It's been a glorious summer! Blessings as you turn the corner to autumn. Come September, there will be good news of what will come next. Can't wait to tell you all about it!!!
It has been said the last thing that happens before a baby is born is that an angel bends low, kisses the child on the forehead, and whispers in its ear, "Remember!” Remember from where you came. Remember to where you will return. Then you spend the rest of your life trying to recall, trying not to forget.
We need reminders of our original goodness. Heaven knows we do a lot to obscure that brilliance. When we encounter a small child, we get a glimpse again of that glory. Perhaps we even hear the echo of a whisper in our ear, "Remember!”
There was a time when my own children were babies that of all the tasks of parenthood, the one that most overwhelmed me was the one I’d assented to at their baptism, to "train them in the practice of the faith.” It was all so big, and they were so small. I, too, was small, young, new at this, and so ill-equipped. It was then I heard this story and knew it to be true. I looked into the liquid, blue eyes of my daughter, saw the smile play at my son’s sleeping lips, and I knew from where they had come.
Which of us, mother or child, had most recently seen the face of God? Fresh from the face of God. Delivered to my arms. They were the ones, not I, redolent with the scent of heaven. Who am I to teach them? There is so much that they can teach me.
So that is where we started. I was the privileged one who had a front-row seat as they grew. I simply assumed, took for granted that they were in a relationship of love with the One who had gifted them to me. My task, my privilege, was to witness and walk with them along the way. What a joy that was! Oh, how much I learned!
And when my children had children, I got to do it all over again. Once again, heaven bent low and we were blessed with evidence of God’s tender desire toward us.
I remind myself now, well into the journey, that I, too, need to "remember." No longer babies, no less loved. That can be said of my children, of my grandchildren. It can, even, be said of me. It can, in fact, be said of all of us.
If you go to the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks in Seattle, you can see returning salmon through the viewing window of the fish ladder. Salmon, it seems, are better than we at remembering from whence they came and to where they will return. At the last stage of the ladder, they rest for a moment and you can view their shimmering bodies swaying against the current, some of them an arm's length in size. Many of their sleek, silver sides are deeply gashed from encounters along the way with seals, orca, and fishermen. But the scars that might mar, seem only to ennoble.
At this stage of life, I may resemble more the salmon than the newborn, but that which is true remains the same. I am tasked to remember that I am a child of God. I am tasked to remember this not only of self and loved ones, but of all those who share this journey, whatever scars they might bear, however rudely the journey has treated them, however foolish they may have been along the way. No longer babies but no less loved. May it be so.
Thank you for the summer luxury of monthly newsletters. In mid-September we will return to every other Wednesday and will let you WHAT'S NEXT!
ALWAYS love to hear from you. Just click here
to drop me an email.