birthday

Sometimes I forget that even though I get called Mr. Emery at work and, occasionally, Pastor Scott elsewhere, one of my favorite titles is the one you call me, “Daddy.”

Sometimes I forget you are not “my” daughter, but “our” daughter: our family, our Church, our community, our God.

Sometimes I forget how quickly a 9 month pregnancy can turn into you, my 2 year old daughter.

Sometimes I forget that my responses to things can be the most formative times in your life.

Sometimes I forget the awe of how your warm cooing has transformed into a sweet, little voice.

Sometimes I forget that you are the embodiment of one of God’s words from eons ago.

Sometimes I forget how my ambition to be known for my theological thought should never outweigh my ambition to be known – by you – for my theological action.

Sometimes I forget that how I show your mother love will probably be the litmus test for how you imagine love looking.

Sometimes I forget how your little hands will be held by another some day.

Sometimes I forget your best friend is your older sister and your biggest imitator will be your younger sister, so how I love them effects you too.

Sometimes I forget that you are two and not 18.

Sometimes I forget how soon you will be 18.

Sometimes I forget how my parents have a 30 year old son with 3 girls – one of them being you – and how soon I will be in that position.

Sometimes I forget that you don’t get the tone in my voice.

Sometimes I forget how much I prayed for you before you were born and how those prayers are slowly being answered.

Sometimes I forget the hard reality that many of your similarly-aged future friends have been/are/will be sick and dying.

Sometimes I forget how much you have taught me.

And then…

You smile and I see love.

You request to pray before bed and I understand faith.

You hug my neck as we walk downstairs every morning and I know forgiveness.

You run to me in pain and I know healing.

You laugh and I become infected with hope.

You love me and I am filled with gratitude.

Living Life Together: Commitment & Baby Pictures

A good friend and I were chatting the other day about the difficulty of discipleship and mission here in the Northeast, and in particular, here in Syracuse. In a culture steeped in and characterized as post-Christian, we have found many factors impeding the deepening and broadening of Jesus’ movement. We both strongly believe in the necessity of the Church returning to square one in her efforts. This means many things, but at its core, it means a return to Jesus’ intentions for community, mission, and incarnation.

One factor has consistently reared its head: commitment. Try as we might to disciple people into community and mission via incarnation, without commitment, things will unravel rather quickly. This might seem like an understood factor, but the reality is many people practice pseudo-commitment. When things get messy, when their romanticized illusions blow up, when the new and shiny appears on the horizon, many peoples’ “commitment” fades.

We have become a culture known for its commitment-breaking rather than its commitment-keeping.

Most, if not all, of this rests upon our consumer mindsets, practices and their resulting identities. As John McKnight and Peter Block state in The Abundant Community, “Consumer society begins at the moment when what was once the province or function of the family and community migrates to the marketplace. It begins with the decision to purchase what might have been homemade or neighborhood produced.” Once we yield to this way of life, we begin to filter our practices through the lens of consumerism. In this shift, our commitment moves from the family and neighborhood (community) to the self and its wants.

Furthermore, this mindset – and again, its identity forming practices – is founded upon detachment. One would assume consumerism’s main goal would be attaching buyers to objects. This is its lure. We think we need purchasable objects and once we have them we will stay attached to them. The truth lies in consumerism’s “counterfeit nature” which is built upon an inherent sense of detachment. It has to be, otherwise we could not go out and continue to consume. McKnight and Block quip, “The marketplace in this way promises what it knows will not be fulfilling.”

With this in mind, it should come as no surprise when we find the difficulty of commitment to incarnation. In a world of pseudo-commitment, it is much easier to tether ourselves to excarnational realities. I have heard many people say they have community on Facebook, Twitter, or other social media. Or people rally around an ideology or social issue. Again, as McKnight and Block state, within a consumer culture, we form communities around and with those who are able to purchase like us. The same is true here: we form communities – and stay committed to them – as long as they aren’t demanding, differ from their original intentions, or are full of people who share a similar affinity.

In other words, we tend to give our commitment to things which are void of actual responsibility and relationship.

Enter the baby pictures:

I love these pictures. The children in them are the two sons of friends and our daughter in the middle. The first picture is of them all soon after their births; they all were born within 3 weeks of each other. The second was taken a few weeks ago, as they all are preparing to be (or already are) 2 years old.

