300 days of beauty, day 7

My husband snapped this picture without my knowledge as we were weaving our way through Saturday crowds in Chinatown, during our time in New York City. I liked the candid shot and I liked that my husband wanted to capture the moment. He's not a picture-taker. I have often said that if I die, they won't remember what I look like. In spite of my joking, I don't mind being the one behind the camera. I love it and I love to capture the world around me. To some it feels like clutter, to me it feels refreshing and stress-relieving. 

I don't think I realized how much it mattered to me that the people I'm with were enjoying the moments and adventure with me. Taking photos is not the only way to communicate that time spent is valuable, but for this photo, that is what it spoke to me. It was a non-verbal message to my heart that communicated, "I enjoy being here with you. This time, this moment is valuable."

The other aspect of beauty in this picture is my sweet daughter looking up at me. I don't know what she was thinking, what made her look up toward my face, but this frozen moment felt profound. She is growing up and yet still very young. While her younger sister had to be forcibly convinced to hold our hands at times, Cece would silently sidle up next to us and slip her hand into ours, just like in this snapshot. It first happened in busy Chinatown, then at night in Little Italy after polishing off an exorbitant amount of rice pudding. At other times it was maneuvering through the subway stations, walking through Times Square, through Rockefeller Center, and down Fifth Avenue.

In New York City, I never worried about her wondering off, running ahead, falling in the subway tracks, or not listening to our instructions. I wouldn't have required her to hold my hand. But in the silent action that communicates more than hundreds of words, I heard her. She needed to hold my hand. She is not the girl who asks and pushes her way into whatever she wants. She is reserved and hangs back and is often uncertain of how to approach the world around her. But she was brave enough to be the little girl that she is. She felt safe with us and safer when she held my hand or her daddy's hand.

I have three kids and three very different personalities. They are complex and beautiful and unique. I want to see them, truly see their hearts. I want to hear them, whether they communicate with words or non-verbal gestures. I was surprised at first when she took my hand. I was touched and thankful that she did not feel above it. I'm treasure the memory it imprinted on my heart. And I'm thankful that I could hear her, without a single word.

September 11th...

This morning I was driving my kids to the first day of their homeschool enrichment program. We usually listen to one of the Christian stations and it always warms my heart when they comment on songs they love and ask me to turn it up so they can sing. Today, being September 11^th, the dialogue over media airwaves is dominated by remembrances of this day. The station DJ spoke of this day and then played a clip of a sermon that Billy Graham gave several days after the towers fell. It is well worth the time to listen to him speak God' truth, reminding us that He is the God of comfort, that He reigns over and above all evil we see in the world. On this day we saw evil. It changed the world as we knew it, one of those days in history where you can remember exactly where you were when you heard, and then saw the reality, almost not able to comprehend what was happening, our minds struggling to even fathom it.

D didn't remember at first what that date signified, so to all of my kids, I reminded them. I couldn't even finish explaining it without the tears coming. In part, the tears stemmed from the great tragedy of that day. But they also came from remnants and reminders of heroism and resilience and God's presence in the midst of great darkness. I will not forget that when the towers fell, left visible in the mass of steel and rubble, a cross stood. Some would call it random. I would not.

Last fall we were in New York City. We visited Ground Zero, we saw the cavernous fountains bordered by thousands of names, we viewed the new Freedom Tower than can only partially make up for the skyline void where two great towers once stood--the Freedom Tower's mere presence a reminder of what stood in its place. It was sobering. 

We also toured St. Paul's Chapel, the church which stood closest to the Twin Towers. Not one window was shattered on this church when the towers fell. Not one. It became a place of refuge and refueling for fire fighters, aid workers, and all who served.

It was not my favorite "outing" in New York, but I don't want to live in a fairy land (well, maybe I do...). We have to face the reality of the world in which we live. This includes unspeakable, heartbreaking evil. But, while facing this evil, we need to look vertically to a God who reigns. Great evil should force us to engage with who God is. The Great I AM. A God of justice, mercy, tenderness, comfort, peace, so many things.

I write these words to neither be simplistic nor insensitive to how incomprehensible life can be. I know. I truly know. I have not lived in an ivory tower nor am I surrounded by a community of friends and family immune to the blows life brings. We don't have to “get” Him, but trust that He wins. All will be made right.

On this day, remember. On this day, pray. Pray for those who mourn, pray for those who protect and serve us, pray for those who plot evil, that they may be transformed by Christ. Pray for peace to rest in God's sovereign hand whatever comes, knowing He is with us. And pray that we can persevere in faith in spite of all that is set against God in this world. He is active and moving. He does not sit passively. His Word is true.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

P.S. I have read many biographies and autobiographies about and by Muslim background believers. Several have been written by men who were raised in or joined terrorist organizations. I would highly recommend these reads. They are extremely relevant in the world today and above that, they have given me hope. No hurdle is too big for God. He has claimed these men as His own.

