Cocooning

He Loves Us
(lyrics by Kim Walker)

He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane
I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy
When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by Glory
And I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affections are for me

Oh how he loves us, so
Oh How he loves us,
how he loves us so

He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane
I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy
When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by Glory
And I realize just how beautiful you are
and how great your affections are for me

And oh, how he loves us so,
Oh how he loves us,
how he loves us so
Yeah he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves

We are his portion and he is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in his eyes
If grace is an ocean we’re all sinking
So, heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
when I think about the way He loves us

Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves
Yeah, he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

He loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves

I watched Legends of the Fall the other night. Remember that movie? Anthony Hopkins, Aidan Quinn, Henry Thomas, Brad Pitt? Hopkins plays Colonel Ludlow, an old war hero who is disillusioned with the evils of civilization. So he builds a homestead on the mountainside, hoping to create a new paradise for his wife and three boys. He embarks on a quest to "lose the madness over the mountains and begin again."

And yet, even in an unadulterated setting, the wife leaves, and the boys--raised alone by Ludlow--struggle with pride, envy, ego. Despite radical efforts to protect his sons, all three boys follow in Ludlow's regretted footsteps -- they enlist in Europe's first World War. And as the movie-title suggests, the Fall is legendary, unescapable.

The youngest "treasured" son, Samuel, (played by Thomas) is killed in the war, essentially because of his glory-seeking idealism. Alfred (Quinn) returns from the war and turns on his law-evading family by pursuing politics to "govern" some good. The wayward, "wild" son is Tristan (Pitt) who runs from his war-wounds by becoming a ruthless hunter, debasing and devaluing himself.

It's a gut-wrenching story. The Father's fierce love for his children, the only redeeming thread.

I identify with all three boys -- sometimes rebellious and war-wounded, sometimes determined to overcome evil by following the letter of the law, sometimes idealistic and glory-seeking. The movie--a mirror for me--reflecting back cyclical patterns of un-love, dis-trust, anger, envy, pride.

I went forward on Sunday when the pastor invited children to come up for a sermon on "mirrors." I figured my rambunctious (and often wayward) five-year old would need help being a "good listener." A large, rectangular mirror was leaning against the altar horizontally, at eye-level, for those of us sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Anyone who listens to the Word," Pastor started, "and does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. "

After reading the verse, he asked, "How many of you actually look into a mirror, like James 1:23 says, and then forget what you look like?"

Nobody raised their hand.

"It's kind of silly, isn't it?" he asked. "Who looks into a mirror and forgets? Do you fix your hair, adjust your clothes, walk away, and then forget? Or do you remember?"

Most kids agreed (including myself) that they DO remember what they look like, and that the verse didn't really make sense.

Until Pastor put it this way. . .

"The Bible is a mirror. And when we look into it and walk away, do we remember what we look like? Do we remember that we are children of God, fiercely loved and completely forgiven? Or do we live like we forget?"

Lately, I live like I forget. I'm all too aware of my place in The Fall. And it's been a LOOOONG time since I've taken a good look in God's mirror. I can identify with Colonel Ludlow's quest to "lose the madness over the mountains and begin again." I am eager to stand before God's word more faithfully, so he can remind me of my true condition after The Fall:

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" (2 Cor 5:17)

"For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of the light." (Eph 5:8)

"Awake, awake, Cheri, clothe yourself with strength. Put on your garments of splendor. Shake off your dust; Rise up, sit enthroned. Free yourself from the chains on your neck, O captive Daughter of Zion. For this is what the Lord says: 'You were sold for nothing and without money you will be redeemed.'" (Isaiah 52:1-3)

The Bible--a perfect mirror for me--reflecting my true nature, the beauty forged from God's faithful, fierce, redeeming love. A love that looks at me and never forgets the Cross.