To me this is much more than a picture. It is much more than a group of beautiful children. It is a picture of commitment. These babies represent the families they are a part of; families who stuck it out over the past several years of community building, church planting, and church collapsing. They are the embodiment of what it means to tether together when it doesn’t make sense or when things get difficult. They are the symbols of birthday parties, dedications, hundreds of dinners, tears, laughter, and everything else in between. In a very real way, they are indicative of commitment, or as Christine Pohl describes, the “internal framework for every relationship and every community.” Their smiling faces are afforded by the trust between us all as we venture together into the future as friends turned family.

I love Peter Block’s words regarding commitment:

Commitment is a promise made with no expectation of return. It is the willingness to make a promise independent of either approval or reciprocity from other people. This takes barter out of the conversation. Our promise is not contingent on the actions of others. The economist is replaced by the artist. As long as our promise is dependent upon the actions of others, it is not a commitment; it is a deal, a contract…Commitment comes dressed as a promise.

I’m not saying everything has been perfect or without trouble. (You did see me mention “church collapse,” right?) Yet, there has been an intentional decision to incrementally push through our addictions to consumerism and to stick with mutual commitment. It has been this intentional mutuality that has allowed us to take pictures like the ones above and certainly many more to come.

If you are wondering about commitment and what it means, I’ll leave you with these questions from Peter Block’s wonderful book Community: The Structure of Belonging. Bring them to your community and have a conversation. See what happens. Talk, and if you want to truly ground the conversation, write things down and come back to them in 6 months.

What promises am I willing to make?

What measures have meaning to me?

What price am I willing to pay?

What is the cost to others for me to keep my commitments, or to fail in my commitments?

What is the promise I’m willing to make that constitutes a risk or major shift for me?

What is the promise I am postponing?

What is the promise or commitment I am unwilling to make?

 

 

Church as Family: A Reflection on Christmas Week Part 1

One of the major questions facing Christianity in the West within our current post-Christendom context is, “What is the Church?” As we are continually pushed to the margins of society the question many of us are asking revolves around the nature and reality of this community called the Church. This question has been in my mind for awhile now and reflecting on my family’s Christmas had it bouncing around both my head and my heart.

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This past Christmas was a rather hectic, yet great, time. My wife, three daughters, and I traveled to the perennially sought after Christmas vacation spot: Cleveland, Ohio. It is my wife’s hometown and is where a good majority of her family still lives.

We always stay with my mother-in-law in her 1 level, 1100 square foot ranch in the ‘burbs of Cleveland. Ever since my wife and I began dating, which is about 10 years ago now, this house has served as our lodging when in town. While we were recently there, we reminisced about the days when we’d show up without any children and actually sleep. And then we’d see friends without any children and stay out late. Now we all have children, don’t sleep, and don’t stay out late. Quite a bit has changed.

The majority of our week was spent with the entirety of my wife’s siblings and their burgeoning families. Nearly every day was spent was with a total of 21 people in my mother-in-law’s house: 9 adults, 12 children from the ages of 2 months to 13 years old. Needless to say, we could have easily turned the heat off and had plenty of heat to spare. The night of Christmas we took our large cohort to my wife’s uncle’s house where we joined in the extended family’s Christmas party. 45-50 people in all ate, played, and laughed at the White Elephant gift exchange.

Brother, sisters, wives, husbands, aunt, uncles, cousins, moms and dads. All under one roof experiencing the joy and difficulties of an extended stay with and among each other as an extended family. Maybe you had a similar experience.

“This is what church should be like” echoed over and over in my soul. “This is what we were made for.”

Here are 4 areas I was reminded of as to why it is imperative for the Church to remember our identity as family:

1. Within family, the individual “me” and “my” find their proper place within the communal “us” and “our.“

Our society has been characterized as one with deep individualistic tendencies. Nearly everything we do – including our faith decisions – has the potential of being done with only the self in mind because of the individualistic trajectory we have been put. Our fright of institutions becomes (somewhat) alleviated through the manipulative twist of seeing what we can get out of said institution, rather than what we bring to the table. The suiting of my needs trumps all else.

I was reminded over Christmas that me and my family only make sense within the family we find ourselves a part of. The “me” and the “my” find their proper place within the communal “us” and “our.” My children are not solely mine. Within the family community, they are my sister-in-law’s nieces, my mother-in-law’s granddaughters, my nephews’ cousin. They are suddenly “ours” as we love them together and seek their flourishing. We are all responsible as we journey through life together.

