Dear Little Me,

I love this picture of you, of me.

Look at you, little you. There’s something you need to see.

See the care in your face.

See your smile.

See your love, your patience.

See your arm resting gently on her shoulder.

See your concern for her. Not anyone around.

See the way you’re looking deeper, peering longer into the face of that sleeping beauty, wondering if you should wake. Or wait.

See the way she’s trusting.

She her arm’s resting.

See the way you’re in this together.

See the quiet. See the space. See patience in the knowing, patience in the waiting.

See you. Holding that book close, tight.

You. You’re wise. Keep holding your dearest things close, but your dearest even closer.

Keep looking, little you. Keep loving. Keep wondering how you’ll wake her.

And keep your smile. Because it won’t always be this easy.

But this. This. Is really all God’s called you to.

The simplicity of this.

To be present.

To love.

To see.

To wait. Patiently.

To know. When the time’s right to wake, to give voice to those slumbering beauties.

To hold your dearest near.

Yes, dear.

Stay this way always.

 

 

 

*This series is inspired in part by a blog post I wrote in January 2014 titled “Go. Like It Matters. Go. Like It’s Your Life.” And in part by Bonnie Gray’s new book, Finding Spiritual Whitespace. For more information about WHY I’m writing this series, click here to read my blog post titled “Restoring the Little Girl Voice (Part 1).”

 

The earliest of autumn’s crispness set into the evening air. Most likely, this was a one-night phenomenon, with many long, hot days to come in-between here and the shorter, colder days of fall.

Still, mama knew.

Change was coming. Change had already come.

And uncertainty was most certainly all around.

Mama just heard of a great actor and comedian’s passing. Suicide they suspected. And she couldn’t get over it. She couldn’t let it go. Because this great artist, this human being of a different kind made mama laugh, made mama cry. His portrayal of a great physician in Awakenings awakened her to life not once, but many times over. It was one of her favorites, a gentle-spirited movie about waking up to your life, capturing moments while they’re still in your grasp.

She was a little distraught about this passing. But she bathed her babe anyway.

The days since babe’s last bath had passed in a flash. After one glance at babe’s dirt-filled fingernails and brown-stained feet, mama knew it was time for that bath.

“My got my diaper off! My ready!” shouted babe as she waited for mama to fill the tub.

Mama turned on the water. Not too cold, not too hot. She threw in the bath toys – puppy dogs and fish-catching nets, wobbly-weebly people made for miniature yellow boats.

She watched as babe lathered up soap on a washcloth and scrubbed her body, her baby doll, her wobbly-weebly people, and even the bath ledge clean again.

Don’t we all walk ledges – longing for better days, opportunities to start over, desperate for someone to see us for who we are instead of the mask we’ve been? Don’t we all sit on ledges – waiting to feel clean, whole, restored to brand-new condition, free again?

Mama thought hard as babe scrubbed the bath ledge. She wondered how it could be that a celebrity, a comedian, a great artist of our time could be so desperate, so filled with pain, so wanting to leave this world.

The pain fell like a curtain. She felt all the pain of the world in that moment. And she wondered why moms and dads take their lives, why babes suffer beheading, why kids cross borders alone, why Ebola strikes ebony and threatens to spread like a deadly wildfire.

Babe continued to wash the bath ledge new.

Dad and son watched the Matrix in the other room.

And mama thought of Jesus. Jesus on the cross. His pain. His suffering. His crossing every border because of us. His name that spread. Like wildfire.

So mama decided. She couldn’t push away the joy because of the pain. And she couldn’t push away the pain because of the joy.

Babes take baths. And babes are beheaded. Children frolic in sprinklers. And children watch parents fall ill and pass in a matter of hours. Children are safe and sound in the comforts of home, and children are sent afar, alone, to cross borders in search of freedom. Children experience lifetimes with mommies and daddies, and children live orphaned because mommy and daddy couldn’t bear the weight of this world anymore. All under the same sky. All under the great canopy provided by God himself.

She didn’t understand. She didn’t grasp the purpose of this pain. She couldn’t fathom the point of it all, couldn’t reconcile this good and evil under the same blue sky.

So she asked, yet again, one of the greatest questions she’s ever asked God. Why must babes, innocent children suffer? And why is it that some humans sneak by with mere inconveniences, while others are bathed in blood, pain, trauma, poverty and the like?

Mama had to let it go. She had to release it to Jesus who suffered the greatest pain of all, to God who created it all. For us. For all of us.

So mama washed babe’s hair and smiled at her big. Because babes need encouragement if they’re to live upright in a culture that can feel completely hopeless. If we’re going to fight this fight, we musn’t give up. We must prepare our generation, the next generation, as armies of brave warriors. Warriors armed with belts of truth, breastplates of righteousness, and swords of the Spirit. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

She bundled her babe in a plush pink towel, and pulled out those pink pajamas with the frog on front. She read babe a book about the animals of the world. And she brought babe a glass of water before turning on the white noise.

