Many, Many Rooms

"In my Father's house there are many, many rooms. In my Father's house there are many, many rooms.  And I'm going up there now, to prepare a place for you, that where I am there you may also be." (based on John 14:2)

I attended a funeral not too long ago, in which the Gospel reading chosen was from John 14 (above).  I love that reading!  It's one I hope will be read at my own funeral.  As I listened to it read again recently, I thought a bit more about why I hope for that, why it is that this reading resonates so much with me that I feel called to it over all the Gospels I could choose for the celebration of my life.  Here is what I realized...

It reminds me of my uncle’s house.  The old farmhouse with the three bedrooms, turned four, turned five…  The house that despite the one bachelor who technically lived there, always seemed to have no less than four people actually living in it, and I swear up to 20 or more people staying there at a time.  Holidays, annual hog roasts, Deer Camp (or so I'm guessing - not a lot gets shared about Deer Camp), and weekend visits.  I often wondered how that worked, where all those people slept.  But he didn’t.  It didn’t matter how many, somehow Larry always seemed to find room for anyone who needed a place to stay, whether it was long-term or just a weekend visit.  From his kids, to his friends, to his kids' friends, and beyond.  Somehow Larry seemed to know what it meant to be open, welcoming and generous to any and everyone.  What it meant to always have room for more.  And in that house (no matter how few you counted according to our numbers), there were many, many rooms!

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It reminds me of a pick-up truck in Guatemala.  Thanksgiving week of 2004, on a mission trip with the parishes I worked for at the time, on the beautiful shores of Lake Atitlan in San Lucas Toliman.  And over and over again the pick-up trucks would pull up outside the church, packed full of people.  Like a clown car, just when you thought the last were getting off, a few more would pop up from the truck bed and jump out.  And likewise, once empty, the truck bed didn’t take long to fill up; not only full – packed!  Once, riding in the back of such a truck on our way to our next project site, crammed in with everyone and anyone who might have needed a ride (and even some who I don’t think needed one, but were convinced to come along anyways because “there’s plenty of room”), we stopped no less than four times along the side of the road to pick up others walking.  And we found room for them with us all in that pick-up bed.  Hanging on to the rails, sitting down as small as you could be, even some men standing on the back bumper, we all fit.  It wasn’t always comfortable, yet in a strange way when all was said and done, it really wasn’t uncomfortable at all either.  For driver and the community riders alike, it somehow didn’t matter how many were already there or the seemingly crazy way in which they were riding, somehow in their minds and their lives, they knew what it meant to give up your own comforts for someone else, to be friendly and close to neighbors and strangers alike.  What it meant to always have room for more.  And in those rides (despite the single “bed”), there were many, many rooms! 

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It reminds me of my Grandma’s dining room.  Holidays, wood-cutting days, Grandma's birthdays, and just about every Sunday at "coffee time."  Grandma's house (which is more like an apartment connected to our house by the laundry room) has over and over again been the site of big family gatherings.  Big family gatherings in a tiny space.  But that didn't matter - to Grandma or to us.  We would find ways to fit one more around the table, one more pulling up a stool at the end of the counter, one more sitting on the loveseat in the living room, one more leaning on the kitchen sink.  As many more as needed would find a way to gather.  And more miraculous than the number of people we squeezed in those few rooms (that quite honestly were really all one room - the buffet just hid the living room from the dining room, and the counter didn't really do a lot to separate the dining room from the kitchen), was the fact that we also always seemed to find just one more muffin, one more cinnamon roll, one more glass of Kool-Aid, one more cookie, one more cashew, or one more slice of cheese.  When it came to family rolling into a gathering of any kind at Grandma's house, we somehow knew what it meant to have abundance, to have more than enough - of space, laughter, and food.  There was never a shortage there.  We knew what it meant to always have room for more.  And in those gatherings (even with the buffet being the only room divider), there were many, many rooms! 

