Nesting and Resting

"I am a bit concerned with your lack of urgency in preparing your nursery."~Mattie Criddell, my mama. This was my mom's calm diplomatic approach in communicating her frustration to me. At month 6 of my pregnancy James and I had yet to even empty out the nursery which was serving as our guest room/office-type-area. I just chuckled when she said this and replied,  "Calm down, Mattie B. I promise we will start working on it soon." Can I say how proud I am of my mom for quieting the Nana-zilla that resides within - cuz I am. I could tell that she was (and continues) to do her best to not take over. For a mother of 3 and grandmother of 4 who is all about glue sticks and DIY I know how difficult this can be. So much to do. So few people on board to get it done.

James and I had planned it out. It's just that, well, I am plumb tired and in no rush to come home from a ten hour work day to prepare a place for my little one. I mean all she really needs is breastmilk and a bassinet. Mom-of-the-year award, here I come. But it was time to start nesting.

Nesting: preparing your nursery/home/life/mind for the arrival of the bun in the oven. ~Think a bird and twigs and you got the concept. (cute, sweet little concept) Really it's a euphemism for an activity that is completely overwhelming and challenging. Every conversation we have, every decision  James and I make become less and less us-centered and more and more baby-centered. Don't get me wrong - it's wonderful and we love this time but the transition is gradual and sneaky...because everything transitions. Just like we when we first got married and grasped for straws trying to maintain a sense of self and personal past and future tradition it happens all over again but this time it's much more important. Its the stuff no one tells you. It's the part of the picture in the Mama Monthly Magazine that is cropped out.  Simply moving furniture around is not just an exercise in efficient feng shui. It's really the talk of diminishing spaces, family visits, budgeting and changing dynamics. The bird and her twigs are cute but I am sure that Mama Tweet is freaking out a little making sure that those eggs are safe and sound.

I am proud to say that as of a month ago we started gathering twigs. I visited thrift stores, Walmart, JoAnn's and the like. I made a mental checklist of three sweet "wittle" projects that I wanted to start/finish over the weekend - wall art, a bookshelf turned armoire and re-purposing James' childhood dresser into a changing table. Check me out...

 Pow!

 Zazzle!!!

BOOM...This baby just got nested!

Are you happy now, mom?

The dresser took a long time and I discovered that I am not the sanding, painting, refinishing type. Sanders are heavy, BTW. But I was so very proud at the finished product. A lovely dresser that I am sure will eventually travel with my daughter off to college some day. A sweet hand-me-down from her selfless dada. 

I sat on the kitchen floor with paint in my hair and on belly (of course), sweating, sore and uncomfortable and so anxious. I want little Madeline to enjoy this nest, every corner. I want her to love this dresser because I loved preparing it for her because she is my babygirl. I can't wait to see her eyes exploring her space and watch her tiny hands dirty up her nest. I sat back and rested and thought of nothing but her....and this verse

"By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work." Genesis 2:2

I never understood why a God who never tires would need rest but I imagine that maybe this was what it was like. A sweet rest of simple delight...I wonder. God didn't need a nap maybe he just wanted to stop, sit back  and admire all that He made that was good and perfect and for us? Did He imagine our eyes discovering and our tiny hands exploring? I mean He loves us like a hen with her chicks. Was the Father nesting? Perhaps. 

Baby Madeline your nest is coming together and I must say...it's so good. I hope you enjoy it. Until you get here I am just going to rest a little longer. I ain't the Lord. I need a long nap.

Saturday Morning Pearls

The logic most parents of toddlers use is this: if it is valuable, dangerous or both keep it high and out of reach. Not my mom.  She kept the valuables low and and enticing. What small person can resist the siren call of all things shiny? Every now and then when my mom stops in to visit she quizzically admires the few pieces that I have "borrowed"...and I have been borrowing for a long time. She can't blame me because she decided to live on the edge and keep her brilliant collection down low. Right in my reach. She failed to yell at me when I adorned myself in our ancient family jewels.