Downstairs she went. She felt directionless, like her cares were nothing compared to the weight of this heavy, heavy globe called Earth.

Mama got out the vacuum. The floor was a disaster. Then she got out the mop. Because the vacuum hadn’t cut the grime. This mopping wasn’t as easy as it looked. She pushed hard, and while the floor was still dirty, she couldn’t bring herself to finish. Because it still seemed pointless compared to the world’s greater state of disaster.

It was then that she really heard, really noticed the girls out on the front porch. There were six of them, to be exact. Binders and bows, brushes and blow dryers laid on the table. A big bucket of clean water served as their source for making all things new in regards to their hair. They’d created a hair salon and were busy bees prepping and primping one another.

Mama addressed the first thing any mama would think of when it comes to homemade hair salons. Don’t share brushes. The girls already had that taken care of. They’d already gone home to get their own.

As mama lingered with the girls for a few quiet moments, she continued to have a hard time reconciling all this innocence with all the world’s tragedy.

She asked the hard questions. Again.

Why do these beauties have the privilege of creating a hair salon on a porch, while others equally as beautiful sit on a mountain top afraid for their lives?

Why do these beauties get to primp and play, while others equally as beautiful walk miles to cross borders into the unknown?

Why do these beauties have a clean bill of health, while others equally as beautiful suffer death?

Why do these beauties wonder whether their daddies will arrive back home at 5:00 or 6:00 tonight, while others equally as beautiful discover their daddy’s decided it’s the last night he can hack this world?

It’s hard to understand why God would allow all of this.

Hard questions don’t have easy answers.

But by the supernatural grace of God, powerful words came to mama’s mind.

For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.  1 Corinthians 14:33

Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.  Romans 12:21 

 You are of God, little children, and have overcome them, because He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world.  1 John 4:4

Then, mama decided she simply had to trust. That He’d take care of it all. That the world’s weight wasn’t hers to bear, but His.

So she let it go. As much as she could. She gave it up. To the One and only One who knows the purpose of all our pain, who knows the story He’s writing.

Two girls danced in the driveway with caps on their heads to protect the beauty they’d made. And one little girl came to mama needing help with her headband. Mama helped the little girl put on hope in the form of a butterfly, and sent the six beautiful warriors on their way.

The bikes swished and swooshed down the street.

Mama stood alone with the bowl of clean water.

Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward.  Mark 9:41

Mama couldn’t help the world, but she could help those she was called to help. For tonight, the gift had been water. The washing of water over a warrior babe in a bathtub. A glass of water before bedtime. A bowl full of water for warrior girls who know that it’s glimpses of beauty, glimpses of gratitude, glimpses of the Divine in the daily that make the world go round.

I love small spaces, tiny places like Disney’s Storybook Land.

Storybook Land is whimsical, fantastical, magical.

It’s everything Disney’s cracked up to be.

Call me a sucker, but here’s the truth. Just plop me in one of Storybook Land’s boats, float me around its winding, narrow waterways built in 1955, and I’m good to go.

As I pass each wonderful world, I’m tempted to jump right over, jump right in to inhabit the small spaces and tiny places.

How wonderful would it be to become acquainted with that cottage? How peaceful would it be to stroll those stones on the way to the mail each day? How enchanting would it be to have a valiant knight in shining armor transport you to the castle on his white-as-snow horse? How quaint would it be to find yourself lost in the village, meandering ’till your soul’s caught right up with the rest of you?

So when our favorite local nursery started carrying all the things needed to create a fairy garden, I was all in. The only problem was that I didn’t have a budget to create my own whimsical, fantastical, and magical fairy garden. So I just kept ooh-ing and ah-ing over the possibility of my own tiny worlds, thinking one day, maybe one day, it’d be possible.

One day, yes one day, on my birthday, my valiant knight in shining armor husband surprised me with a small world of my own.

Do with it as you may, do with it as you might, he said.

So I did.

I decided a fairy garden right in the garden is what I wanted.

So we dug and we planted, we moved and we marked. Arbor nestled here. Little bridge over there. Creeping thyme over here. Creeping thyme over there.

Voila!

A small space, a tiny place.

Right in our garden.

A world to get lost in, find space in, seek rest in.

A world to wonder and to wander, even if but a moment.

A world to call beautiful. A place to call peace.

A small world of our own.

Whimsical.

Magical.

Fantastical.

In the blink of an eye, we’ll be back at Storybook Land. We’ll ride waterways and be transported to Disney’s worlds just as magically as we have every other time.

In the meantime, we’ll enjoy our own small space, our own tiny place.

It doesn’t have a name for now.

But it’s ours.

It’s mine.

My tiny world.

A world like no other.

Dear Beautiful But Bound You:

I see you. You, created for so much more. You, whose presence graces this bountiful land. You, formed in your mother’s womb for a purpose, a plan.

Yet you, bound by the things of this world. You, hiding in darkness. You, trapped in the tiniest of places, tucked away spaces nobody knows but you. You, lost in great voids, valleys, wandering, wondering how in the world you’ll ever get out.

