Mother's Day praise...

    I spend the morning alone unpacking suitcases, sorting laundry, and mopping dirty floors. I do it with praise knowing I am blessed.  After back to back weeks of travel and a workweek ahead, this is my time.
    I load the washing machine and remember Reed, not yet one, standing in the laundry room sink beside me.  I clean the toilet in the guest bath, see myself on the floor beside Jude, and remember all the bathrooms I've sat beside toilets in while my babies learned to potty.
     I turn corners, go up stairs, and everywhere are memories.  Every scar and fingerprint hold a story. I vacuum as the living room fills with a brother and sisters, grandsons, nieces, nephews and puppies.  The glass porch door is full of Onyx's lick marks and I see Paul curled up in a Tug Chase pile by the fire with Michael hanging from the ceiling beam.
     A chest in the office is covered with marked up Bibles and studies that still make me weep and I know God.
     I pause today over the stair my Mother fell to when we got the call her baby brother Bill had died, and I can hear her cry.
    I add tea bags to a pot for my Kombucha and see Gus sitting at the window crying for Garrett. Now, it's Cali who sits and cries.  I see Chandler dance across the kitchen floor with a smile as big as the sun and I know her heartache. I stand at the sink and remember being in the same place weeping uncontrollably.  
    I hear ReAnnon in the kitchen and see her nursing baby boys as Paul passes by windows on his tractor. We grieve babies that were lost and still Paul passes by the window on his tractor.
    A back porch holds a daughters heart and the songs of a Mamo and little boys.
    Under the stairs is a tiny room with pillows and books and broken horses.
    Outside is a sanctuary gift. A garden of miracles. A meeting place where I listen and pray and know.
    Praise, tears, death and life.
    It is Mothers Day and I know love.

I am...

I am a sinner saved by grace...
I am chosen child...
I am set apart by God...
I am a covered by the blood of the lamb...

I am tempted...
I am fearful...
I am made new...
I am beloved...

I am refined by fire...
I am saved...
I am unfathomably loved...
I am a worshipper...

I am called...
I am died for...
I am a receiver of gifts...
I am a receiver of promises...

I am not worthy...
I am a wretch...
I am forgiven...
I am an ugly thing made beautiful...

I am a walker of faith...
I am a believer of promises...
I am a warrior princess...
I am a daughter of the King...

I am a soldier of battles in the spirit...
I am a beloved daughter...
I am a bearer of Armor...
I am a vessel of the Holy Spirit...

I am broken...
I am transformed...
I am made beautiful...
I am a lover of your Glory...

You are mine...

You are...

You are the purple rage in storm clouds

You are snow and blinding sun

You are the Son who died for us

You are sender of the Helper

You are red and orange and every shade of green

You are colors and creations we have not yet seen

You are the one who refines by fire

You are the maker of ashes to beauty

You are billions of sand grains

You are breaking waves and Tsunami

You are Light in the blackest of dark

You are the holder of tears

You are designer of shadow

You are giver of laugh

You are death and new life

You are the miracle of babies

You are in every disappointment and in all great joy

You are absolute truth and great mystery

You are the strengthener of warriors  

You are the writer of testimonies

 You are the beginning and the end

You are the greatest of storytellers 

You are all creation and the Holy Spirit

You are Jesus

You are unfathomable grace

You are the delicate lovely of ladybugs

You are amazing mountaintops

You are perfect humility

You are the one who requires obedience

You are the one who forgives

You are rain

You are refresher of soul

You are tiny white flowers that turn into strawberries

You are the trainer of teachers 

You are the bursting of love in grandsons

You are the best gift giver

You are the one I see

You are the one I know

You are the one I love

I am yours!

Two baby steps forward, ten God steps back.

       (A revelation conversation)  

        "I have to scrap this whole thing, don't I?"  I ask Him.

     He looks down at me with a smile.   "What do you think?"

     "I don't think it fits me right," I tell Him and tug on it.  "It's uncomfortable. It bugs me.  It has for a long time."

     He sighs, “Yes, but that happens when you try to wear someone else's clothes."

     "What are saying?”  My voice fills with frustration.  “You gave me these clothes."

     
     He tilts his head. "Did I?"