Both sides of my family boast of educated, cultured, bougie women who wore the finest imported furs (no offense to my PETA friends), ate choice vittles and wore the most unique, authentic jewelry that you will ever see this side of the Atlantic. We are talking real diamonds, time-approved gold and genuine stones that I am still too simple to pronounce. And pearls, real heavy pearls. A strand of white and a strand of grey, in fact, in its own navy blue velvet case.

I began every Saturday morning the same, catching up on the latest toons so that I could contribute to the playground water-cooler convos in the upcoming week. Then I made my way into my parents room where they were likely having breakfast in bed before the family fun took off. Good morning kisses and hugs were freely given and received and then I plopped down  in front of THE jewelry drawer. A small chest of drawers with a petite french double door guarding it. I never asked for permission. I just dove in. Bracelet on top of bracelet slid up my inadequate arms. My diminutive neck sank under the weight of every necklace mom owned and whatever pieces I couldn't figure out just ended up in my hair or on my shirt. I strut my toddler tail at the end of the bed and told made up stories...for...hours. And they just laughed and listening sometimes they joined in and asked questions. When I was done I carefully put every pretty piece back in its place. This was my favorite toy box. 

Thanks to James, the collection continues. A week ago I found myself quietly wondering how I was supposed to celebrate Mother's Day. Feeling every bit a mother but with nothing to show for besides an awkward belly I consigned myself to waiting until it was "real". Until my baby was really here. I guessed that was appropriate. But when Mother's Day finally arrived I didn't want to be left out. I am a mom to a child who is very dependent on me, who has changed my body and my heart and mind already and darn-it I wanted some recognition. Cue sweet James who knows me so well. He remembered stories of my Saturday mornings playing in my favorite toy box. Stories I cannot recall telling him. He gave me my own pearl bracelet for me and for my little girl. I wear my pearl bracelet all the time now because it is just such a perfect lovely gift. When I take it off I know just where I will put. In a drawer, down low of course. Just in her reach. I can't wait to see her tiny wrists glisten and I can't wait to her what stories she has to tell. 

44

They have never called each other out of each other's name in anger. Not once.
They hold hands while shopping, hanging out or worshipping at church.
They flirt and giggle together like teenagers.
They get through painful times by telling jokes and laughing.
They really like hanging out together. Dancing, singing, shopping, traveling...
He still calls her "fine" and "gorgeous" before she even has time to ask how she looks.
She still swoons over him when he puts on a suit.
They match on accident most every time they get dressed.
Their children and grandchildren would rather chill with them than with friends because they are that cool.

They are my parents and they have been married for 44 years as of 12.21.2013. There are no words I could write that would do their love story justice so I'll just let them tell it. Enjoy a chuckle and some wise chitchat from my parents Michael & Mattie Criddell.

*Disclaimer: This video contains contagious amounts of love and adorable-ness.

 

Sometimes There Will Be Beer

James had to go to an AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meeting FOR A CLASS ASSIGNMENT one day. No one knew who he was. He was not a teaching pastor or a seminary student. He was just there to be with them and learn from them. This was a room full of gruff looking men who came to be rid of their ugly addiction. Some now chain smoked just to keep from drinking. Many of these men would come to a meeting everyday if they had to. They thrive on transparency and community. They need constant covering and accountability. James came home that day and smelled of cigarette smoke for the rest of the afternoon. And he thought nothing of it because these were G-d's people who are doing the best they can muster up to make it. As a minister these were his people.

I chuckle and tense up and pause as I write how the meeting ended...As James tells it - The person who was leading the group said, "And we know there is only one person who can get us out of our (you fill in the colorful expletive) situation. And that's who?"

And the rest of the room replied, "the Father" in unison, followed by the Lord's Prayer.

I tense up because some adjectives should not ever be used in the same paragraph as G-d. I chuckle because I know that G-d is not nearly as tense as I am because sometimes there will be cuss words. Sometimes unfiltered prayers will rise from unchurched lips through a cloud of cigarette smoke to the ears of the Father.

I saw this video. It's pretty amazing.