And this goes both ways. My brother-in-law’s kids are suddenly within my domain of responsible love as well. The decisions I would normally consider to be just mine and only effect me, now become decisions that effect us all. If I constantly decide to angrily respond to my daughter, it takes a toll on my niece who overheard me time and time again. The interconnectedness of relational life smacks us in the face in family.

The same goes for my possessions. While together, my older sister-in-law gave us a few garbage bags full of clothes. They were at one time her daughters’ clothes, but they were now ours. And by “ours” I don’t mean “my wife and I.” In a real way, they are now ours, meaning the family’s and those we will pass them onto someday. More likely than not, this will mean my wife’s younger sister who has a daughter younger than our girls. In family, the consumeristic drive is more easily set aside as we think beyond ourselves and unto others we share life with. We aren’t primarily consumers, we are co-laborers.

2. Within family, life emerges in the beautiful tension between the organic and the organized.

Some of the best times we had took place in impromptu conversations, card games, and quick trips out to the store. Some of the best times we had took place in scheduled times of gift giving, meals, and larger gatherings. In my experience, there have been those who have sought after the purely “organic” experience, thinking that life happens (nearly) exclusively in times of unscheduled happenstance. Others have attempted to painstakingly arrange their lives in ways that there is no margin for anything other than the “organized” to occur.

Yet, life seems to emerge in the tension between the two. Even the plant needs the tressel and the body needs the skeleton. The gentle weaving of the two allowed us to engage each other in ways that bring out particular things. In more formal, organized times we were able to cook and eat together in ways that only my wife’s side of the family can. My brother-in-law cooked much of the Christmas dinner in a way he learned from my (former chef) father-in-law. Watching him gave us the opportunity to ask questions and listen in ways that wouldn’t happen while shoveling the driveway. Interspersed within these times were the laughs, jokes, and remembrances that continued to join our hearts together. And this is what family does: forms a life of shared love.

3. Within family, the fruit of slow, patient, rootedness is easily seen.

One of the commonly unseen or unrecognized essentials of family is time. We don’t often think about it because it is commonly such a given that it passes right in front of us. I know I rarely ponder the past 30 years of my life being spent within my family and yet I have spent the total of this time among them.

It has been this slow, unrecognized rootedness within my family of origin and the past 10 or so years within my wife’s family that I have seen growth and fruit. It is only that which we stick with and tie ourselves to that we see grow. This is a constant complaint from many: they don’t see the “return” on “investment” with people. I have seen this to be true primarily with those who haven’t made the sacrificial or intentional decisions to stay with others. And, again, family reminds of this as we see how everyone grows throughout the years. My nieces and nephews who were wild toddlers are now tweens who lovingly help with our toddlers.

Time with each other is an intentional choice made for the sake of community.

4. Within family, the covenantal nature of the world overcomes its contractual counterpart.

Ours is a world desperately trying to present itself as primarily contractual in nature instead the reality of it being covenantal.

If time is one side of the coin, the other is commitment. It is what keeps us in the long haul over time. Undergirding commitment is the potency of our promise-making and keeping. It doesn’t take very much living of life in our current society to see the anemic condition of promises and the ill effects of their breaking. Every society and community throughout history has been tied together through the making and subsequent keeping of promises.

It is the covenanting of two or more separate people together and then maintaining those vows that allows for families and other communities to perpetuate. Promises flow in both directions as all involved give up something from themselves for the betterment and continuation of the community. Combined with the long range, big picture of needed time, commitment and promise-making are the cement of family and community.

Christine Pohl differentiates between covenantal and contractual relationships in her book Living Into Community:

When we think covenantally about promises, we tend to locate our promises in a larger story and in mutual accountability. Covenantal understandings of promising reflect a set of shared commitments and rarely have exit clauses. Contracts, on the other hand, deliberately define the relationship narrowly, and, once obligations are fulfilled, the exchange is complete – it’s finished. In covenantal settings, relationships are extended and deepened. Covenants tend to be comprehensive and vulnerable in ways that contracts are not.

When we find our identity through the lens of consumerism, we are extremely prone to see relationships as contractual. We get what we need out of them or they are over. When tough times come and disagreements abound, our contractual mindset often overrides the covenantal realities of life and we easily move on. This is true not only in dating/marital relationships, but in many, many other areas of life, unfortunately, including issues of faith and faith communities.

