Thanksgiving and Actions of Grace

It's almost Thanksgiving Day. 

 This year I'll be with my daughter and her family. I'm sending cards to the rest of my family and I confess I didn't carefully chose cards. I was zipping through a store, grabbed a package of six and plan to add a message....

But the message to me was on the package itself.   It was labeled, "6 thanksgiving cards", translated into French- "cartes de l'action de graces."  Grab and run, wait.... What did that say?

cartes de l'action de graces

The French don't celebrate Thanksgiving. The  Pilgrims didn't land on their shores aiming to form "a City upon a Hill". Years ago they didn't celebrate survival with a feast or include their native benefactors.  But they do have a word for our Thanksgiving Day and I love it... l'Action de grâces, 

 The thanksgiving prayer said before or after a meal is simply "les grâces."

An act of thanksgiving is called "une action de grâce(s)." 

Note that the word "grâce" can be singular or plural. 

When referring to the holiday held in the U.S. on the fourth Thursday in November

 and in Canada on the second Monday in October, only the initial "a" is capitalized.  

Thanksgiving (the holiday) l'Action de grâces, la fête de l'Action de grâces - 

Thanksgiving Day- le jour de l'Action de grâces

http://wiki.answers.com/Q/How_do_you_say_Thanksgiving_in_French

The French words gave me a pause.  In America we say, "Happy Thanksgiving!" and "What are you thankful for?" or "This season I'm going to list what I'm thankful every day."  While we should be thankful, grateful for God's provision, in our culture a traditional symbol of the season is the cornucopia. The curved horn of plenty spills a variety of fruits and vegetables out of it's woven basketry. 

Harvest. Abundance. Affluence.  

"Thank you, God. You've given me so much. 

You are a good God because You've given me so much. 

My life is full and obviously You are responsible."   

Yay, God. 

Gather 'round the table and let's eat. 

So what’s this “l’action de graces”?   You don’t have to be bilingual to translate that phrase. Thankful in French is reconnaissant, “to recognize or acknowledge” and that’s another gem to ponder. But thanksgiving is translated action of grace.  How perfect!  Gathering in forms of community to show our gratitude is an action.  And His grace is always shown in His actions toward us- even when the table is old, the food is scarce or the people are absent or estranged. It’s still an act of grace when the Hand of God isn’t open with abundance but instead offers the intimacy of suffering and sorrow.

   

The goal of our lives cannot be merely the correct emotions of gratitude and thankfulness. Like his our actions also must reflect grace.  If we maintain our calm when attacked, we call it "grace under fire." There are times in my life when I feel attacked, I feel abandoned, I feel disappointment.  I can cover those emotions with my veneer of gratitude and thanksgiving- a spiritual "fake it until you make it." Except I'm missing what I'm supposed to be making.  The goal is not ease, the goal is holiness and actions that reflect the Holy One within us.

And it's those times of human weakness when my actions are not actions of of grace.  I act in self-defense when offended. I retreat into silence rather than acting out the difficult grace of breaking the impasse with my offender.  I act in fear when I wake in the night and my aloneness smothers me like a heavy blanket. In the darkness, I simply have no capacity to extend grace to my own frightened self.   I act in self-pity when life is unfair and my actions are not graceful service. When I refuse the life I'm offered, I'm refusing to embrace Him, refusing to extend grace back.

So what is the blessing of Thanksgiving? 

The One to whom we offer our thanks is always acting in grace.  

**********

Grace moves toward reconciliation 

without expectation of being right or understood.

All this is from God, 

who through Christ reconciled us to himself 

and gave us the ministry of reconciliation;  

2 Corinthians 5:18

**********

 Grace is sufficient, 

for His strength fills our weakness.  

My grace is enough; it's all you need. 
My strength comes into its own in your weakness.
The Message 2 Corinthians 12:9 

**********

Grace looks for ways to serve. 

Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom which cannot be shaken,

let us have grace, by which we may serve God acceptably

with reverence and godly fear. Hebrews 12:28

May this Thanksgiving be full ..... of  abundance 
and
actions of grace, 

especially

in the small places of our lives.

Falling in love

Dear Ann fLanders, 

I'm in love with a younger man. He's much shorter than me, refuses to sit still for photos and throws things at everyone. I love to write and have long discussions on philosophical and spiritual topics; he has a very limited vocabulary and makes up gibberish all the time. I love to read but he's pretty much stuck on three books and insists on having them read over and over.  He's also very attached to his stuffed animals, I don't even have or want to have a dog.  I'm a gourmet cook, he prefers peanut butter. Straight from the jar, with a plastic spoon.  Do we have a future? 