I was tooling towards Como Zoo with all three kids in the backseat when suddenly I realized I was heading south instead of north on 35W. Road construction was terrible. With all the lanes veering this way and that, somehow I ended up in an exit lane going the wrong direction. No big deal, I thought. Just get off at the next exit ramp and turn around.

But with all the detour signs and closed entrance ramps, what should have been a 40-minute trip ended up taking 1 1/2 hours. When I realized how far off course we'd actually gone, I felt like a tiny mouse in an impossible maze. I almost gave up. "Kids, we're so off the mark, I don't even know if I have enough gas to get all the way to St. Paul and back."

They were disappointed. I was mad, and talking to myself: Life is full of detours, Cheri, learn to embrace them. Maybe life IS a detour, and you're so angry about having to abandon your own map and plans that you're missing it! Stick with this. Enjoy the journey. Be an example to your kids.

But I think my higher-self was stuck in the trunk. My steering wheel will attest to the frustration and anger it --and everyone else in the car-- endured. I turned into the Wicked Witch of the West (only difference is I was going south). We made it to the Zoo, fueled only by my spite for the god of detours--the one who makes any human effort to arrive at a mapped destination seem insignificant and small.

And if you doubt there is such a god, can you please explain how we got lost on the way home, too?

It took me 2 days to de-compress. Because the Zoo-fiasco is simply magnifying how I feel about life in general. Two job opportunities that had me flying high with expectation and a new vision for my future crash-landed. My sister's fight with cancer, and watching the toll it is taking on her kids and husband (and also my mom and dad who are live-in help), is terribly sad. And my waitressing job (its scheduling issues, poor tipping from guests, etc) continues to thwart dedicated efforts to make ends meet.

Detour. Detour. Detour. I feel like I walk around with a permanent lump in my throat.

And yet God continues to speak through caterpillar (now in chrysallis) hanging from milkweed in my kitchen window. The road from caterpillar to butterfly includes a detour. We "watchers" expect the chrysallis phase, and even welcome it, because we know it's part of God's design. But does the caterpillar know the bigger picture? Does he think he's dying when he's hanging in that upside down J? Does he know he will emerge, in time, with wings?

Lord, help me to trust that I will get there (wherever "there" is) in your time and way. And help me to live in a state of grace, cherishing EVERY phase of the journey.

(Detour sign from FreePhoto.com)

After all these years, the thrill of watching a caterpillar transform is not lost to me.

The caterpillars are harder to find this year, so the Monarch population must be down. But after days and days of scouring milkweed at a nearby pond, I finally found one. The amazing thing is that 3 days after bringing it home and setting the leafy milkweed in a jar, the caterpillar formed its chrysallis. And yesterday our new butterfly was born!

We share a path
of cattails and milkweed
nests of new goslings
birch trees shedding paper
thin skin

Your sleeves long are rolled
to the wrist, cuffed
like navy-man's cap over brow of
phantom fingers, once strong hand
surrendered, given

to war?
defective birth?
angry machine?

You see me see you, and
delicate as a butterfly's wing
slip that arm behind
your back, protective (Of me? Of you? Should pain be polite?)
the loss an untold story,
a link where we connect

I am marching bolder now, or so it seems,
my own hand thrust before me, bearing
traditional summer torch:
pond treasure, milk-bleeding, with
cocoon-ready caterpillar clinging
to bobbing, leafy stalk

Our paths pass.
"Is that heron back there blue?" you ask
before tripping, embarrassed, on a grass-covered root

I hold my torch higher
so we can bear witness, both
to Monarch's promise

I know you fellow pond-walker
wound-wearing friend of
light-winged dragons
able-legged frogs
and willows weeping

"Oh look at these! Let's try sugar baby watermelon!"
"How about canteloupe?"