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It reminds me of the Church in Kenya.  Hot, dry, loud.  Time for Mass in my host parish in Kenya.  And without fail, the church was nearly empty at 9:00am when it was supposed to start.  But without fail, it was over-flowing by 11:00 (yes, you read that right - two hours later) when it ended.  The Christians in Kenya didn't always arrive on time, but they always arrived - in crowds!  It's hard to describe the vastness of those crowds.  The Mze's and Bibis, the families, the children, the choir, the hundreds and hundreds of people who kept filing in throughout the service, all coming not out of obligation, but out of a feeling of blessedness to be able to celebrate the Sacraments and give praise to their Lord.  They often had little, yet when it came to challenges, often had a lot.  Yet they made the sacrificse necessary to be at Mass, knowing that was where their struggles would be met with support and hope.  And it didn't matter if Mass was in the main parish or a tiny, yet incomplete outstation chapel, they came just the same.  Came, even though it often meant standing outside the building, with the same joy and determination.  To gather and praise; to learn and support one another (as was often seen even more as they continued their day meeting in Small Christian Communities after Mass; one of which I attended, noting that the same 'come late, as long as you come, and we'll find room for you and a few Shillings to help your ill mother somewhere' pattern applied!).  They came knowing what it means to be church, to be gathered, to be one in voice and prayer and support.  What it meant to always have room for more.  And in those services (regardless of some being outside the building completely), there were many, many rooms! 

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It reminds me of my son's bed.  Adrian loves his soft friends.  And he has a LOT of them.  From those like his Beluga and Soft Doggie who have been with him practically since birth, to those like his Humane Society doggie and train pillow that he's acquired randomly as gifts or at garage sales throughout the years, my little man does not like to part with any of his soft friends.  These friends not only get a share in his toy box and shelves, they are welcomed (or often better put, "required") to share his bed.  It started with the few who decorated his toddler bed, then the few more who were added and accompanied him on his "big boy bed."  Now, the entire length of his top bunk is full of stuffed animals (and the few who have fallen through to the bottom bunk).  Lots of soft friends, and each one special.  And from time to time he surprises me with the random mention of one of his friends missing (seriously, how do you know who is missing when there are still 20 critters up there?).  He knows each and every one of them, and loves them all, and misses them when they're not near him.  My son already at a young age somehow seems to know what it means to care, to cherish friendship, and to let love grow along with him through the years and added friends.  What it meant to always have room for more.  And in that bed (regardless of which bed and which of our homes it's been in), there were many, many rooms! 

In my life I have been blessed with people, places and moments that have shown me the Kingdom.  With reminders of what Christ wanted his friends to understand.  What it means to be welcoming to all, to give up for others, to have abundance, to join together in raising GOD’s name and to never outgrow love.  I have been blessed to see a glimpse of what “My Father’s House” looks like.  And from these glimpses I know that there are in fact many, many rooms.  And they are beautiful.  They are holy.  They are where GOD is, where Love is. 

Though I know in this life it will never compare with the fullness of beauty, holiness and love of GOD's Kingdom, still I believe that I have been blessed to see it, to know it, to be there in that House through these glimses.  And my prayer for you is simply that "where I am, there you may also be."  May we all know  GOD's House - now and when our final Gospel reading is being read!  

In memory of Larry G. Nystrom (October 10, 1958 - January 25, 2013) and in honor of Dolores J. Nystrom, who just celebrated her 85th birthday! 

Feeling Them Move

There is absolutely no feeling like it in the world.  The feeling when you first feel your baby move inside you!  And then each time after that!  How can you describe to someone who hasn’t had that experience what it’s like – the tiny “bubbles” or “butterflies” at first, that slowly grow into jabs and twists in the months that follow?  What it’s like to both feel pain (the baby is not always gentle or comfortable, least of all when they’re butterflying right into your bladder) at the same time as such joy (but who cares, because it’s your little one wriggling in there, letting you know they’re ok)?  You can’t.  But trust me, there’s absolutely no feeling like it in the world! 

And that’s why this baby scares me.  I mean terrifies me!  Because sometimes, he/she stops wriggling.  This little one will thump and bump and wriggle and jiggle inside me like crazy.  All day long, to the point where I wonder if and when they will ever sleep, and what kind of dance moves they are practicing in their tiny little indoor studio.  But then, they’ll just stop.  Stop for a day or so.  I don’t feel the movements anymore, and I get so scared.  The extremes of it – from Dance, Dance Revolution to statuette –  worries me.  Even though I have noticed this pattern before, and they have always moved again, I still find myself in those moments of stillness fearing the worst.  I pray and pray (and poke, talk, sing and beg – God and my stomach) to feel that movement within me again! 

But I also stop.  Forcing myself to stop cleaning, chasing kids, cooking supper, focusing on my big work project, trying to be sociable, exercising or even reading sometimes.  I have to STOP, and be still.  Completely still, for more than just a second, or even minute or two.  Allowing myself to push out all the other things that might be getting in the way of me feeling that movement. 