PS- he's eighteen months old.  And adorable. And he seems very tender toward other women in his life. 

Signed, 

Besotted

Starting off the day.

It's 7 AM.
Breakfast is done and Dad's cover (that's a cap for you civilians) is the toy of choice.

And "No, I will NOT sit still and look cute for the camera. Do your best, Bebe!"

He was so cute cuddling with his stuffed animals....
this is right before he suddenly decided to jump off the couch.
Photo op over. 

Notice the blur. The only thing that doesn't move in this picture are the animals.

And they were thrown from the couch.
He's not to be trusted- cuddle bunny one moment, curmudgeon the next. 

But who can resist that face!

He does look a bit mischievous doesn't he,
Remember, it's now about 7:15 am. 

Dad's going off to work and to "support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies,
foreign and domestic"

Oorah!
Don't forget your boots.  

Quick!
Climb up on the back of the couch!


Gotta say "Bye, bye.  Later."

Wave at Daddy.

And the big white truck and the little red car and the green car and the black truck and the....

 oooh... . a YELLOW SCHOOL BUS!

7:35 AM

Dear Besotted,

Of course you have a future.  He's clearly adorable and irresistible. If I didn't have my own perfect grandchildren, I'd be tempted to steal yours.  Enjoy. These years will pass as quickly as your own children's toddler years did.

He won't always want you to blow on his round belly or soap up his soft back. Luckily the diapers don't last forever so enjoy those sturdy little baby buns while you can. Be willing to snuggle up with Mr. Tiger and Mr. Bear and the rest of the goofy stuffed animals.  They get put in the back of the closet soon enough.  He'll learn to eat more foods- if you're as good a cook as you think you are, you can teach him to cook!  And think of all the cool restaurants you can take him to.  As well as the zoo, the beach, climbing on those great rocks around your cabin, exploring the mountains you love so much.

The same with all the books you want to share with him. He'll eventually expand his literary repertoire, especially if you keep sending him books all the time.  And soon enough you can read all YOUR favorites to him.  Be patient. There will come a day when he will sit still. Or not- then you can put them on a podcast for him while he bounces through life!

As for those other women... I believe one is his younger sister, always a sign of a true gentlemen that he is tender and sweet toward her. He has responsibilities there.  As for his mother....in some relationships I do advise caution when a man seems too attached to his mother. But in this case you have nothing to fear. She seems very wise and able to share him with you. I suspect you two will have years to perfect your mutual admiration society of this handsome young gentleman.

Sincerely,
Ann fLanders

PS- get used to the photo struggle. It's a good challenge to try to take good photos with a moving subject.

Caught in a quiet moment of contemplation.


What do toddlers think about?

How to make their grandmothers fall in love!

Waiting for Noelle. It's all fine.

Well, pretty baby girl. Bebe is waiting for you today.  It's been a bit nerve-wracking. Jesus is teaching me to trust Him with all of my precious loved ones- even ones I don't know yet.

When your mama told me you were coming, I was just a little, well, freaked out.  You won't read this until you are old enough to know me so you'll already know that I can freak out pretty easy. Or maybe by the time you are old enough to read this, I will be so full of Jesus that I'll be cool, calm and collected. All the time.

By now you know that your mama didn't do so well when your brother was born. It was a mess. And Bebe was a BIG mess.  I LOVE my baby girl- that would be your mama and I LOVE your brother and I LOVE your daddy.  I didn't want anything bad to happen to any one of them.  And it could have been so much worse....  and that's what I remembered when I heard you were on the way.

So you are part of God's gift to me. The gift of embracing my fear. Of choosing to lean in close and figure out what fear means. Of sitting quietly and thinking back to when I was a little girl and bad stuff happened to me. Wow- sounds scary but it wasn't.  This has been a wonderful year. A year of learning how much God loves me. How much He wants to heal me way down deep. Of how much he protected me when I didn't know He was there.


So today your mom and dad took pillows and diapers and little, tiny pink clothes and a brand new car seat and headed off to the hospital for another surgery.  And I got to stay here and trust Jesus all over again.  It helped that I had Josiah to distract me.   He had his breakfast waffle and we watched his baby DVD. Hope you like them- he definitely knows which ones HE likes.





Then we put on our bike helmets and went for an explore on my bike. Bebe needed some exercise- a bit of nervous energy crackled in the house today.  We found a park where I took a bunch of blurry photos of your brother, mostly the back of his head, because he won't stand still.

And he climbed UP a slide that had a puddle of water on it and got all wet. 



And then he swung out and fell off a platform in the big kid's playground equipment.  And got shredded wood junk up his runny nose and all over his wet clothes.  It was time to go home. And change his outfit- again.