We stand at the market with seeds--sunflower
green bean, cucumber, peas--packets
fanned between our fingers like cards
in a winning hand of poker

With fertile imaginations
we introduce our fingers to soil
imitating the back-aching posture
of earth's first farmers

Then, we watch and wait
from windows of a borrowed home
anticipating a picnic feast of fresh--
From windows of a borrowed home we watch
and wait
still in farmer's prayerful pose
Is earth's economy broken, too?

winning hand for this year
folded


by Cheri Mueller



The day after I wrote this poem, I was sent an article via email: 31 ways to Jump Start the Local Economy. I was most intrigued by the section with suggestions for friends--things we can do TOGETHER!

TOGETHER WITH FRIENDS


Form a dinner club and hold a weekly potluck, or trade off cooking and hosting.


Dip your toe in the barter economy. Check out Craigslist’s “barter” category, and learn what WTT means (Willing To Trade). Even better, ask the guy at work who makes microbrews to trade a sixpack for a dozen of your chickens’ eggs.


Get together with coworkers and start a list of things you can do at work. For example, buy fair trade coffee, change to energy-efficient lighting, or carpool.


Start a Common Security Club in your faith community or neighborhood to help folks cope in the crisis and act together to create the new economy (www.commonsecurityclub.org).


Exchange care of children and elders. Better yet, bring the generations together and support each in offering love and care to the others.


Pool funds with a group of friends for home repairs, greening projects, or emergencies.


Do home work parties. Each month, go to a different household to do major home greening, a garden upgrade, or some deferred maintenance.


Keep more people from becoming homeless by challenging evictions and occupying vacant homes.


Create a space at a farmers market to exchange or sell used clothes, electronics, games, CDs, plants, seeds, compost, and books. Encourage people to swap services, too, like haircuts, photography, or prepared dinners.


Reach out to groups that are organizing people on the frontlines of the crisis, like Jobs with Justice (www.jwj.org) and Right to the City (www.righttothecity.org).


Did any of these ideas intrigue YOU?? My mind is spinning with possibilities that I'd like to explore. Maybe this broken economy will help heal our ability to reach out and relate to each other. Maybe through our difficulties we can find ways to create circles of genuine, interdependent community! To read the entire article, click here: http://www.dailygood.org/more.php?n=3741

When I came home from work late Saturday night (Mother's Day Eve), Rich had flowers waiting for me and a small gift: a framed silhouette of an angel and the words,

"BELIEVE in the promise of this day."

Rich is good at living in the moment, and savoring life's small things. And so I don't think he was intentionally referencing my sister's battle with cancer when he made this particular Mother's Day purchase. But, I couldn't help but think about my sister when I placed the gift on my living room bookcase.

The plaque is a wonderful reminder to live each day fully, and to cherish every person God puts in my life. Sue faces her life-threatening illness with courage, grace, and most importantly God-given HOPE. But I think it's her willingness to face mortality straight on (instead of deny it) that helps her to live in the moment, and at the same time believe in her Creator to sustain and heal her. . .to supply ALL her needs. Sue's journey and her willingness to talk about it is helping me to do the same. To trust God with every little detail of my life.

Thinking about how much it would help everyone to face their mortality, I went on a search for the bible verse that says something about our days being numbered, and surprisingly a verse from Isaiah found me instead. It's a verse I underlined last year, on Mother's Day when I was involved in a biblestudy on the feminine images of God:

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See I have engraved you on the palms of my hands." (Isaiah 49: 15-16)

Amazing! Engraved on the palms of God's hands with a promise that we'll NEVER be forgotten. Nurtured and cherished forever by our life-sustaining Spiritual Mother. She is hushing our fearful cries with a lullaby of LOVE. Can you imagine it? YOUR name carved into the hands of the very arms that embrace you?

And so on this Mother's Day, my kids and I did nothing out of the ordinary, but to me it was extra-ordinary: playing kickball as a family, laughing with the neighborhood kids, sitting around our kitchen table sharing Gina Maria's pizza, running to Target with Jennifer for weed-killer (or maybe I should learn to love the dandelions too? Ha!) browsing books at the library, chatting with my mom on the phone, and losing my breath all over again at the beauty of the flowers in our garden.

