Saturday, April 10, 2021

To Carson, On Your 13th Birthday

 

Dear Carson,

           Well, I did not have any clue when I wrote your last birthday letter that I would be here once again writing to you in the midst of pandemic restrictions. You've been a trooper this last year. You've always been sensitive to change, and you knew that I was not dealing well with all that was happening. I'm sorry for the ways that I've made the last year even more difficult for you. You have made me feel loved and cared for, which is such a big part of who you are. You vacuumed, made me cakes, and wrote me sweet notes. I'm sorry that so much of this last year was about me. But it has never really worked for me to try to hide things from you, so instead I did my best to show you what it looks like to wade through uncertainty, to trust God when you feel like the world is falling apart. I hope that will be what you remember: not a mom who crumbled when things got hard, but rather that you can always trust that no matter what happens God is in control. It will never work if your faith is based on how well I live out mine. I have always encouraged you: Your faith must be based on Christ alone, and your relationship with Him cannot be guided by what anyone else, even your own mother, does or does not do. 

      And I see you taking that to heart. You are wrestling with difficult topics, always so observant of those around you. I love that you still ask so many questions. You catch me off guard, and make me think. I try not to give you pat answers, often, by asking my own questions you find that you knew the answer already, grounded in what Scripture says. You are having tough discussions with others, too. It shocks me to overhear the mature conversations you have with your friends, over video games! And your favorite class at co-op has been literature where you have waded through weighty books and subjects, like racism and communism. I must admit: I'm very pleased that you have taken to literature. A boy after my own heart.

    Yet, you are like your dad, too. You look for ways to serve others, and I am constantly complimented on how eagerly your help with your friends' younger siblings. You do love a baby and you are tickled that Kelly's baby is a boy. You are already planning all the fun things you can do with him and teach him because, "Mom, 13 years isn't really that big of a difference." It makes me melt, for sure! 

   As always, I am looking forward to watching your growth in the coming year. You are still helping with children's church on Sunday mornings, and you transitioned to helping in Awana on Wednesday nights now that you are on to Trek. I was impressed with how easily you made friends in your new club, but I supposed I shouldn't have been. You have always been well-liked, and in many ways you are a leader in your guy gangs, both at co-op and Awana. You have so many friends, I sometimes lose track! 

    I want you to know that I am so proud of you, you are already doing amazing things. I am so grateful I have the privilege of watching you. Thanks for loving me so well. I pray that I do the same for you.

                                                                                                       Love Always,

                                                                                                                     Mom 

                                  (aka Larapea, your latest of many nicknames for me. I will never get tired of that.)


Tuesday, April 6, 2021

Faith Before Fruit

 



     I have never felt spring so keenly as I have this year. We had spring last year, meteorologically speaking, but all of 2020 felt like always winter and never Christmas, or is that just me? This last year was so, so hard, full of loss, and change, and fear. So while the world seems to finally be “coming to” after a year of hibernation, I am searching until my eyes are tired for the signs of life, the quickening that is the hallmark of this season of newness and renewal. Outside, but in my heart, too. 


““Forget the former things;

    do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

    and streams in the wasteland.” 

Isaiah 43:18-19


     But then I am forced to ask myself: am I ready to let go of the “winter”? You would answer resoundingly “YES!”-that would be my initial thought, also. But I am still holding on to bitterness, frustration, resentful of the year that seemingly the locusts have eaten-forgetting that I am also promised:


“I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten—

    the great locust and the young locust,

    the other locusts and the locust swarm

my great army that I sent among you.

You will have plenty to eat, until you are full,

    and you will praise the name of the Lord your God,

    who has worked wonders for you;

never again will my people be shamed.”

Joel 2:25-26


    I have to let go to go on. And sometimes I am tired. I feel like everything is always changing and I’m not a gambler: I’m ashamed to admit that I’d always rather cling to a known evil than trade for a potential-but unknown-good. Some of it doesn’t make sense. What if things change and they’re not better? What if I let go and I never stop falling?


“Where can I go from Your Spirit?

    Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, You are there;

    if I make my bed in the depths, You are there.” 

Psalm 139:7-8 


  I have a blackberry bush in my backyard. It was planted by the previous owner so I don’t know much about it. Except that it has gorgeous huge berries and loves to be pruned. That astonished me-I’m not sure why, as it clearly is biblical. 


“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”

John 15:1-2


    Any branch that doesn’t show signs of life has to be cut off. It seems so damaging and shameful to the plant, but it is one of the most beneficial things you can do. The first year we lived in our house I didn’t know to prune it. It bore meager amounts of berries, and I was satisfied because that was all I knew. But then I found out that it needed to be pruned, in an almost merciless manner. 


  And that next spring I, with fear and trembling, hacked off every dead vine. It was scary because you prune *before* the plant flowers, before the promise of fruit. And I was scared I had killed it. But I had to let go. 


    He never lets go. I don’t have to understand-but I do need to let go. It’s the only way to flourish. And that summer, after all that cutting and removing, it came to life. It produced many times more berries than it had before. Bigger ones, too. But first I had to give in, give up, let go. 


    Spring is about renewal, but it is also about letting go. I have to pull up everything dead that’s standing in the way-and I have to do it by faith. Those dead things are at least *something*-what if I give them up for nothing? But I 

have to choose to walk by faith. 


“This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.”

John 15:8


    If it’s for the Father’s glory it is an absolute, ironclad guarantee that it WILL come to pass. I just have to let go. And as spring begins to flower-inside and out-I’ll be praying that I can bear much fruit. 

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