He finished up his waffle, ate some toast with peanut butter, had half a banana and some yogurt.  Then he proceeded to run around like a crazy boy and laugh and throw stuffed animals.  Obviously he knows something is up. YOU are coming!  And his world will never be the same.

Mine won't either.  I love my kids but I'm crazy about Josiah and Mariam and now YOU.  My heart is tender toward you little peanuts in a whole new way. I was too busy with life when I was the young mama with my own babies- now I can just sit on the kitchen floor with an eighteen month old toddler clad just in his diaper and eat yogurt together and be fine.  Really fine- happy and content fine.  Excited to meet another little person who will call me Bebe fine. Grateful in my heart fine.

PS- and I'm not even afraid. Because my world won't be the same either.

PPS- Uh... let's not tell Mom about the fall. He's fine.

PPSS- I think I'll have a little peanut butter and Nutella while I wait. That's fine, too.

Just hanging out.
Waiting for Noelle! 

Remembrances and new life

I'm on Camp Lejeune, North Carolina awaiting the arrival of a granddaughter.  This place always brings back so many memories- I spent six years here as a young military wife.  I had three babies here; we bought our first home and made friends for life.

And I found out that Christians are not divinely protected from tragedy.

My husband was a helicopter pilot and we buried some fine young men.  And thirty years ago, a dear friend from our small group died in Beirut, Lebanon.  On October 23, 1983, two hundred and forty one service Marines, sailors and soldiers died when a vehicle bomb exploded in their four story barracks. It was early in the morning when many were still asleep.  The bomber knew their schedules, his truck was familiar.  One source said the result was the largest non-nuclear explosion since World War II. http://shar.es/EYxYs

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beirut_Memorial

But for our little group in Jacksonville, it was personal.  And for me, it has become a small glimpse of God's grace, a strange lesson but it's what I have carried with me.  On October 16, a week before the many deaths from the truck bomb, our dear friend died in Beirut. He was a good man who went with a peacekeeping force and was shot by a random sniper. He left a toddler and a young pregnant wife in North Carolina and went to serve his country.  Ben was born after his dad left and was four months old when his dad died.  Everyone from President Ronal Reagan to the Good Morning America crew to the wives in the 24th Marine Amphibious Unit called or visited his widow and marveled at her quiet faith, her sweetness in the light of her tragedy.

All military wives wonder, "What would be my reaction if....?"  And within that same week, many of the military wives who paid respects to her were widowed themselves.  But they had just seen the compassion of Jesus surrounding and pouring out from one of their own. Only God knows ripples from the faith she modeled.

The years have gone on, our lives have marched forward but our friend's widow did not have a "happily ever after."  She struggled with her children, the guilt of new wealth, poor financial advisors, health issues, all compounded by grief and loneliness.   Perhaps that was the tragedy that touched me the most- I didn't witness many widows live out the rest of their lives but this one was not the picture of a divine bubble of protection.  The evil of the world still reached out and touched a vulnerable life.  Life proved not fair.  Young men die in war, middle age men die from disease.  But while life isn't fair and will never the same, life can be good.

Tomorrow on the 30th anniversary of Mike's death, my granddaughter, Noelle Kathryn, will be born. Ironically she will come into this world on the very same military base that sent those young men to keep peace and pay with their lives.   Mike never knew his son. My husband never knew his son-in-law or his grandchildren. He will not know this sweet baby girl.  It doesn't seem fair.  But as all widows know - life goes on and you have the choice to join in and live again.   God does not override the evil of this world to keep His people in bubble wrap.  But He does continue to give good gifts.

One good gift is memory. My son in law joined several hundred others and ran the annual Beirut Memorial 10K last Saturday. Marines remember the day in October when a coward in a truck blew up their own.  Mike's family and friends remember him. I remember the community life we shared and the love he had for his young family.  I remember the grace his widow showed in her darkest hour.

So on this overcast, dreary evening in coastal Carolina, I am grateful.  Grateful for the memories of my season of young motherhood and for old friends, however brief some of those relationships were.  I'm grateful for the joy of grandchildren, however bittersweet it is to ponder how much Bill would have loved these little peanuts.   And I'm grateful that I've learned God's heart toward me is always good. This world is but a brief sojourn before the better stuff that comes next.

My wild-child grandson leaps off practically everything and just before he launches, he jabbers, "One, two, free...!" Yes, it takes a careful ear to understand his words.  But if we listen carefully, we too will someday hear the joyful welcome- and we can jump into the place where we will understand everything.


Meanwhile, there's a new life to welcome.

A flood, a bird, an epiphany?