You, I see you. I know you. You’re bound. Bound.

You, bound by things. You buy. And you buy. More is the word. More and more. More and more. You want for nothing, but you want for more. You buy to fill the void, buy to hide the pain. You think stuff will quench your deepest longings to be loved, known, filled with purpose. You buy to impress, buy to feel good. You buy to make things better, buy so people will know you better. You buy, buy and buy. You feel the high, then crash and die. So you buy, buy, buy some more to fill the gaping hole that’s your heart.

You, bound by flesh. Your body’s your idol. You workout like a madwoman. Rock solid abs, buns of steel your goal. You take on workouts like they’re your job. You do it all. Cardio. Weights. Resistance. 5Ks. 10Ks. You have the gear, you know the game. Your eating? Pure. Clean. Only from the earth. Ice cream’s from the devil, and devil’s food? Well, you know. And others? You’re trapped deep in your own flesh, tell yourselves things you’d never tell anyone else. I’ll never lose that weight. I’ll never feel good. I’ll never be a size 8, 12, 34, 36 again. I can’t do it. I’ve lost control. I’m just fat, fat, fat. Forget it.

You, bound by work. Oh you, beautiful you. Your soul’s fatigued. You work and work and work so hard. Day in, day out, your life’s on the line. You have no boundaries. You know no limits. You can do anything, so you think. Perhaps others will love you more if you work longer. Perhaps you’ll climb higher if you work harder. Perhaps you’ll rise to the top and everyone will notice if you do this, do that, just push a little farther. Work is your life. You know no rest. Work and work and work some more. If you work hard enough, you’ll finally make it. But let’s be honest. All this working’s left you with nothing but work, work, work.

You, bound by substance. What can I say? You, so full of potential. You, so gloriously made. You, quite literally, waste your days away. You excuse, deny your behavior, act as if it’s nothing. Hide it away, tuck it away, try to make light of it, but it’ll bind you for a lifetime if you’re not careful. Your relationships? They’re suffering. Your potential? It’s wasting away. Your peace of mind? Let’s get real, it’s nonexistent. You know in your heart this isn’t right. This getting wasted, getting high, this tucking away pills and potions, bottles and beers? It’s not working for you, hon. It’s not working. You’re bound. Bound by an addiction that’s trapped every fiber of your soul.

You, bound by expectations. You, oh you. You expect so much. Your standards are high, unrealistically high. Why oh why did you ever believe in this perfection? Why oh why did you ever start this all? Why oh why do you set goals you’ll never achieve, he’ll never achieve, she’ll never achieve? Every day you fall, it’s your own fault. Your expectations were lofty, beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Do this. Do that. Do everything in between. Do it all. You can do it. But truth be told, half of it’s too much. You’re bound, sweet one, by illusions. You’re delusional in your wanting it that way and this way, this way and that.

You, bound by your past. I don’t want to forget you. You, bound by things of days gone by. You’re trapped in memories from a time machine stuck on reverse. The dark, ugly secrets of your past? The mistakes you made? The days that went horribly wrong? They haunt you, hunt you, want you to sink deeper and deeper into quick sand. You’re desperate to relive time. You’d die for a chance to go back, repair it all. You’d give anything to erase those days from the slate. But it’s impossible, right? So you stay stuck there, in days gone by, unable to heal, unable to forgive, unable to repair the tragedies that tore you apart.

You, bound by things unnamed, unseen. Hey, you. What is it? What binds you? What keeps you up at night? What keeps you from flying high? What hinders the best you from shining through? Only you know. Only you can see. Only you know the truth. Only you can face the facts about your reality, your totality.

You, bound.

Awake.

Arise.

Break free from the chains.

Come, dear one. Come.

Don’t be afraid.

Don’t be afraid.

It’s you who’s longing to be free.

It’s you who’s desperate to be seen.

It’s you who’s calling, you who’s falling, you who’s gnawing to get out.

So get out.

Get up.

Be free.

Be redeemed.

Walk away from all that binds.

And be.

Be free.

The cake’s lit up. Today’s for you, dear one.

What wish will you have? What wish will it be?

Dream grand. Dream big, sweet one.

For there’s only one you. You, beautiful you.

Where would you go? Who would you be? How would you live life that’s meant to be?

Do you believe it is possible? Do you believe it is true? That you are the one and only you?

What will it be, dear? What will it be?

Tell me, tell me. I long for you to see.

What does your heart say? What does it say?

Go?

Stay?

Be?

What, dear one, will be your wish?

If you could have anything, anything, anything? What would that be? What would that be?

See.

See.

See.

To see is my wish for you, for me.

To see the beauty every day.

To see the purpose in your pain.

To see life’s canvas, waiting, white.

To see your future, beauty, bright.

To see miraculous you, you.

To see the love that’s waiting on you.

To see your life for what it is.

To see that you are truly His.

To see.

See.

My birthday wish, for you, for me.

To see.