Wild in the Hollow

I devoured this book in the span of a few days.  I won’t soon forget it and I won’t let it slip out of my fingers, either.  Some books you finish and pass on.  This is one to hold onto.  This is one to linger over.  This is one to read again, to muse over her words.  It is at once memoir, liturgy, story, and song.  It is doctrine and it is poetry.  It is the story of one life interrupted and rescued by the grace of God, it is the journey of grace intersecting all things, the piecing back together of broken pieces into a masterpiece.

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Amber Haines, with the voice of a poet and theologian, shares her story of “chasing desire + finding the broken way home.”  How many of us cannot immediately find our place within those words?  How many of us have not also run and found ourselves overtaken in the best way possible by the best love imaginable?

She begins with her running and her rebellion, shows how God met her, the “girl child from Alabama with mud in her fingernails,” on the linoleum floor:

“The first of many births I would witness was my own.  I was born into light.  I would have waited on that linoleum floor until I starved, waited there to be raised from the dead, or be made dead, whichever.  I can’t explain the difference in what was happening in my head and in my heart and in my body.  It was all taking new form.  I didn’t lie down so that when I stood up I might believe.  I lay down to die because I was done with moving about in a body that had no life.  The fact that the presence of God was so obvious, like Road-to-Damascus obvious, was absolutely shocking to me.  I had never felt so pursued or so loved, and love is what got me up off the floor.  As my eyes came open to something so simple as love, that God loves me, I was overcome with new desire: more than for a warm body–for skin on skin; more than for the taste of home–biscuits and gravy on a family morning; and more than for any drug to numb my pain.  I didn’t know who I was, filling with such delight, the allure of God.  His meeting me on the floor was my release from being bogged down in self-awareness and loathing.  He released me from feeling required to entice love, to always make an offering.  I became aware of God.  He was not only the one who hovered in the fog but also the one who loved me first.”  (Haines)

She shares the journey: her marriage, the brokenness that threatened it.  The children, the giving birth that almost brought death.  The church, the exultant joy, the plunging despair.  Abortion and affair, addiction and anxiety.  The places Haiti and Tuscany both found in her heart, the odd juxtaposition, the beautiful juxtaposition.  All the ways of finding home in a world where we are right to be homesick, where we see glimpses and shadows and hints of glory, but always find ourselves still somewhat out of sorts, still not yet home.  And yet Home all along, because the kingdom is here.  Already, but not yet fully.

I admire Haines’ vulnerability and honesty as she shares her story, which is quite different from my own, and yet I find similar threads of discovery and understanding between us.  I so greatly appreciate her courage in sharing her story, the rawness and rebellion, as well as the redemption.  Some aspects of her theology were difficult for me to ascertain, especially in the beginning of her book when she came off a bit cynical + critical about the church and even seemed to call into question the role of the Scriptures.  Her writing is peppered with Scripture, however, and it was helpful to read her book in its entirety to see the peace she makes with the Church and the healing she finds.

You can see in Haines’ story the unfolding and unfurling of a soul as it is newborn, hungry for hind milk, tossed upon the bosom of the Church, entering wide-eyed and trusting, and finding over time the hypocrisy and hurt that the Church can engender.

I bristled a bit at this because we live in such a church culture where believers are calling the role of the church and the necessity of the Scriptures into question.  I would always err on the side of upholding the Scriptures and the role of the local organized church.  However, I think Haines’ experience is not uncommon, and I think the way the Lord leads and guides her through seasons of wounding and healing in regard to the Church is good reading.  If you hang in with her story, you will see her “grow up” in her relationship with the Church and find redemption even there.  Many wrestle with what it looks like to be in a community of believers because it is so imperfect and difficult.  Many will empathize with her words, and my hope would be that they, too, will come back to the centrality of the Scriptures and the church in God’s kingdom work.  I love her words about the Kingdom maybe the best of all, probably because the concept of the Kingdom of God is what I have been studying and learning about all year.

It is memoir primarily, not a theological treatise, and so I can appreciate the working out of her faith in the midst of a very real and messy life.  The way we grow and change, the way we mature and heal and grow up more and more into the full stature of Christ as we walk with Him.  I enjoyed her writing style, which is a more poetic style akin to Ann Voskamp’s.  And I think many of us will find in her story our own stories of howling wild in the hollow places and finding the One who alone can fill the hollow.