May we learn to trust our Heavenly Mother with the problems of tomorrow, and BELIEVE in the promise of this day!

There's so much to worry about these days. Making ends meet from month to month, my sister's battle with cancer (with these two things the list is long enough), my youngest son's progress at school, finding a new job. And most recently the viability of our current rental situation has come into question. Needless to say, there's been a lot on my heart and mind, and quite honestly I've been feeling the weight of it all.

This morning a little cup of wildflowers were sitting in my kitchen window. Jennifer must have picked them and placed them there yesterday. They turned my thoughts towards Matthew 6. Moments later, I read my sister's blog about learning to give up control (and the anxiety that comes with it http://www.whatitmeanstobeheld.blogspot.com/). Both were fresh reminders that God is laboring, spinning, growing, and blooming HIS plan for me.

It inspired me to take Sean outside with the camera to capture some of the surprising spring miracles in our very own yard:

The crabtree Sean is climbing will soon be in full bloom! What a miracle in the making! My Great Gardener shall supply ALL my needs. . .

Matthew 6:25-34 "Why do you worry? See how the lillies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these!"

Therefore I tell you, "Do not worry about your life!"

It's been a difficult week for my family. Wednesday before Easter my sister, Sue, was diagnosed with sinus cancer. We were surprised by this news, and have been reeling with questions about what this might mean for her life and journey over the coming weeks and months. One thing we know for sure is that treatment will include surgery to remove the infected sinus bone and to rebuild her face prosthetically. Tomorrow she and her husband, Jason, meet with a team of doctors to learn more specifics about Sue's case and what can be done for this type of cancer.

I am holding a bulb
cradling it with cupped hands
giving it warm breath in a creative cave of
hope

It's dark.
Protectively, my heart hovers
afraid to put it down.
Is it too early? Meant to be?

Maybe it's selfish
and will only yield a self-seeking flower,
Not life-giving
And to put it in soil?

Even so, I bury deep

From 4 to 41! What a journey!

Maybe it's because I have a deep need for personal affirmation and validation. .

Or maybe it's because I've studied the theater arts, and I know the difficult unveiling and out-pouring that comes when giving a character one's own heart and soul, flesh and blood . . .

Or maybe it's because in our society, building others up instead of tearing them down is so incredibly rare.

It could be any or all of these reasons that explain why, when previous-year Oscar winners presented words of honor and thanks to last night's Oscar nominees, I wept.

Seriously, I forgot all about who looked "glitzy" or "gawdy" or "Best-Dressed-List-Glamorous" when celebrities stood side by side in tribes of five, much like a Greek Chorus, and offered carefully crafted thoughts about why each hopeful nominee deserved to be on the Oscar-list.

Who wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of Shirley McClain's wise words to Anne Hathaway? "I think you're an amazing example for every young actress in this business, because you're not afraid . . . you're not afraid to show both your dark and your bright side." Anne received the words with tears in her eyes, and hand pressed over her heart.

Or who wouldn't covet Robert DeNiro's knowing encouragement of Sean Penn? "Tonight it's important to be a great actor. In life it's more important to be a great human being. And that's my friend, Sean Penn." Sean's eyes certainly weren't dry.

I love Goldie Hawn. Her words to Tiraji P. Henson in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button didn't disappoint: "You reminded us that Love is unconditional, timeless, and ageless, and a really very special gift to be treasured. . . and so are you."

Okay, so maybe a few of the presenters were stiff, awkward and "off." Like Nicole Kidman's stoic summary of "The Changling" that left Angelina Jolie without a single buoying word. I have to wonder if Kidman, after listening to the other four presenters, silently panicked because she finally--on stage, with teleprompter starting to scroll--understood the assignment, which was: not to describe the movie, but to commend Angelina's performance in it?

Angelina smiled like she didn't care. But, I wonder if laying in bed that night, she got the funny feeling that somehow even though there was only one award, all the other nominees, but for her, walked away "winners." Ouch. I think we all covet words of knowing praise.