     
     I look down. "I thought you did." I pause. “They used to fit me better, didn't they?" I hold out my arms. " I love this top.”

     He laughs. "Yes, I love the top too, but those pants are way too big for you little girl.  You’ve been tripping over them since you put them on.”

      The truth in His words sting a little.  "I know,"  I admit, “I trip over them at every turn.  I don't even want to walk around in them any more."

     "So..."  He holds out his palms.  “why don't you just wear your own clothes?"

      I sink to my knees with the top I'm wearing clenched in my fists. I have to pry my hands away.  "I thought these were my clothes." I begin to cry. "I don't know where mine are."

   
     When I finally look back up at Him I feel his great and deep love. He smiles. “I'm going to let you keep that top. I like the way it looks on you.”

     I am weeping.  

     
     He reaches down and dries my tears. 

      "Tell me something," He says after I quiet down. "What do you know  from this journey we are on?"  

     I close my eyes and ponder His question. 

     "I know that you speak to me.”  I tell him.   

     "Yes.”  He smiles.  “What else?"

     "I see you. I know you.”

     “Very good. You’re beginning to understand.”  He picks up both my hands in His.  “What else?”

     My eyes fill up with tears again.  "I know you pulled something out of me I didn't know was in there?"

     "Yes!” He squeezes my hands before He lets them go.   

     I wipe my runny nose with the sleeve of my top.  

     “So I'm just suppose to forget about the, 'The Glory Road.'  All the time I've given it. All my hard work." 

     I stop for a moment to collect my thoughts and then, with passion I tell Him, "I'm writing again. I'm being faithful. I'm finishing it!"

     
     He leans back and tilts His head.  "And what is it exactly that you are finishing?"

     "Don't you hear me?" I'm shouting now. "The Glory Road. The Bible study.”

     For a brief moment He is silent and then He takes a deep breath and pulls me into His lap.  

     "The Glory road I spoke to you about is not the formatted study you are writing precious girl, it is who I am in you and where you are with me.  It is your life. It is about you understanding what I created you for."

      I begin to weep again and as He holds me I realize that tears hold both joy and sadness.  

     
     "It was for nothing then? Tracking your "Glory" through the bible was for nothing? 

     He lifts my chin and looks deep into my eyes.  "It wasn't for nothing, precious child. It was for you. And it was for My Glory."

     
     I wipe my nose again, take a deep breath, and climb down from his lap. 

     "Well...I'm glad it's over then.  It was way too hard anyway.  All that computer stuff I had to teach myself, all those Bible apps, the commentaries, the research.”  

     I sniffle.  “I’m happy to be done with it.”

     
     “Are you finished?”  He asks. 

     
     I nod my head and His smile diffuses me.  I sniffle again.  “I'm not a Bible teacher am I?"

     "No, sweet girl, you are not.”  He waits.    

     “But know that I sincerely love all your questions and I've given you quite a few stars for your passion and faithfulness in the study of it."  
     
     He takes the corner of His robe and dries all my tears. “Now let me ask you something else?  Was there any joy in this challenging season?"

     
     I look down at the floor ashamed and humbled.  “So very much."  I say quietly. "More than I could ask or imagine."

     He reaches down and lifts my chin again.  “And where was that joy?"

     I take a deep breath.  "Every day when I saw you.  Everyday when I knew  you.  Everyday when I took pictures.  It was every day I painted."

     "Ahhh...so many moments of joy since that day two years ago that we talked in your car, huh?”  He smiles knowing that I am beginning to see.  

     I sniffle again.  “So very very many.”

     “I have just one more question for you today then. What was it that you stopped to photograph and paint that brought you so much joy?”

     “Your Glory.”  I tell him. 

     There is a long pause in our conversation as we sit together, His words settling over my spirit.    

   "This conversation has been good, hasn't it?  I asked him, I’m not too rebellious am I?"

     He stands up.  "Now what kind of a question is that? Didn't I just take you back through the desert with my Israelite children in your glory road Bible study."

      I laugh and get to my feet too.  "Yes, you did.”  I tell him.  "You’ve seen rebellion from your children before.” 

     We stand facing one another.  “So now what?”  I ask him.

     “You tell me.”  He says.

     “I see you.  I know you.  I take pictures and I paint.”

     He smiles and turns. “And where are you on this journey with me, my child?” 