Here’ s a little book trailer, too!

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Thanks to Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, for a complimentary copy of this book in exchange for my honest review.  All opinions expressed are my own.

Seeing Clearly

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“We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won’t be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!”
(1 Corinthians 13:12 MSG)

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.”
(ESV)

It’s sort of cheesy, I know.. but the back of this stitching project I recently finished keeps singing this verse over me.  This is as good as it gets folks.  We see the scribbly backside of the masterpiece, and we can sort of make out shapes and letters and colors, we can sort of see an order to it.  The very best and brightest of us, the very godliest to walk the earth–this is as well as we can see it.  Won’t it be incredible to get to glory and finally see if fully?  To see it rightly?  To know as we are known?

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Yes, I think the relief and joy and delight we will feel will be nearly more than we can handle, certainly more than we can hope to comprehend this side of heaven.  Hang in there, friends.  His plan is good.  There is an order.  He has an explanation for it all that is going to exult your heart until the end of time.  His ways are higher.  His ways are love.

“For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
(Isaiah 55:9)

“For you, O Lord, have made me glad by your work;
    at the works of your hands I sing for joy.”
(Psalm 92:4)

“The Lord is gracious and full of compassion,
Slow to anger and great in mercy.
The Lord is good to all,
And His tender mercies are over all His works.
The Lord is righteous in all His ways,
Gracious in all His works.”
(Psalm 145:8-9, 17)

All praise to Him for that truth.

Also, littlest one has been trying to get her hands on this project ever since I started it.  I’m really thankful to Alicia Paulson for creating this fun stitching kit and I’m eager to frame it and see it in the kid’s room!  Minutes borrowed from each day over the course of a few months and here is the final result.  There are a TON of mistakes (so don’t look too closely), but I’ve realized I’m not a perfect needlepointer and I don’t really mind imperfections.

Happy Friday, folks, and hope you have a lovely weekend!

Whatever is life-giving

It’s Monday again, the beginning on a fresh week.  I’m always thankful, the familiar rhythms we keep here, all the while holding loosely as we ride the waves of change.  I’m not big into change, I like our “normal.”  Since finding out my four-year-old’s diagnosis of Celiacs disease, I’ve been trying to stay afloat in the wild waves of change.

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A few weeks back I read these ancient words by John Chrysostrom:

“Lord give us tears and remembrance of death.”

What a thing to pray.  Give us tears, Lord.  I think of how I’ve felt since finding out the news about Phoebe–like there is an ocean of tears I want to cry but can’t access.  It’s just down there somewhere, stuffed beneath.

Give us tears, Lord.  Sometimes we just need the release of a good cry.

A few weeks ago I fed our family, stacked clean dishes to drip dry in the sink, kissed them all goodnight and folded tired legs into my car in the dusky evening.  I drove over to my friend Megan’s house in a weary silence.  She and her husband have a small hobby farm nearby and have been living a simple organic lifestyle, as well as practicing the GAPS diet with their family as part of their journey to health + wholeness.  As I continue researching ways to heal my Phoebe’s digestive system to help her grow and gain weight, I needed to talk with someone who’s been down this road ahead of me.

Megan and I used to go to the same church years ago when we lived in a different town.  We found each other then with another couple and formed the sweetest little tight-knit community.  We discovered I carried our first baby, and Megan discovered she was losing hers.  We splintered a bit, then.  We took a job forty-five minutes away, and they helped us move in and settle.  We said we would stay close, but the distance and busyness of new seasons filled our days.  Then they moved closer to where we were, and we ended up taking a job that moved us back toward them once again.  Now we are a few minutes away from each other.  I haven’t spent much time with her over the past few years, but lately we’ve been trying to squeeze in more visits.  These years with young babes and trying to get a start as a family with first homes, it fills our days to the brim.

Pulling up her snaking drive, gravel crunching under tires, the summer evening silence broken by the bleating of newborn baby goats, the quibbling of chickens, the sing-song of crickets.  I walked in, we greeted with tired smiles and hugs.  Her children were tucked into bed, her husband out of town for the week.