Can you imagine words of blessing spoken over a key moment or season of your own life? And spoken by women or men who've gone before you, people who know on a certain level what you've been through, or who "get" what you're about? To hear the words, "Wow! Look at what you've survived! I honor you. I recognize the hard choices you've had to make. I respect the way you've carried yourself with dignity and grace. How amazing that you stood up when you felt like caving in."

Or words like, "You, my friend, are noticed and valued. The world is better off because of your unique way of living, celebrating, and surviving. Receive these words of honor and hold them close to your heart, because you sooooo deserve them."

Okay, I know that life isn't an awards show. But I thank the Oscar-organizers for giving actors and actresses more than a gold statue. Thank you for honoring all the nominees with the opportunity to hear from their fellow actor's hearts: words of acknowledgement, compliment, and critical acclaim.

And thanks for reminding the millions of us who watched the Oscars, that with our words, we can honor each other--everyday--in the same way.


1 Thessalonians 5:17 "Therefore encourage one another and build each other up."

Before I went to sleep last night, I prayed that God would give me some kind of word, or picture, or sense of knowing regarding my youngest son. I asked for a dream that would show me how to handle him better. How to find peace. How to stop fearing the worst. When my alarm clock went off this morning, sunlight poured through my bedroom window onto my pillow and face. I had no dreams that I could remember, but the song on the radio was By Your Side, Tenth Avenue North. As real as the morning sun was the sense that my "word" had been delivered. It was this:

By Your Side - Tenth Avenue North

Why are you striving these days
Why are you trying to earn grace
Why are you crying
Let me lift up your face
Just don't turn away

Why are you looking for love
Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough
To where will you go child
Tell me where will you run
To where will you run

Chorus:
And I'll be by your side
Wherever you fall
In the dead of night
Whenever you call
And please don't fight
These hands that are holding you
My hands are holding you

Look at these hands and my side
They swallowed the grave on that night
When I drank the world's sin
So I could carry you in
And give you life
I want to give you life

(Chorus 2x)

Cause I, I love you
I want you to know
That I, I love you
I'll never let you go

(Chorus 2x)

A great reminder that Grace reigns, huh? As I drove my son to preschool today, still nervous about what the day's events might bring, I caught the same song on the radio again. Okay! I get it God! I'll trust that Almighty hands are holding me and Sean, and rest in your Love. Thank you for answering my prayer.

If you want to hear the song, follow this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J95rAr0gOFU

So, after a difficult few days with my son, I finally wrote my Grace-Traits. Being creative helps me to sit still with the mess. . . . (see previous post for details):

Cheri's Grace-Traits:

I want to solve the world's puzzles, or at least die trying. . .

I want to eat all the ice cream in the world without worrying about weight. . .

I want to be whole--2 feet on the ground, and I also want to be holy--heart on course with eternity. I don't think I can be one without the other. . .

I want to love my kids in a way that helps them know for sure. . .

I want to be a giving, loving, good wife. . .

I want to be better at receiving, and opening my heart to True Love. . .

I want to give myself permission to embrace the fairytale. . .

I want to forgive. . .

I want to trust myself. . .

I want to live with integrity--what's on the inside reflected on the outside. . .

I want to quit looking for the stoneless road and celebrate, party, laugh, live a life of joy, right in the midst of heartache and pain.

I want to see "40" as a chance to live what I've learned. . .

I want to be dramatic, passionate, creative and bold without apology. . .

I want to find more adventures. . .

I want people to know how amazing they are, even in all their inconsistencies, and complexities and deep-seated insecurities. . .

I want to be amazing too. . .

Embrace your Grace.


What's on your Grace-Trait list?

I need constant reminders that it's okay to be messy, imperfect, broken, and untamed. My instinctive reaction to any sort of unravelling is: Grab on. Double-fist it. Try, try, try to straighten things out (if only in my mind.) When life gets complicated, I'm the one stretched and strung out like Salt Water Taffy.