And there they are once more.  Those little bubbles, those jabs, those rolls and strange alien movements that you can’t quite describe other than to say you’ve never felt anything so amazing.  Perhaps (most likely) they were moving all along, and I just wasn’t still and focused enough to notice.  But either way, I love to feel them move again.  There truly is no feeling (the combination of relief, joy, gratitude, strangeness, life, sweetness, awkwardness and happiness) like it in the world! 

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But recently, as I was lying on my bed, hands on my stomach waiting for the movement within me yet again, I spent some time wondering what other movements I might be missing.  Wondered if we take the time, in prayer and in holding still, to feel God moving in our lives, moving within us. 

How often do we allow ourselves to get so busy (cleaning, chasing kids, cooking supper, focusing on work projects, being sociable, running or filling our brains) that we miss the presence of a life always dwelling within us?  How often is God pushing and moving within us, and we simply can’t feel it?  Do we let our busy schedules and chaotic households serve as our excuse for failing to feel the small or significant bubbles and jabs of the Holy Spirit? 

Recently I have noticed a few changes in myself, changes that I believe are for the better.  And I honestly had to ask myself, “When did that happen?”  God had moved in me, moved me towards being a better person, and I hadn’t even taken the time to notice it.  Perhaps (most likely) God is always moving in our lives, always moving us, and I just wasn’t still and focused enough to feel it.  What other movements have I missed I can’t help but wonder.  And what others might I continue to miss along the way if I don’t stop and take the time to ask (to poke, talk, sing and beg) God to move in me again, allowing myself to push out all the other things that might be getting in the way of feeling that movement.  What might we all miss if we don’t take the time to be still enough to notice the incredible feeling of God’s love and life stirring within us? 

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I know without a doubt that when this little one arrives this fall, my life will just get busier and my household more chaotic.  I fear I will fall back into the trap of not taking the time to be still (and let’s face it, a mother doesn’t get a whole lot of chances for that!), to pray, to focus.  As I most recently allowed myself to lay still and wait for my little one to move again, I prayed not so much this time for their movement, but that I might look back on these early moments with my little one and remember the first lesson of faith this child offered me – that I must offer myself the same amount and focus of prayer, the same time to be still, to asking for the Divine movement as I have with them.  And though not every movement of the Holy Spirit in my life will be pain-free, gentle or comfortable, I also trust that there truly is no feeling (the combination of relief, joy, gratitude, strangeness, life, sweetness, awkwardness and happiness) like it in the world!   

I can’t wait to feel that movement again. 

“Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)

The Surprising Miss Lilly

Lilly was a surprise.  Though we had talked and prayed about having another baby, and sooner-rather-than later, I must admit that her arrival was a bit ‘sooner’ than even we had imagined.  In fact, we didn’t (nor did our doctor) think it was even possible to get pregnant yet.  But here we were, expecting another little one.  And I freaked out.  I cried more than my share of tears (not always sure if they were good or bad tears).  I was terrified that I could not handle two.  I was sure I wouldn’t be a good mother to Adrian while giving what this little one needed, and vice-versa.  I worried about what we were putting my body through, let alone our finances.  I was uncertain.  I was doubtful.  I was afraid. 

And to top it off, Lilly didn’t go easy on me in my first month and a half of pregnancy.  I remember quite clearly, on Thanksgiving weekend, being up unable to sleep because I wasn’t feeling well (again), and putting my hands on my stomach, with tears in my eyes, begging the baby to be gentle on me.  That was the last time I was up sick (up with other discomforts and worries, sure; but the baby had heard my plea, and was very gentle on my digestive tract at least from that point on).  After that, as I cried again, this time with gratitude, I knew – knew that this child was special.  This child was a blessing.  An undeserved gift, a pure grace from God.  They were not something to be feared, but someone with whom I would have a special connection.  They were not something to be uncertain of, but a miracle to trust boldly.  And I suddenly recognized that special gift all too clearly as something I couldn’t take for granted.  Something that was meant for beauty, for amazing goodness.  And I knew that we were going to be ok. 

Today is Lilly’s third birthday.  And though I say it often, it’s hard to describe just how true to that realization she has been.  My daughter is a grace!  A presence when I didn’t think it was possible.  An appearance that I didn’t think I was ready for.  A spirit that connects and hears mine.  A life that shows me God’s goodness in a very real way.  A beauty that I can never take for granted.  A surprise that I can’t get over.  She was in those first months of getting to know and grow with one another during pregnancy, and she still is today. 