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I love being in another woman’s home, I’ve realized–observing her ways, her patterns.  It is so sweet to watch someone’s familiar paths–the way she pulled on her farm boots and grabbed a bucket of feed to take to the goats.  Our chatter and commiserating and quiet laughter as she tore a handful of mint from her garden, steeping it directly in water, pressing it through, handing me a steaming mug.  We sit on her front porch for a long while in the summer evening cool and quiet.  Later we move inside, she cuts open the package of a whole chicken, pulling out a drawer, grabbing that particular knife for chopping, the way her fingers unconsciously trace the onion, pulling back the papery skins.

We talk, we pour out honest emotions, we open hearts–all while she moves in the quiet rhythms of her home, her needful tasks.  Throwing a load of laundry in (as she apologizes).  Wiping out the bag which held her raw milk pick up.  Preparing the chicken to boil overnight.

Around her home scriptures were taped, phrases of healing were hung.  Index cards taped above the sink forming the shape of a cross.  A large paper with the word TRUTH written on it, surrounded by phrases and scriptures such as “God’s pearl” (with scritpure), and “Deserving of watch-care” and “Created to be a nurturer,” hangs in the kitchen above her stove.  Stories everywhere.  Well-worn paths.

Give us tears and remembrance of death.

Remembrance of death–sounds morbid, and on first reading, my soul shrinks back from this.  No, I don’t want to spend time remembering death.  But then I think of my Savior’s words: “Remember me.  This is my body, broken for you.  This is my blood, poured out for you.”  He wants us to remember Him, specifically to remember His death.  We like to speak of our risen Savior, and indeed our faith is in vain and we are of all people most to be pitied if He did not rise from the dead.  Why do our souls resist remembering His death, especially when He told us to do it often?  Whatever Jesus instructs us to do, it is life-giving to us.  Maybe we live best when we remember keenly our finality.

When I asked her what their whole experience has been with these extreme dietary changes, Megan answered, “Martha, it’s been life-giving to us.”  It’s probably what struck me most and stayed with me after our conversation.  These changes, these new rhythms to be learned–they are not easy, but they are proving to be life-giving.  I am finding the same to be true.

It’s been two months since we began this journey toward a healthy and growing little girl via dietary and lifestyle changes.  We are still researching and toying with the GAPS diet and a grain-free/dairy-free diet, but going gluten-free as a bare minimum has been fairly easy.  Our rhythms are different.  The toaster + bread machine have been replaced by our blender/food processor.  Bowls of nuts or rice are often soaking by our sink.  Ribbons of zucchini have replaced pasta.  Our buying has changed: grass-fed beef gelatin, Kombucha, bulk whole chickens to make weekly portions of bone broth.  I’ve been learning about best sources for bulk raw nuts, for filling out pantry with coconut flour, almond flour, medjool dates, tapioca flour, xantham gum, coconut butter, coconut oil, coconut milk.

Papers, printed recipes + stacks of books are scattered all over my kitchen counter.  The house cleaning suffers.  This process is daunting in many ways, exciting in others, especially as I start to feel a difference and feel better, to see my appetite changing and my body responding.  Phoebe seems to be responding, too.  Her eyes seem just the slightest hint brighter.  Her random occasional low-grade fevers have stopped.  She isn’t as tired.  Her appetite seems to be improving.

It is difficult, as any major change would be, but it is giving us more life, and for that we are thankful.

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A special thanks to Megan and other friends like her (Wendy, Caroline, Liz + Anna, to name a few) who have reached out, shared a ton of resources, words of encouragement and hope.  I have found them and their stories to be the most helpful, but I have also been really helped by Carrie Vitt’s cookbook “The Grain-Free Family Table” as well as Danielle Walker’s cookbooks “Against All Grain” and her blog.

 

Greenville

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A few weeks ago we had to make a trip to Greenville, about an hour or so from where we live, to take our daughter to a Pediatric Gastroenterologist at the Children’s Hospital there.  She is terrified of any medical check up of any sort, so we tried to make the day super fun afterward and enjoy some time in this neat town!  I’ve never really hung out in Greenville, SC before but it was such a fun, cute spot.  After Phoebe’s appointment we took the kids to the Zoo, which was short-lived mainly because it was so incredibly hot and close to lunch time.  We had a fun lunch downtown, walked all around, the kids played in the fountain while I ran into Anthropologie to scour their sale section (all the heart eyes), and we cooled off with the yummiest gelato.  It was a special and fun day, and we were all super happy-tired afterwards.  We head back this week for Phoebe’s endoscopy, which we are nervous about, but we’re thankful she has some happy memories associated with our time there for us to draw on!

