The small woman sat in her rocker. The chair itself was made of wood, and squeaked rhythmically with her motions. It was a pleasant squeak, one that reminded her children of days gone by, when they were the baby rocked to sleep on mother’s lap. The cushion was needlepoint, old and faded, but still comfortable, and still telling lovely stories of skillful hands intent on making beautiful things.

Beside the chair was a table, surface satiny from age and smooth with use. It held her Bible, her spectacles and two antique table lamps. Their warm yellow glow illuminated the planes of her face, as she rocked and waited, waited and rocked. The waiting was the hardest part, and the lines on her face showed that she had been waiting a very long time.

Under the table was a basket, and in that basket was her handi-work. There was bright red wool being knit into a sweater for her youngest child and a thinner, duller wool being knit into socks for her middle child. In her hands, for she had taken it out of the basket to work on it, was a lace cap being knit with fine white silk to add to the pile of small baby gifts that were waiting, as she was waiting.

Technorati Tags: short story, creative writing

Hands reach for mine,
Tiny baby hands that want comfort and solace,
Warm and full of life,
And connected to chests that giggle
In pleasure when I reach back.

Hands reach for mine,
Medium sized hands that want companionship,
Fast hands that have almost outgrown Mom’s reach,
And don’t hold on too long lest they
Be seen to still need me.

Hands reach for mine,
Adult sized hands that want understanding,
But barely brush my fingertips,
And these hands are moving on in life
In search of being all grown up.

One hand reaches for mine,
An old, gnarled and ugly hand
Slow and unsteady and painful.
This is the hand that comforted me.
This is the hand I never outgrew.
This is the hand of Love.

I am reading Adam and his Kin for my history blog, and the reading I did last night had such spiritual ramifications that I wanted to discuss it over here just a bit. It also ties into what Pastor preached last Sunday, and you can pull those notes up here. When the serpent appeared to Eve in the Garden, he asked about the fruit. He was trying to tempt her, of course, and it worked.

Here are the instructions God gave in Genesis 2:16

Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; 17 but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die.

But notice what Eve says in Genesis 3:2

We may eat the fruit of the trees of the garden; 3 but of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God has said, ‘You shall not eat it, nor shall you touch it, lest you die’

See, Eve added to the requirements God had set. Her addition made a reasonable restriction seem unbearably heinous. That’s legalism. It makes God look harsh and cruel.

Notice the other change: you shall surely die became lest you die. She took away from the punishment God had set. That’s greasy grace. It makes God seem capricious and unjust.

Neither of these views of God is true, but both ideas sprang from that first moment of temptation in the Garden. When we try to put our human interpretations on God’s Word, when we try to qualify it with our own “ifs, ands and buts”, when we twist it the least little bit, we begin a ride down a slope that can only lead to destruction. We set ourselves up to fail at a list of “requirements” that are impossible to fulfill and that God never made; or we set ourselves up for sure and certain consequences by denying the seriousness of his commands. Both stem from a refusal to take God at His Word.

Carnival of the Redeemed 3/13

Technorati Tags: Adam and his Kin, Eve, Genesis, God, legalism, greasy grace

At five in the morning, you can finally admit that the night is a wash and you are not going to get to sleep, and you can get out of bed.

At five in the morning, you can take a shower. You can take a very long, very hot shower, such as you never have time for on a “normal” day. Whatever normal might be. If you are me, and it is this particular day, you can use the towel your middle daughter used after her shower yesterday, because all your laundry is on the kitchen floor, where it was thrown to soak up the water when the your DH busted a fitting installing your new faucet yesterday evening.

At five in the morning, you can finally shave your legs, for the first time in can’t remember when. If you are me, you will have to use your husband’s fine smelling fusion shave gel, because one of your daughters killed the girly stuff and did not put a new one in the shower. Thus people will find you vaguely odd smelling as you go about what will surely be a very long day.

At five in the morning, you can decide that what’s sauce for one goose is fitting sauce for another and also not put new girly shave gel in the shower, even though there are two brand spanking new cans of it in the cabinet. You can chuckle to yourself over this for quite awhile.

At five in the morning, you can start the coffeepot, and put the towel you just used in the washing machine. You can also go through that aforementioned kitchen pulling other towels out of the sodden mass and put them in the washer as well.

At five in the morning, you can decide not to start that washer, because for the nonce, you are blissfully alone, and you really want to treasure it for just a little while.

At five in the morning, you can write an entire blog post, just as it came into your head, without a single interruption, and then you can go get that marvelous first cup of coffee, and plan your day while you drink it.

Technorati Tags: insomnia

If I could got hold of the real email address of the real decision maker for the Republican party, I’d send them a note to say:

Please don’t screw this up. It’s too important. Pick a real candidate, with a real vision for our country and let’s get it on. Don’t get distracted by flash and charm, just pick the best man for the job. It’s not Hillary you are fighting, it’s the mindset she represents. We the people still know the difference between the shammers and truth sayers.

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Run fast and run free.
There are no fences to hold you now.

You, who squeezed your too big self under my chair
and slept under my bed.

The big scary beast
afraid of everything.

I still remember how you licked
my hand the day you picked me to be yours.

Dear Family,
It is not my job to keep up with your:

socks
underwear
wallet
jeans
shoes

There are 9 of you, and one of me. Only 2 of you are basically helpless, and I have enough to do keeping up with them and myself.

Love,
Your Crap Keeper Wife/Mom