The Son of Hamas by Mosab HassanYousef—His father was a founding member and popular leader of Hamas/Muslim Brotherhood in Palestine...his story.

Once An Arafat Man: The True Story of How A PLO Sniper Found A New Life by Tass Saada—He was a Palestinian refugee growing up in the Middle East who ran away to fight for Arafat, becoming one of his snipers. His story of Christ's transformation of his life.

And again, Billy Graham's sermon in the days following 9/11, worth your time.

This land I love...

I'm thankful. So very thankful. I sat on my front porch this morning and sipped my coffee. The temperature was rising in typical 4th of July fashion. I looked around my neighborhood and just felt blessed. I don't think our country is perfect, far from it. We are strong and we are weak, we have great spirit and vibrancy, and also great depravity. But have no doubt, we are blessed.

I specifically remember sitting in my bedroom as a young child and wondering why I was born in the United States and not in China or some other country. That's not to say that I felt my life superior in the indifferent snobbery sort of way, but I knew that life was harder--governments lacked stability and conscience, opportunities and education sometimes scarce, Christians persecuted, girls so undervalued that they were drowned in rivers. Deep thoughts for a young heart, but even then, somehow I knew. I was born to great privilege and freedom and prosperity. And I'm not speaking simply of physical materialism. I am privileged in the potential before me, I have prosperity of the soul and heart, I operate with freedom to live my life, unheard of still in many of our world's countries.

Why did God place me here and not in India or Russia or the Middle East or the thousands upon thousands of places in the world? I don't know. But I do know He doesn't make mistakes (and that goes for every person in the world). And, I believe that "to whom much is given, much is required." The gift of being born in this country is not for me to use however I see fit without thought to anyone or anywhere else. Until my dying breath, I pray I can honor and obey and love and serve God in the corner of the world He placed me. And trust His hand if He leads me elsewhere.

God Bless, America!

p.s. We saw "the real Statue of Liberty!" (as Belle says) last fall. Amazing. I would go again in a heartbeat.

view from the ferry

Freedom Tower/skyline view from Liberty Island

audio tour

Yeah, I don't know, it was bright?

with abandon...all in

"Praise his name with dancing..." 

Psalm 149:3

I admire my six-year-old. Her world never ceases to be vibrant. She runs and walks and swims and talks and sings and creates and dances with abandon. I love it.

We spent time last fall in New York City. In Washington Heights, there is a studio which offers drop-in ballet classes on a donation basis. Such a great program! Belle attended a class with her cousin and loved every second. The pictures my cousin took are a perfect likeness of my girl. She's all in.

Every life can be an act of worship, art to a dying world around us. I don't have my daughter's personality, but I can still live with abandon for my Lord. It will look different for me, but I want it to be a masterpiece. I want to believe in the vision and purpose of the master painter. Glob upon glob of paint, layer after layer, seemingly nothing, but ending in the realm of glorious.

I want to praise His name with the art He's given me. Without fear, with patient trust, with a heart full of hope and joy and purpose. And when I do fear and I doubt and I feel discouraged, sad, and insignificant, I want to engage with my Lord with abandon. Our mess is part of the masterpiece too.

I look at my daughter's freeze-frame blurried form as she leaps across the dance floor. She's all in. I can feel it and I smile. I hope she lives like that as she grows up. I certainly hope I do too.



p.s. I loved Emily P. Freeman's book, A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made To Live. We all have art, I highly recommend this book.

urban art~New York City

I'm a firm believer that beauty can be found wherever you are. It can be a beautiful vista, beautiful architecture, or a beautiful moment. It's easier to be a glass-half-empty sort, and I definitely have my share of pessimism, but looking for the beauty in the world around me balances me, keeps my eyes out and around and up from myself. I do love the natural, the majestic, but I also love urban art. We, being made in the image of God to display His splendor, have been given art, displayed in many different ways to the world. Here are a few of my favorites...

I love the actual photograph of this, taken in Times Square when the news announcing the end of World War II poured over the country--the joyous, euphoric jubilation that I can only imagine not having lived in that time. Walking along the Chelsea Highline, this psychedelic re-creation made my heart smile.

On the boundary/intersection where Chinatown becomes Little Italy

This FDNY Ladder lost six men on 9/11...never forget

The Brooklyn Bridge arched over the Empire State Building

The sweetest urban art of all, NYC playground art and I'm not just talking about the chalk drawings...