every detail

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“Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune with each other,
In step with each other.
None of this going off and doing your own thing.
And cultivate thankfulness.
Let the word of Christ–the Message–have the run of the house.
Give it plenty of room in your lives.
Instruct + direct one another using good common sense.
And sing, sing your hearts out to God!
Let every detail in your lives–words, actions, whatever–
Be done in the name of the Master, Jesus,
Thanking God the Father every step of the way.”
Colossians 3:17 MSG

Oh, friends.  May these words exult over you this weekend.  May every line resonate in harmony off the chords of your heart.  Be at peace.  Stay close to each other.  Don’t believe the lie that going off on your own will bring what your soul craves.  Stay close to the Word.  Let it be very near you, even as near as your own breath.  Give it full run of your life.  Stand-under it in order to under-stand.  Help one another.  Reach out.  SING.  SING your heart out to God.  Be so very thankful.  Find the things to list, the things to sing out to the praise of His name.  They are innumerable.  Are you in Christ?  Then all the riches of the kingdom are already yours.  SING, child.  And let every detail–every detail–be done in His name.  How that would change our doing.  How that could change our being.

And every step of the way.. thank Him.

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Consider tuning into Bethel Music’s free 24-hr stream of their new album, Synethesia and singing your soul out to this.

http://withoutwords.bethelmusic.com

jonathon + laura’s wedding

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A few weeks ago one of my cousins got married, and it was such a lovely reception in the backyard of his childhood home.  The pictures I snapped from the day were sort of random, I realized later (i.e.: no pictures of bride + groom, no pictures of brandon + I, either.  No pictures of the ceremony.)  Maybe that had something to do with how insane it was to keep up with our two kiddos running wild and nurse/feed the baby, as well as try to snag some dinner (and cake!).  Yep.. this season of parenting is awesome, and we love it, but it is busy.  My dad grilled meat for the reception, so that’s him there in the chef’s hat, slaving away over the grill.  🙂  And the kids LIVED to climb up in that treehouse in the yard, lower and raise the basket, yelling commands at any passersby to put something in their basket, which they would promptly pull up.  We were super thankful + delighted that they had gluten-free cake, as it was the first gathering our little Phoebe has been to where she realized there would be yummy treats she couldn’t have.  We had prepped her ahead of time that there would probably be cake and she wouldn’t be able to have it, but that I had packed some gluten-free Oreos for her.  She was a bit glum, cake-lover that she is.  When we brought her piece to her, she ran with it back to the cake table and double-checked with the servers that this cake was “free gluten” and she could have it.  Then she sat by the tree and devoured it.  Sometimes its the little things like this that mean a lot when you’re navigating a transition!  Anyway, we were super happy to celebrate my cousin + his new bride, and wish them a lifetime of celebration!

Also, on the way home, we drove by this old house where I spent my early growing up years a few streets over from my Aunt + Uncles house.  I sort of creepily snapped a photo from the car as we drove by.  Lots of special memories wrapped up in this place.. the time I called 911 because my sister wouldn’t let my Molly (American girl) doll play with her Samantha.  The time I swallowed a ring in the night while playing a “guess where i’m hiding it” game with my sister when we were supposed to be sleeping.  (Guess it wasn’t a bright idea to hide it in my mouth and try to talk.)  Lots of tree-climbing.  The little play house my dad built for us in the backyard.  Swinging on the swingset + singing my heart out.  Playing with my BFF Wynne a block or so away.  The old lady who lived behind Wynnes house, who we would randomly drop in to visit (unannounced).  She had a lot of birds and fed us stale cookies. Riding the bus home and walking down to the house.  The crazy rotting squirrel carcass we found in the front yard that was our first intro to maggots.  Riding bikes up and down our long street with no shirt on the whole way, like my older brother, but having a vague feeling that maybe a girl shouldn’t be doing that?  The best place for trick-or-treating.   The neighbor boys laughing at our early bedtime.  I guess it’s weird what you remember about a place.  Anyway, it was sweet to show it to the kids and to see it again.