Sitting with my family brought up the power of promises and covenant. Seeing through difficult patches, battling addictions from yesteryear, and worry about what the effects the present will have on the future are present in my family as they are in everyone’s. I am beyond thankful for the continuing, abiding commitment present within this group of people.

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This has been a reflection on the Church and family. In my next post I’ll give a more theological and biblical look at how Jesus started a community which he envisioned as family and how we can begin to recapture that today. Moreover, I’ll wrestle with the 4 points above and the Church’s expression of each of them.

Until then…

When you think of “church”, what is the primary metaphor you use? Church is ________.

In what ways to wish church could be more like family?

The community Jesus centered around him was to be family. How does this hit you?

Unity in Diversity

Recently my wife and I have been attending St. Andrew’s Anglican Church in the valley of Syracuse. They are part of the Anglican Missions in the Americas and are currently the only representing church from AMiA in the Syracuse region. Father Bob Hackendorf, the pastor of the church, has asked me to teach their adult Sunday School, which has been a great and humbling experience. This has also resulted in us being there more often, which is been unbelievably great and is the reason for this post.

St. Andrew’s is a small congregation that rents a small space in a small stripmall. By all accounts, most Western church people would write them off as an impotent, tiny congregation and thus must be doing something wrong or irrelevant because of their small stature. This could not be further from the truth. I honestly don’t think I have been in a more vibrant, alive community in, dare I say, the majority of my life. And I think their secret is their unity in their diversity.

The community is comprised of a mishmash of ages, socio-economic statuses, and ethnic backgrounds among other diversifying categories. People from all walks of life are united together in the worship of Jesus. It is their love for God that drives them to see past their cultural differences and to see each other as family. Hugs, kisses, and warm greetings flow to and from each other as signs of what God has done for them. The barriers the world holds up in regards to their differences melt away in the warmth of Jesus’ love.

It is inspiring and moving to see the wealthy family hug the ones who have very little. The teenage girl with different color hair is welcomed with open arms by the grandmotherly women there. The Indian priest encourages the teenage boy suffering from physical disabilities. Children and adults alike partake of the Eucharist demonstrating the reality that all are welcome in the Church; younger ones don’t have to wait to be actively participating.

It has been said that the church is a signpost directing people towards the future: the people of God themselves are the future of humanity to be seen in the present. This is most evident in the interaction and sharing of life by those who if they were outside of Christ’s family would probably pass by each other. Thankfully, the walls have been broken and peace grabs these people by the hand and says, “Love each other as you have been loved.”

They do and it has made all the difference.

Child-like Mimicry

Here in the Syracuse area it is not uncommon to come across people you know. This is especially true around Christmas time when everyone and their mother is shopping. The mall is a common-ground locale where you see people you haven’t seen in awhile or should have called back and didn’t. It’s always funny when you see someone, reminisce, and tell them to tell so-and-so hello for you. Then as you walk away you realize you are walking in the same direction to the same store. I always get a kick out of that. Anyhow.

There have been multiple times when I have run into someone that either I knew and they didn’t necessarily remember me or there was someone with them that didn’t know me. I can’t even recall how many times I have introduced myself or been introduced by someone else and then the recognition comes. It typically doesn’t come with the first name, Scott, but is usually followed after my last name, Emery. “Oh yeah, you’re Pastor Emery’s son.” And there you have it. Emery is the signal in people’s recollection of not who I am exactly, but rather, who my dad is. He has done a wedding, funeral, counseling, coffee, or some other life moment that recalls a time when he influenced them.Entering into others’ life moments, especially those of transition (wedding, funeral, birth, etc.), are the times when our lives meld with others.

Being identified with one’s father, and by extension one’s family, is something that is ancient. The ancient Hebrews were patrilineal in that they traced their lines through their fathers. When you read Old and New Testament passages, which list  the typically “boring” and oft-skipped over genealogies,  you are reading the heritages of families. Fathers, sons, and grandsons were all located and remembered by the acts, beliefs, and traditions of their forebears. Being part of a particular family carried with it the honor, respect, or, conversely, infamy and disgrace.

Besides the family line carrying forth the family name, having kids is a prime way of ensuring the future has your good looks. This never really occurred to me until we had our daughter. Although she is still little, a lot of those who have seen her says she looks like me. This goes to show that regardless of the sex, my good looks surpass all gender characterizations (kidding).