     “Me?”  I ask,  “I’m on The Glory Road.”

     He takes a few steps and then turns back to look at me.  "Go ahead, ask me." He says. "I want you to."

     
     Tears fall from my eyes.  "Paul and I want to go to Israel.  He really wants to walk where Jesus walked."

     
     He closes his eyes for a minute and a tear rolls across his cheek. 

      "Oh...I love Paul so very much. Some of my deepest tears were cried for him.  Do you trust me ? 

     
     "Yes." I reply. "I trust you.  But..." I pause. "I want to go with him."

     
     He turns and walks away smiling.  

     After a few steps, He turns back and points his finger at me.  "You may have to take some pictures and paint a few things little girl."          

     
     I begin to cry.  "I can do that!" I tell him, "I can.  I'm on the glory road."

     He begins to walk away.  "Oh...I know you can do it precious girl. The Glory road indeed."  

I Remember...

     I had one of those moments today. A moment of surprise that I'm still pondering with a bit of awe.  A few years ago I wrote about such a moment after putting a little boys bike chain back on.  A five-year-old approached me with tears rolling down his checks, his day ruined, as he limped his bike over to me.  I had never put a chain back on a bike before, but suddenly, like watching a movie, I saw my Fathers hands, oily and black with chain grease,  and I knew exactly what to do.  I had seen him do it so many times,  it was quite simply, just in me. My dirty hands were never so beautiful.
     Today, something similar happened when I sat beside Chandler at my kitchen table. She was sewing. My precious child had simply jumped into the sewing pool with both feet. My Mother spent all day the Friday before Easter shopping with Chandler for material and patterns, and shared with her from a well-spring of sewing knowledge.
     There would be no "super simple" or "easy to sew" patterns for my redhead though.  When she found what she liked that was that.
     "That's pretty ambitious," I told Chandler yesterday as we shopped for another pattern, but I couldn't really explain why I thought so when she asked me.  It's been almost 40 years since I've sewed anything.  In the end, Chandlers strong will provided all the confidence she needed and I couldn't help but smile.  "Go for it." I told her.
     Chandler and I could not look more different physically but beneath her pale skin, blue eyes, and bright red hair is a spirit I know intimately. I just relate to her.  She is, at age 24, so much like me that sometimes I listen and watch and the Deja-vu takes my breath away.
     I did not go through moments like these with my oldest daughter.  ReAnnon, one of my best friends and mother to three boys I love with unmatched passion, is... inately different. We were a bit like oil and vinegar and it took us a while to make the perfect salad dressing.  Chandler and I however, have always been "two peas in the same pod."
     Now back to my moment.
     I have so many childhood memories of my mother talking through straight pins she held between her lips or bending over a pattern on the floor with scissors in her hand.  So as Chandler pressed her foot against the pedal of her own machine and the purr of the needle filled my own kitchen, it soothed and comforted me in a way I did not expect.  Suddenly I was filled with the excitement of a little girl anticipating a most beautiful new dress.
     Today I was working on taxes and had papers sprawled out all over the living room floor when Chandler called me from the kitchen table.  She was making a dress for a friends little girl and something wasn't meshing. As I sat down beside her I heard my mother voice talking in my head.  I saw her fussing with the patterns and turning them this way and that.  I remembered the hours I sat beside her watching and learning and I could see what had happened.  Crazy.  
     Chandler is going to be amazing behind the sewing machine. I believe this.  With a legacy of love and a heritage already in place, Mimi will simply pass the baton and answer all her questions until the day Chandler makes patterns of her own.  I think she's gonna take to this like a duck to water and I'm smiling as I write this.
     Thank you Mom!  Your love from behind the sewing machine formed and blessed me as a little girl and is coming full circle back to me as a mother. Our little Chan is sewing! I love you.
   

Willie and the Poor Boys are playing on the corner, so bring a nickel and tap your feet....

      ...they do not, however, have anything on the, "Higerd Cousins family band."