Lately, it's been issues with my youngest son. He challenges me to get comfortable with "not perfect," "persistent" and "puzzling with no answers." And when I can't figure him out, I have a hard time being gentle with myself and simply letting go.

Last night I was watching a re-run of TNT's Saving Grace. As I fell in love with Grace all over again (the main character played by Holly Hunter) I was reminded to welcome unexplainables and unfixables, to find and live a more ferocious, determined love, to live large, laugh hard, and "embrace my grace."

One of the Saving Grace episode trailers is a clip of Grace--in all of her sensuous, bull-headed, broken, rough-around-the-edges, multi-faceted beauty and complexity--narrating the ways she "embraces her grace." Watching that clip was like receiving a wash of personal forgiveness for all that I'm not and all that I hope to be. Listen to Grace's gutsy honesty:

" I want to bust the world right open, the way you do when you're filled with youth. . . .

I want to engage with people and lovers, family, fellow cops and enemies. . .

I want to be physical and I also want to ask the big questions. . .

I want to taste the taste, and fix the problems. . .

I want to run head-long into chaos and bad guys and darkness and pranks and fun, and laugh, laugh, laugh. . .

I want to be the best friend and I want to be the greatest Aunt. . .

and the most complicated daughter. . .

I want to be the mystery in the room and. . .

I want to be numb. . .

Embrace your Grace."


Embracing grace starts with embracing what's human: Drop the masks. Make the mistakes. Live in the moment (but argue with the state of it if you must). Ask for help. Admit you're wrong about being right. Stammer over the small miracles. Jump for joy when justice prevails. Feel what you feel, but be open to thinking differently.

What would be on your Grace-trait list?

Perhaps for my next post I'll share my own list. I'm inspired. . .

To learn more about my favorite television show, or to see how others are embracing their grace, go to http://www.embraceyourgrace.com/

It's winter, and we've hit "sick" season at our house. Within the last week, all three kids have come down with the flu. Which means I've been holding a lot of barf-bowls and washing my hands religiously. It's a privilege to care for my children and their needs, so I'm not complaining. But I'll admit it's hard to stare at the same four walls, day-after-day. Minnesota temperatures have been less than friendly. And on top of feeling quarantined for both weather and health reasons, the economy has forced my employer to be stingy with shifts (in an effort to save our jobs).

Needless to say, I'm feeling the lull of winter like never before.

Thinking about "lulls"--pockets of inactivity--and how we survive (or celebrate) them, has me thinking about one of Sally's poems from our book, Walk With Me.

Sacrament of Friendship

My editor-muse teaches
Life as sacrament
Calling during lulls
In motherhood's deaths and births

A writer-friend of grace and healing
She baptizes with words
Midwife to me
Pruner of thorny bushes

She is a priest of sorts, hearing
My confessions, praying for wounds
To heal -- we minister in stories
For us and others

Her letters come, and I read them
Walking to the park -- Northside
And, again at pond's altar
Tree branches make the cross

Knowing she knows is my
Sanctuary -- we walk and
Will nudge each other through
Weddings and funerals celebrating
The simple things in life

by Sally Pelinka Miller

I've been calling my poet-friend during these "lulls in motherhood's deaths and births." And out of this painfully slow "sick-season," a new project is being birthed.

It's another writing opportunity!

The day Sally proposed the idea, I had a dream that I showed up to work, ready to waitress (I work at a dinner theater). And instead of "serving," my supervisor told me I'd be ACTING on stage. I was quickly fitted for a costume, and I kept thinking, "Wow, I actually get to do something CREATIVE!"

All of this reminds me that there's LIFE to be found in the lulls. . .if we just wait. . . and watch. . .praying for the energy to somehow TRUST, EMBRACE and CELEBRATE.

Great song about the Jubilee (related to my last post!) You might want to forward past Michael's introductions of the band.