I love these lyrics which strengthen my own faith but I also love this random group of people worshiping G-d publicly in a non-church setting. One attentive youtube viewer caught a glimpse of a bottle...a beer bottle perhaps...maybe A&W Root Beer. No one knows but this particular viewer wanted an explanation of it's cameo during a time of worship.  I read their response and thought..."Oh, you missed it." You missed how G-d was moving in that place just like He moves in AA meetings and at Groups Homes for rebellious, disrespectful youth. If you aren't careful you'll miss the work of the Holy Spirit on the heart of the drug dealer, the abuser, criminal, the ex-stripper, your brother, or mom, niece or neighbor...because all you see are "beer bottles" all you hear are cuss words and all you smell is cigarette smoke.

Don't get me wrong. I believe in holy and righteous behavior before a holy and righteous G-d. But some us have been on "Sin Patrol" for far too long. Because sometimes in the midst of addiction and vulgarity you, if you are looking for it, you can see the sanctifying work of G-d flooding lives with mercy and grace and that is something you do not want to miss.

But the Music Never Stops

I sang in the school choir from the 6th to 10 grade. Bass, Treble, half notes, quarter notes, mezzo forte, uhh decrescendo and ...Do a deer, a female deer. Yup that's about all I got. I have not sung formal pieces of music since the 10th grade so the technicality of these works are, for the most part, lost on me. I don't mind either. That is not an excuse to revel in ignorance.  I just mean that I still love these complex, transcendent pieces of wonder because they are simply complex and transcendent. What I love most about the symphony is its pure emotive nature with no words sung at all. So when pianist, Christian Zacharias stopped the music because of a cell phone interruption I just could not blame him.

When interviewed he stated that

"Music lives on something completely different than being disturbed." 

and

"We prepare all this and this is the least you can do to honor it in listening"

English syntax is bruised a bit because of his German accent but I took him real seriously because Germans don't play...around...because clearly he plays the piano...I digress.

How awkward for the the poor guy in seat 53A. You, alone, were responsible for bringing the piece de resistance to a crashing halt while ushering in the fullest most humiliating silence, ever. No wonder you couldn't slide your hand down and quiet the electronic symphony in your pocket; Sir Zacharias' glare was set to stun-mode. All because you weren't paying full attention. 

There is complex transcendent wonder all around us. The sweetest symphony you will ever hear.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge." 

Psalm 19:1-2

And we often do not honor it by at least listening or watching. We disturb this masterful work with busyness and our noisy requests requiring G-d to vie for our attention. But G-d is G-d and he has nothing to prove. He won't roll over and sit. He won't give signs and wonders just for ooo's and ahhh's  and He won't ever stop being G-d. He can't. 

The music won't stop even when you are distracted.
Because we are a part of the song.
You are not a disturbance to the work of G-d but you are his sweet instrument and he is ready to use you.

Silence distraction and pay attention.

And He will keep on playing. Showing you his beauty and wonder as he waits on you to join.

We're Just Warming Up~Personal Repost

There is this captivating moment just before a symphony begins where we wait with baited breath and intrigue. Murmurs and coughs settle in your ear and the wait is tangible. The silence is full like someone blowing up a balloon almost too full before it bursts. The audience palpable is comprised of people who have perused the program to the point of empty memorization. No one really knows what those Italian and German songs are.

 In all honesty most of the audience can only hold an intelligible conversation on the top Olympic Dream Team composers…you know them already...” Bach, Beethoven and Mozart ok and maybe Chopin…At best we are wannabe-connoisseurs of musical wine-tasting. We swirl the glass, sniff and examine the legs but we have no idea what rare libation we are drinking. But we read with intensity and hopeful recognition that we may be fully engaged with this temporary community. We hope that everyone with take the experience seriously. No one would dare take part and talk or laugh at an inappropriate time. This is just as much to feed the Mozart within us as it is to share love and be immersed in something pure and existential with a stranger. 