     My oldest daughter loves Thanksgiving. She begins to talk about it as soon as the air outside grows crisp and cool.  She loves tradition, friends, family, and has a sentimental heart like her Father. She has a gift for meal planning, hospitality, and she shops and cooks with great joy.  I, on the other hand, love the ambiance of kitchen but really don't like any of those other things.  So, needless to say, I gladly offer her the position of "Boss" over the Thanksgiving meal and any other meal she wants. (She's been trying to take charge since she was born, so it's a pretty good fit.)
     We always spend Thanksgiving with my son-in-law's family.  It is a blessing to live in the same area and share life and love with our children and grandchildren. Kathy and Phil, Garrett's parents, always arrive with arms overflowing with goodies which also blesses me greatly.
    In the Eastern Sierra we never know what late November weather will bring. We had a wedding once where golden leaves drifted on breezes and landed on tables, where the bride was in her dress and the band played until sundown. We have also had Thanksgivings with blustery winds and snow. This year, the weather was sunny and warm, so, knowing the food was in the good hands of the, "Boss," the kids and I went on an adventure.  
     I love that children embrace adventure. I love that a walk with a wagon digging in sagebrush for rusted tin cans, buckets and signs turns into a hunt for great treasure.  The enthusiasm and excitement Annabelle mustered with every single item she found was precious. The highlight was the rusted dodge truck tailgate which the four of us balanced precariously on top of all our other treasures, which Caroline, (a Higerd to the core), pulled home. Jude did a powerful job pushing from behind.  
     My son-in-law, Garrett, has two brothers and a sister all of which were here with us on Thanksgiving.  Gabe and his wife Mari are the only other grown children in the Payne/Higerd mix with kids of their own.  I simply love little girls, and their three darlings are a perfect match for the three Higerd boys,  By the time we got home, our idea had a name and was ready to take the stage.  The juxtaposition between these six and under girl/boy cousins, makes me laugh out loud, and the dichotomy of the way they think, speak, and process life is nothing less than four star entertainment.
     When all our instruments were set up on the rock wall outside, we took the stage and called for an audience.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, Moms, Aunts and Grammas, may I present to you, The Higerd Cousin Family Band!"
      Chandler jumped right up and joined us wearing a huge smile of her own, as Gramma, Mommies and Aunt Hannah laughed and clapped.  When the Dads, Uncles and Papas returned from hunting, the Higerd Cousin Family Band, performed again. This time, when the voices of Credence Clearwater Revival sang of Willie and the Poor Boys from my Iphone, there was Uncle Grant, (a UCLA brainiac pre-med student whose classes I can't even pronounce) posed and banging on a rusted paint can with gusto of his own.  
        Although Grace and Reed and Gideon (the three youngest) were napping when our treasure hunt began, two of them made it out in time to bang on a few buckets.
    Here is a photo of Kathy and Phil, the parents of my amazing son-in-law who fathered three boys who live in my heart, and the grandparents to all six of the precious Higerd darlings.
     May the, "Higerd Cousin Family Band" have years of performances together in life and love and laughter stemming from one families deep roots of Christian faith. May their hunting of treasures and adventures together be great, and may "Christ" always be the solid ground on which they stand and sing.
     Willie and the Poor Boys may be, "Down on the corner out in the street," but their nickel down foot tapping don't hold a candle to you!

From tears to Praise...God's good idea

     More excited than I thought I could get about a five-day trip to Palm desert, I stayed up late and packed the night before.  Car loaded, ice chest ready to fill, I put groceries and Vita-Mix by the front door and went to bed.

     Up early excited about the day ahead, we made it as far as Lone Pine.

     Something was wrong.

     Paul reached over and squeezed my hand as he turned the choking truck around, but my tears came anyway. We were now heading in the wrong direction.

     This precious time away with Paul had been postponed once before, and now, all I could focus on were the beach cruisers in the back that we would be taking out. They would be unloaded when we got home. I could hear the click of their metal kickstands on the cold garage floor.

     Crying over beach cruisers may seem over-dramatic to you, but I’m confessing that one of my greatest joys in my “desert time”with Paul is our early morning 4 mile ride to Starbucks for coffee.  I was so sad.   

     Before we turned the car around I'd been texting some friends we love dearly.  We were discussing getting together in April to talk about a trip to the Holy Land.  Dan and Kelly have survived unimaginable things.  I’m talking three liver transplants and the death of their precious son Samuel who lived only nineteen days.

