Nidus (NYE-dus) and what's missing in October /One word 365

I knew it was coming; holes that proved to be a nidus for his baby teeth. He lost the upper two and in an instant his face grew up. His speech sprinkled with a slight lisp. His parent's hearts sentimental and proud. We miss the baby, but we adore the five year old. Our humanity unable to halt divided loyalty once again. Hubby, him and I are all learning to let go together and it stings a bit.

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 I always know it is coming, but somehow October sneaks up on me like my three yr. old and I jump. No, I wince. My mother's death (7 years ago this day) proving to be a nidus for that something-is- missing-in-October-feeling. I realize my five year old's teeth and Fall somehow triggered it. I walk around with a open hole that only hubby and I seem to notice.
Some insensitively think, "Get over it already, or why aren't you over it?" "It has been seven years."

And here's my rebuttal...

 

I wanted to call my mommy when he lost his teeth and share that milestone with her.
I want to hear her laugh when she sees my three year old put his hand on his hips with his furrowed brow and serious face as he expresses something important to him. SHE HAS MISSED so much. The newborn cries, the giggles, the firsts in general, and the silly, livelihood of toddlers and preschoolers.

I want her instead of my sister to say, "You have changed, I can hear it and I am proud of you."

It hurts, it still burns and she can't be replaced. And if it weren't for being held by God Almighty, I know I alone, am too weak to make it each October.

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Nidus: noun A place where something originates or develops.

 

Proudly linking up with Jen@Soli Deo Gloria

Wild Horses-keep dragging me away AND setting me free

The family and I recently hiked a special land set aside for the few remaining herds of wild horses. And on our way back, after silent and spoken prayers to the Lord, we got to see two of these unbridled equine species. One coal colored and the other a coppery brown. We could see their long, uncared for manes and tails. They peacefully foraged the cliffs for grass since they somehow know winter is coming soon. And we were in awe at the view from our binoculars.

Here is a picture of the brown horse.

 And my sensitive, albeit quirky self (awareness) kicked in and I heard the Lord speak to my heart once again from his creation. It seems to be a thing with God and I. Maybe it is one of the easier ways God can get my attention.

Moving on...while admiring the horses' freedom and wildness it came to me:

We are all wild and free at the same time.

Okay, some of us have crazier manes or need a brushing more often (wink) yet, don't we all struggle with control? In some way? I desire to live free, but often my own unruliness places a saddle on me. One that God didn't create.

 And then, well this is hard to admit, but just as I am sure those wild horses would have bucked and kicked if we had attempted to ride them I know that I throw fits and kick when I feel controlled. 

Sometimes I like to rebel (against norms and people, not purposely against God). 

Yet, there's a certain freedom in the untamed life and I am not talking about disobedience, but living 

free, unhindered in Christ.  Where we relinquish ourselves from rules, and have-to's and pretenses...where realness & honesty are unhidden and it is safe to boldly go to God with every part of ourselves.

What if we did that?

Not just believing, but living truly free?    

Today. 

Where freedom is trusting God that we can dwell tangled and unkempt with him

and still be considered righteous.

We can forage peacefully, rest in His shelter (the cliff).

He wants us to.

 

Ordinary-You might not like my post.

Has anyone else noticed the new buzz phrase for Christians these days? Your story.
It seems to be popping up everywhere...from radio to the new MOPS theme: Embrace Your Story.

And it is bugging me! Why? NOT because telling stories from our lives whether amazing or ordinary is a bad thing, but because it seems to be yet another distraction from simply being who we are in Christ. We matter, every part of us because God says so;

Our stories don't make us matter-Christ does.

Yet, the human need for significance beyond our identity in Christ is strong. I know because I am guilty of it too.

It is just too hard to accept ordinary. 

It is boring. It is hopeless and it isn't the abundant life God's word promises us.

However, no where have I read or heard a reference in scripture that telling our stories should be our focus; I know spreading the gospel should be and loving/forgiving one another as Christ does/did.

Don't read me wrong...I believe God has gifted many of us to write or speak needed non-fiction stories (isn't that why some of us blog?).  Who doesn't enjoy hearing a true story of perseverance or triumph that ends well?
Yes, I believe God can use us with our circumstances, events, etc. to encourage, inspire maybe even point someone towards accepting Christ, but our priority should always be getting to know a God who wants us to know Him, reading His true stories from His word, and it should give us peace to know we are remarkable; the very act of being created by a loving God, Father demonstrates how
worthy we are...that should be the story we are telling.   


Linking up today at Lisa-Jo's Five Minute Friday

I don't think my eyes have seen fall and winter play together...

I don't think my eyes have ever seen fall and winter play together. Yet, there among the colored aspen were pine branches dripping in snow.

Photo mine, please don't use without permission.

 Can two seasons happen at once?
Dead, lifeless, cold winter holding hands with deep vermillion, mango, cool fall? 
It is where I live.

And at the same time it is strange, it is breathtaking. Yet, I squirm. Something about this feels familiar and uncomfortable. I ignore this briefly as my family takes pictures and we try to capture a good holiday photo.  I love this moment, I love fall, so why are my eyes threatening tears?

Perhaps because changing so that God's brilliance is seen can be painful. Maybe it is the fear of experiencing winter...with a cold, dead spirit residing in my heart as at times it has. I vowed to control this...to never feel like I am not connected to God. To never be in that place where I feel far from God again.
 
 Then, that familiar ache rises like a slow wave in the middle of experiencing this odd phenomena as I pretend that I am past all the previous trauma this month dished out years ago, when death surrounded me, funeral after funeral. 

 When I truly became aware of my own death not just after giving my life to Jesus, but time after time when I wanted to control something or someone...when the hurt all, but killed me.  The death of innocence. The death of relationships. The death of self. 

I wonder who wants to carry cool change and distant cold simultaneously?

I don't want to, but God wants me to...gently carrying it with me. He holds me/helps me when it its time to dig the hole. Something will have to be given its' proper burial.

A mix of trepidation and joy will lie before me as I wait to see what must change or die, but I will obey the one I belong to...I know the Lord is a faithful and trustworthy season holder.

God holds my hand and guides me just as I hold my son's hand and guide him.

Linking up today with these blogs: Soli Deo Gloria
                                                      jenniferdukeslee-tell-his-story