Music is a soothing dose of perfection. It is science, emotion, creativity, creation, physics, community, mathematics and language in a beautiful dance. It is a drip of what heaven stamped eternity must feel like. So, that moment before such an experience is hope-fully exhilarating. The imbecile and the guru both become servants of the inexplicable. The complexity of music teases all of our senses. If you aren’t fully consumed by it then your soul cannot be freed to sing. As we stand on the music precipice of melody that moment before the dive is quietly wondrous and necessary. It whets the appetite…but the warm-up can be confusing. Instruments and notes alike bicker in a cacophony of fine tuning. Violins, then saxophones, the obo wants in on the action and won’t wait its turn…even the gentle triangle rings out of time…every part is being perfected to play its role in this great symphony but what a battering it does to the ears. The audience knows, however, that the tune will change…Oh, they’ve read the program and even in their rudimentary understanding music they know that this is not the song…not yet. Just…wait for it. In fact this hodge-podge of senseless reverberation is a part of the entire experience because the coming together is nothing short of a miracle.

Shhhhh….here he comes…the conductor. When he steps to the platform we fear not for he will tame this noise and bring….harmony yes…sweet harmony. Before it sounds you know it’s there in the fullness of the wait. Can you see it? Look close. Harmony appears at the tip of the baton and demands attention…ahhhh yes, there you are. “Tap, tap tap” That valiant stick is raised in the face of wayward echoes and when it comes down the concord flies. You didn’t get dressed up abandoning the comforts of home for no reason. This occasion is worthy of your time. The confusion, the noise…that’s not the headline for this concert…we’re just warming up.

Deep Trust

I dated a guy once because I didn't have any other options or any good reason not to. My heart wasn't really in it.

Puzzled, a close male friend of mine asked me why I dated him and my response was,

"Well, because he asked." 

There was no glimmer in my eye at the thought of him. My stomach was butterfly-free. I never even knew his middle name. 

Pretty crappy and pointless and kinda mean; I am well aware. I was going through some thangs. And I would never tell him that. I'm sure that would have really hurt him. Because I never really chose him. Fate and good timing were just on his side. Not exactly a best-selling romance novel.

In the midst of being good stewards: working, planning, tithing and saving James and I were (I was) slightly-majorly annoyed by some disappointing news. I have noticed that when disappointments come one of us is at peace and one of us is not. And we switch places. Rarely are we both swerving and sighing while throwing righteous fists of indignation in the air. Thank God. This time...it was my turn to swerve, sigh and fist pump.

James calmed me, reassuring me of everything that Minister, Reverend, Pastor, MDiv, Chaplain Mo already knows about the God who NEVER forsakes us or looses control. But I was still having a moment so he said to me...

"Well, we just have to trust God. 

That is the place where he has brought us. *chuckling* I mean, what other choice do we have?"

And I appreciate this truthful reminder from my husband, my partner in this crazy adventure but that statement was the chorus of my heart-song for God and it sounded like such a passionless tune. Trusting him because I had nothing else to do?...what a shallow example. what a sad show of faith...what a pitiful reason to trust.

James told me a story once of a family friend who is a master rescue diver. During a training he swam to the bottom of a lake and was supposed to just sit there and wait to be rescued by the trainees. He was down there so long that he took a catnap. (Seriously!) When he surfaced everyone was frantic wondering where he had been. Unbeknownst to him a huge storm blew in right after he went deep. Where he was, there was no storm. The waters were not stirring at. all. 

As much as natural bodies of water terrify me that's right where I want to be.

My husband had already gone to the depths. I could tell by the quiet resolve in his voice. He was choosing God...choosing depths...choosing trust.

When James told me the unfortunate news I could feel the winds shift and cool as the storm rolled in but I also heard God (and I mean, I heard him) say to me, "Come deep, Monique, Come deep." It took work but I turned away from the choppy surface and kicked my legs hard past the current until I got to the place where the water is easy and still so I can sit, chilled out, at the bottom of the lake with James and the Lord. 

Trusting.

Not because I have nothing better to do. Not because I am passively (passive-aggressively) waiting for another, better-feeling option. But because the thought of God gives me butterflies. Because I am in love with Jesus and I KNOW Him to be trustworthy. Because he is stronger than any foe I will ever face. Because he is the potter and I, the clay. Because saying the name of Jesus makes my heart tender. Because I am the apple of his eye. Because there is not a more peaceful place on earth than in the deep with Jesus living out the best love story the world will ever know. Because there is no better choice than to trust Him.