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family + summer gatherings 5: these blue mountains

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While family was in town visiting, we squeezed in as many picnics as we could.  This one, up at Craggy Gardens, one of our favorite spots.  After dinner we hiked up above the picnic area to catch this view and this gorgeous sunset in the dusky light.  Truly breath-taking.  I’m super thankful for my brothers and the way they love on my kiddos.  My little ones adore them (and the Aunties, too!) and hopefully they will one day realize what a sweet gift it is to have lots of family that loves on them and spends time with them!  And I’m thankful for my parents who taught us to love the outdoors, still so hip + young and able to get out and enjoy God’s creation.

summer + family gatherings 4: into the clouds we go

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There will always be something other-worldly and magical about this place to me.  While my sister + her fam were visiting, we headed up to Black Balsam, a nearby hiking spot rife with stunning vistas, wild blueberries, rocky outcroppings, and dramatic clouds + sky.  We had a little picnic along the way and meandered back down, always thankful to get up above our ordinary lives and look over them from a fresh perspective.

summer + family gatherings 3

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I’m still trying to make my way through photos from the last month or so, to share them here.  Lots of life being lived!  While (almost all of) the family was in town in June, we celebrated my dad’s 60th birthday together at a favorite table of ours, the Red Radish.  We snagged a few family pictures, which I think we will all treasure, as it is so hard to gather all together these days.  We feasted, remembered my dad’s life through a slideshow of pictures, listened as my dad told the story of the wide-mouthed frog to the grandkids all clambering onto his lap.  My sister sang him a beautiful song.  We lingered long and savored.  Words fail me when it comes to my parents, especially as I grow older, grow up and learn what it is like to be a parent.  All the years of work + investment, giving, sacrificing, training, hoping, praying.  I’m so thankful for my dad, the kind of hard-working, faithful, godly man of integrity that he is.  I think of these old, old words from a monk, Ugo Bassi:

“Measure thy life by loss instead of gain;
Not by the wine drunk but by the wine poured forth;
For love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice;
And whoso suffers most hath most to give.”

Love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice.  Yes, he has loved us well.  Happy 60th, Papi!

He speaks grace

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We pull close to each other in the dark, in our usual way.  Legs and arms in a tangle, my head on his warm chest.  The hushed sounds of a sleeping home.  His breath is slowing as he drifts.  I am pressed heavy with the weight of a parenting failure.  I know I won’t sleep unless I confess to him.  The words creak out slowly.  He listens.  The tears come in a hot rush, the wracking sobs.  He holds.  He strokes my hair.

He speaks grace.  He speaks grace.

He tells me it is wrong, but that it is okay.  He forgives me.  He tells me the Gospel.  In my desperate fear that I will never overcome this, I will always keep floundering and failing in this area of weakness, that I will keep spiraling farther + farther down, he silences me.  He reminds me that the strength I have to obey comes from God who gladly gives me all that I need for life + godliness. He calls out the attack of the enemy on our family.  He commiserates with my weakness.  He, too, knows what it’s like to fail in this way.  He tells me the plan for the weekend, the plan in place to protect ourselves from falling into this ditch again.  We will take it a step at a time, he says.  We will do this together.  He loves me, even now.  Even as ugly as I am.  Even when I hate myself.  He loves me.  He holds me.  He doesn’t push away, he doesn’t hesitate to stay with me and to keep loving me.  He prays over me, he prays for me, he prays for us both.  He kisses me.

This is the beauty of marriage.  He can drive me crazy with how he leaves scraps of paper everywhere, how he leaves the laundry piled, how he forgets, how he moves so slowly.  I can drive him crazy with the disorganized refrigerator, my slow morning starts, my managing.  But in the dark of night–he is there for me like no one else.  He loves me at my absolute worst and my ugliest.  He doesn’t just love me at arms reach–he pulls me close.  He accepts me.

This is grace.  This is the Gospel.  This is the unfathomable gift found in an imperfect marriage between two ordinary sinners-turned-saints.  Christ in us, the hope of glory (Col. 1:27).

This is the uncanny, inexplicable love that Jesus demonstrated for us when He gave up His life for us while we were yet sinners.  While we were still sinning, utterly undeserving.  He loved.  He bled. He gave.

I call upon you, for you will answer me, O God;
Incline your ear to me; hear my words.
Wondrously show your steadfast love,
O Savior of those who seek refuge from their adversaries at your right hand.
Keep me as the apple of your eye;
Hide me in the shadow of your wings,
From the wicked who do me violence,
My deadly enemies who surround me.
{Psalm 17:6-9}