It all started when the Colorado downpours saturated the ground and created a moat around my sister’s window well and then breached the “dam”.  As those things fill up with water, the windows have no chance. Water rushed in.

That was three weeks ago while I was there for a couple of days.  While my brother-in-law and I tried to keep the craziness to a minimum, furniture was moved and stuff shuffled around or more honestly, tossed aside. My sister works more hours than I knew were available in a week so the basement was already typical, American storage space and well, disorder. It was the classic- “One of those days I’m going to tackle the basement”.  Frankly, after the mini-flood the basement became complete chaos. One easy solution was to just close the basement door and think about it later.  Until the cat brought in a bird and proceeded to chase it around in said basement before dining on parts and leaving a carcass and lots of feathers.   The basement moved up the list of weekend chores.

The prospect of facing the clutter and the tossed aside furniture was too much. But life has a way of forcing us to confront our stuff- the exterior clutter and the interior confusion, as well.  So the last weekend I visited. my sister and I had a lovely bike ride planned but the furnace blew a thingy and poured smoke into the house and obviously needing tending.  Her husband, lovely man that he is, doesn’t do household crisis/repairs well on his own.  He’s a great cook and does his own laundry so that's a good tradeoff. Plus Janet knew an old acquaintance with a HVAC handy husband. “Sure, we’ll come by and look at it after the boy’s football game. Be great to see you. Etc.”

Hurrah!  Problem’s not solved but we’re no longer in the literal smokey haze of broken furnace with winter coming on.  But of course, the furnace.... is in the basement.

Long story short (too late, you say....)- we hauled a pile out of the basement. Several piles. All the office catalogs from a previous job, some rain soaked fiberboard, lots of paper work, knick-knacks earmarked to go to Goodwill that had snuck into the basement when her back was turned. And it’s always easier to really sort and pitch with a kind friend.  Or a bossy, older sister.  “Seriously, why do you have a catalog from 2009?”

So we arranged furniture, planned for a painting project and generally patted ourselves on the back. The next morning, after church and a nice big breakfast, I was reading the Sunday paper and came across Howard Mansfield’s article, “An American Dilemma: Your Clutter or Your Life.”

“It’s now 'physically possible that every American could stand — all at the same time — under the total canopy of self-storage roofing,” boasts the Self Storage Association. There are about 51,000 storage facilities in the country — more than four times the number of McDonald’s.   The storage shed is a symptom of our cluttered lives.  Clutter is the cholesterol of the home, it's clogging the hearth."

                                                                                               From The Denver Post / Oct 4, 2013

He goes on to make great observations on the toll that clutter takes on our lives, our peace of mind, our family time, our living time.  “Clutter is choking our shelters. Is there any room left for us in our houses?”

We agreed. We want to live simple. We want to have less, haul stuff away, give it away.  Janet said for every thing she brought into the house, a similar item had to leave. And we had really made a dent in the basement and had several boxes to  donate. We looked at each other and with one breathe we both exclaimed, “We should do a Goodwill run!”  We are incorrigible.  But off we went to search for pillows for the new basement plan and any other absolute treasures we "need". 

But on the way, we found a large bill board advertising a new business venture for her town, which is just south of metro Denver. 

“Occupying roughly 20 acres, Vehicle Vault will include twelve storage “condos” for collectors of high-end automobiles. They will have the ability to maintain and display their prized collections in a country club-like atmosphere, and have access to concierge services, waterless car washes and transportation for vehicles that can’t be driven.”

Yes, you read that right. Not only can all of America stand under the roof area of the millions of storage units where we store stuff we can’t fit into our houses, now you can buy a condo to store your car.  Now granted, these are high-end collectible cars. Not like Beanie Babies that failed to return on their promised investment value but real assets. Like you have in a bank. Or in a vault.  For cars

“Village at Vehicle Vault. Built to provide the elite car collector a place to keep and maintain their investments and share their passion with a like-minded community of car enthusiasts.”    http://www.vehiclevaultco.com/

We decided it was a high-class storage unit, the kind you could proudly open the doors and share with fellow hoarders, I mean enthusiasts.   We laughed, took pictures and proceeded to not just one but two Goodwills where we scored fabric for pillows and a pair of absolutely necessary black capris.  And a cute pair of  brand new shoes. Don't judge. 

So... not sure the moral, the lesson, even the point of all this.  It just felt very ironic to be motivated to go shopping after we emptied a space that had been full of clutter.  And driving by the construction site for yet another storage facility/ museum struck me as the height of irony in a culture that even has a word for simplicity. 

Either way the bird feathers are gone, the basement's cleaned, the furnace is being pondered and we had an epiphany.  I just forgot what it was. Maybe my mind’s a bit cluttered. 