     My subsequent text to them was about turning the car around, abandoning bicycles, and crying about it.  Am I really telling them that I'm crying over beach cruisers?  Seriously?  Yes.  That was the answer.  I was. 

     I took a deep a deep breath and laid the phone in my lap feeling ridiculous.  I neededto get over myself.  Paul knew my disappointment and squeezed my hand again.  “I may have a bike rack ,”  he said, “Jerry gave me one last year. I’m not sure it’ll fit, but it’s for a car without a trailer hitch. I’ll look for it when we get home.”

     Three and an half hours later, Chrysler filled to overflow, beach cruisers on the bike rack, we entered Lone Pine for the second time that day.

     We were quiet and I took a deep breath settling in for the ride ahead. Silently, I told the Lord I was sorry about my pity party and attitude and thanked him for his “always perfect” provision even when it didn’t look like want I wanted.

     God spoke back by laying something very specific on my heart.  “Check out the hiking.”

     Hiking?  We had never even talked about it.  Based on all our other trips to Palm Springs, we would ride bikes, lay by the pool, and walk around downtown at night eating dinner and holding hands.

     I did, however, get a rush of excitement from God’s idea.  I have come to know my Father’s voice and I did not want to miss out on whatever He had planned for us.  Googling hikes was easy.  Reading the choices to Paul as He drove became fun.    

      There were two that we both thought sounded promising and might be do-able based on our limited experience and lack of proper foot wear, (our hiking shoes were athome) so I made some phone calls, asked some questions,  and we made some plans.

     The first hike was beautiful and a big surprise. 

    The second one was simply an ordained gift from God. The hike we read about was described as an easy six miles over flat rocks full of color.  “It will make you think your walking on the moon,” it had said. 

   Sounds cool, we thought.  

   We parked the car expecting to see a ranger station or a visitor center, but there weren’t even any trail heads, just two men in a parking area with a small crumbled pencil drawn map.  On it were some instructions they got off a hikers blog.  They said something to Paul about ladders.  One guy handed Paul the small piece of paper to Paul.  He looked at it for a second and handed it back.  “Just remember to look for the arrow made out of rocks,” they said as we headed out.  “Make sure you follow it.”

     We walked on sand in a huge open canyon for about three quarters of a mile before Paul found it.  It pointed to the steep face of a rock. “You wanna do this?”  Paul asked climbing up a little and checking it out. 

     “There’s no trail,” I answered, “Do you thinks that's the right way?”

    “I do.” Paul answered but I was already climbing up behind him. 

    After climbing up a bit, there was an obvious place to slide down, so we sat and glided down into a canyon below.

     “Wow,” I said, mouth hanging open at the bottom, “this is amazing.”

     It got wilder by the minute.  We soon realized what the man meant by ladders.  We pictured some kind of rock formation that resembled a ladder, but now, we found ourselves at the end of a canyon with a long painter’s ladder simply leaning against the canyon wall.  At the top of the ladder was a hole.  

    We climbed up and down three sets of such ladders over the next few hours as our journey through the canyon continued. I can’t even begin to describe the light and the timingof it, even just an hour earlier or later, would have changed everything.     

    I’m pretty adventurous by nature, more so now than ever I think, but I also know Paul was surprised by total lack of fear and inhibition climbing  up and down those ladders.  The truth is this.  I knew even before I slid down into whatever was below that God had chosen it for us. That made all the difference.  I had no doubt that God had gone before us.  I knew He waited to show us things we’d never before seen.  

     He is a picture I took of Paul.  "Narrow is the way. I am the light of the world." God spoke to him in that place.  He’ll tell you it’s prophetic.  

    Over and over and over again, God is greater and has more.  I am continually awed and humbled by His glory.

     In my future there will be many more pity parties because simply put, I wanna make everything all about me.  If I don’t cry over beach crusiers, I’ll cry about something or someone else than bursts my bubble.  I also know that God’s plans and decisions for my life are better and greater than anything I could come up with or plan on my own and I don't want to miss them.  Even the revelations and reminders about my own selfish, hard, and unforgiving heart are worth the good long look He makes me take because He uses them to shape me and mold me more to his likeness.  

     And then...he whispers his great idea and gives an unexpected and amazingly beautiful gift out of love for me. 

     This is our God.   

PS. The early rides to Starbucks were better than ever.