From her laugh to her hugs (especially the kind where she wraps her arms around you and then picks her little legs up off the ground), from her sweetness to her cuteness, from her desire to wear dresses and have the pink bowl to her unbelievable inability to be lady-like and her strong ability to hold her own with her brother (which she had figured out in a feisty way at only a few months old already!), from her distractible attention span to her intensely clever mind, from the everyday habits to the catch-me-off-guard moments, Lilly continues to surprise me.  But just like her initial arrival on the scene of our lives (not to mention the graceful and unique way she arrived in the world three years ago today), it is a surprise that, despite all fears and questions and even painful tears initially, always seems to show amazing goodness in the end.  She is a surprise that continues to connect and lead me to God.  

You see, Lilly is not an easy child!  We still have plenty of “incidences” all too similar to those first few weeks (where my stomach churns and I feel like I’ll never make it through the time that remains caring for this little beast…not to mention the incidences where I’m up when I should be sleeping).  Her high energy and inability to sit still or stop talking drastically clashes with my need for quiet, still and calm.  Her feisty, knows what she wants, hold her own attitude clashes with my unobtrusive, passive, non-controversial style.  In so many ways, we’re very different.  And those differences, combined with the general challenges of raising a toddler (let alone two with a baby on the way), have had me crying more than my preferred share of tears over the years.  At times, I am terrified that I can’t handle a high-octane child like her; I am sure I am not being a good mother for what she needs; I worry about what I’m putting myself, let alone our relationship, through.  I am uncertain.  I am doubtful.  I am scared. 

But in the end Lilly somehow always seems to hear my plea to go gentle on me.  She invites me to “ask Jesus” when she notices me crying, she gives me leg-lifting hugs when I need a moment to just “be,” she learns something new just when I’m ready to give up hope of my un-lady-like-attention-deficit-likely-little brute ever listening to me, she twinkles those insanely gorgeous eyes and flashes her grin when I need a reminder to loosen up the corners of my own mouth, and she pulls out a surprising action, line or question to make me laugh out loud, sometimes at the same time as I’m crying.  She is not an easy child for me.  Our spirits seem so different that it’s hard to understand at times how we ever connect.  Often times I wonder how she ever managed to come from me.  But it’s then that I seem to realize all over again, she didn’t – she came from God.  And in those moments I am reminded, just like on that first thanksgiving weekend, that we’re going to be ok.  

Lilly is not only a special gift I connect with in a surprising way, in a way I don’t always see as possible, but is a vessel that has in so many ways helped me connect with God.  That’s what makes her a grace – the surprisingness and the Godliness, and how the two seem to come together in an unexpected co-mingling. 

I think that’s how God’s grace works – the crazy, unthinkable and the perfect, remarkable coming together.  An undeserved gift wrapped in a pristine package amidst candelabras and classical music would be too easy to take for granted.  But that surprise gift literally thrown at you when you least expect it, under flickering florescent light with “Carmina Burana” as your background theme – now that’s something I can appreciate!  It is in the messy that God’s grace is made most real!  If my journey with Lilly had been easy and pristine from the start, I don’t think I would see how incredibly miraculous she is.  If she were an easy and pristine child, I don’t think I would be aware of how beautiful she is.  It is the messiness of our relationship as mother and child that helps me see just how big of a blessing from God she truly is, just how much grace God has to offer me always.  All the challenges, from start through today, are a part of the goodness that God wants for me.  And I am grateful that my Lord sent Lilly as Her messenger of that goodness, His instrument of grace!  

With Lilly (as with our God), no matter how our time together starts, somehow we always seem to connect and do ok in the end.  Despite the surprises, the things I don’t know are even possible and all my doubts and fears, life with Her always turns out good.   She never fails to have me seeing anew the divine plan for goodness, even (especially) mingled in with chaos and fear.  And each day, each moment, each “incident,” seems to end once again with me saying thank you for the beautiful blessings around me.  My adventures with Lilly are a lot like those with my God – stomach churning and uncertain at times, but gentle and grace-filled in the end.  

On this day three years ago I welcomed the gift I had been waiting for, the very special and surprising gift that I came to realize would be amazing and could not be taken for granted.  And I haven't, I can’t – Lilly’s beauty and God’s grace won’t let me.  

 Thank You God for using Lilly to continue blessing me in surprising (aka beautiful) ways these past three years.  I pray that as she grows, I may do likewise for her.

Happy Birthday to my Lilly Bean, my beautiful blessing!