As a father I have also begun to see how my child imitates my wife and I. She definitely has her own personality, but she copies us in many ways. The limited vocabulary she has sounds like ours. Her tone, hand-motions, and intent, although not known to her, is a mimicry of us. This can be scary when we step back and realize that we have done or said something that isn’t very positive. However, it can also be great. This is very evident when we see her grab her baby doll and comfort it, feed it, cuddle it and do the things we do with her. The mimicry then becomes a joy in that we get a small glimpse into how she seems to perceive us. Again, she doesn’t realize it, but she is doing to her “child” what we do with her, our child.

And isn’t this the beautiful fright of parenthood? Every person has their own personality and characteristics, faults and brightspots, and yet there is something in the way we love and don’t love that affects us. Our daughter copies both of these in us and it is evident.

Thankfully, we have the perfect Father whom we can mimic and by doing so know that we are blessing others. As John said, “Beloved, do not imitate what is evil, but what is good. The one who does good is of God; the one who does evil has not seen God.” (3 John 1:11). He also said, “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love.” (1 John 4:7-8). Notice the family language of being “born of God” results in knowing God and loving others. God loves us and therefore we can love others.

I guess the question that comes to mind is who are you mimicking? Just as my daughter mimics us, I mimicked my parents. We all mimic someone or something. Do you love well so that those around you do the same thing? I pray you do.

A few first year reflections

My daughter turned one today. It’s hard to believe it has already been one year. Although I could write pages about how life has changed, I will limit it to a few reflections.

- It’s amazing how things can change in a matter of moments. One moment my wife is pregnant, the next we are parents. I think its funny how we spend years in school, work hard at perfecting our sport, and save for the new car, etc. Time is invested and effort is spent for the day when the potential of these will come together. Sure, joy is felt in the payoff for time well spent and energies put into our hobbies, education, and any other important thing. But generally that’s all they are: things requiring effort and time. And then along comes a person who needs all the time and effort you can muster for and it is within a mere moment that everything changes. And it is joy.

- When I was 20 I went to Africa for about a month. I stayed with my sister and her family in their house outside of Nairobi, Kenya. The first weekend we my brother-in-law and I went to a small church on the nearby mountainside. It was unbelievable. One of those experiences you will never forget. Somehow, and perhaps somewhat unfortunately, we were the first white people some of the children had ever seen. They ran up to our vehicle to see their reflections in the mirrors and windows. All this was prior to opening the door of the car. As soon as the door cracked, the rush of beautiful, harmonious music filled the car. Mostly unaccompanied voices that were full of hardness, melody, and above all worship. I remember thinking that when we sing with the multitudes in eternity I hope it sounds like this. There is no music in the world that compares.

What does this have to do with Lily? I compare her laugh to the music I heard in Kenya. I hope the eternal laughter between God and his children is like the joyous sound of Lily’s laughter in my ears. The innocence and freedom in her laugh is something I will never grow tired of. When Jesus discusses the faith of children and their place in the kingdom of God, he must have been thinking of their laughter.

- Lily has recently begun her venture into the wobbly world of walking (like the alliteration?) She can stand up by herself and walk when you hold onto her fingers. There have been plenty of times when she has fallen down, mostly smaller incidents which don’t require crying. Yet there have certainly been times when crying was necessary. The thing I find myself doing without thinking about it though reminds me of how God deals with us. I instinctively put my hand out to catch her, usually without her noticing it. My hand is almost always there to break her fall, whether she is cognizant of it or not. I can tell it doesn’t really matter to her whether my hand catches her or not; it is not a source of relief either way. Yet my hand is still there to keep her injury. I wonder how many times God has been there, even without us recognizing him, to keep us safe. Just thinking.

- Having a child teaches you patience. There have been plenty of times, especially in the wee hours of the morning when she was first born, when patience is basically a  cursed quality. No one wants patience at those times. And then they become mobile and get into things and have attitudes…I can’t wait till she is a teenager. Already I wonder why she doesn’t listen to me as well as I listened to my parents every time they told me to do something. I now somewhat know what patience is. And I need more of it.

It has been a great year and I cannot wait to get to know her more as life continues. Everyday is a gift of grace and love. Everyday is a moment to be thankful. And I am.