Grant Wood's America

As a little girl in Alaska I wasn't exactly exposed to fine art. I don't even remember an art museum. My dad was faithful to take us to the latest Warren Miller ski movie each year.  http://www.skinet.com/warrenmiller/
His true art appreciation phase was later in his life, after he retired from milking cows twice a day.

But one image I vividly remember is a Grant Wood print at our friend's house. The wife was a consummate homemaker.  All the Alaskan women seemed to excel at something and Betty was the one who grew humongous begonias, made all her own clothes from complicated, elegant Vogue patterns and decorated her house with midcentury modern furniture.  Well, it wasn't all that many years past the midcentury but it was sleek and chic compared to our dairy farm utilitarian decor.  My mother, God bless her, only had a school teacher's brief summer to fuss with her home decor.

When our families gathered for dinners or holidays at Betty's home,  I would stand and gaze at her small German windup music box. The box was just the base for a tiny scene- children and tiny clothes on lines and bunches of flowers. Sweet and romantic and delicate. These images and faint tinkle of mechanical music still tickle my memory and  again I am a small child, gazing the eye level at the tiny scene.  And above the long, low cabinet where the music boxes lived, was a Grant Wood print. Rolling hills of greens and yellows.  Rows of perfectly planted corn.  Peace, order, harmony.

"Young Corn"
http://bjws.blogspot.com/2012/10/1930s-americas-great-depression_12.html

http://www.grantwoodartgallery.org/grantwood.htm


Grant Wood's America is not real life, nor was it then.  He is more known for his iconic "American Gothic"

"American Gothic"

but his image of idyllic rural life touched something deep in me.  Perhaps the rough, not quite finished atmosphere of Alaska gave me a longing for the apparent permanence of a Midwest townscape.  My front yard faced the same looming mountains that Betty's did.  But her house reflected orderly, Midwestern roots and that contrast must have spoken something to my young soul.


So this week as I drove across the rolling hills of the Midwest, I was back in a Grant Wood painting. The light was terrible and the trees were only hinting of their fall colors but the same impression was there.  Fresh cut edges of stubble outlined the even lines of golden corn. Crops smoothly moved over the rounded hills.  Apple orchards had produce stands and I munched on a carmel apple of a variety I've never heard of.  Amish buggies occasionally shared the road with cars and trucks.  Farmsteads were tidy and a variety of barns begged to be photographed.

In my South Dakota life I see barns that tell the tales of failed attempts to conquer the land. Empty house slant into the wind, black windows are sightless eyes staring without life.  Spent and conquered, the farm will eventually crumble into the wildness of prairie.

But here in Iowa, Minnesota and Wisconsin, man has won over the land. Or at least here are scenes of cooperation and productivity, established patterns of crops, orchards and gardens.  Like a Grant Wood painting.

All that musing as I drove came from a print from my childhood. It was a small journey back into a formative memory.  And I wondered- what children who come to my house see? Are there images in my home that will spark a lifelong  longing for beauty or order or the Creator?  I love to create a visual feast for just my eyes to enjoy but this trip across an image of my childhood reminded me- you never know what visual memory you are creating for others. Especially the children of your world. It's not the same as a tour of a fine art museum.... or perhaps it is.

Beauty will save the world.  What's my part in creating that beauty? Not just for my own soul, but for the other people, large and small. who share my world.

Attachment

My son and his lovely wife are great people committed to God, to each other and now parents to a beautiful baby girl.  They are thoughtful people and have arranged their schedules so they can be home with Mariam most of the time, especially Lindsay.  Breast-feeding is going well and they have found themselves in the "attachment parenting" camp. Mariam relies on nursing and a bit of movement during the day to settle down for sleep.  It works great for them. Mariam is a delightful little person- happy, curious, healthy. 

"The long-range vision of Attachment Parenting is to raise children who will become adults with a highly developed capacity for empathy and connection.  The essence of Attachment Parenting is about forming and nurturing strong connections between parents and their children."   http://www.attachmentparenting.org/

All good things.

Until this grandmother arrives for a visit and tries to put Mariam to sleep.  Even at nine months and cocooned into the familiar stroller, she KNOWS it is not her mama pushing the other end.  She KNOWS it is not her papa crooning hymns into her ear.  She doesn't really know this stranger they call Bebe.  

While they seem fine with her and the Bebe person plops on the floor and plays with her..... Mariam just wants what is familiar, what she is attached to.  Or more to the point, who she is attached to. 

Finally asleep!
Never move a sleeping baby.... add fan and leave her on the cool back patio. 

Not sure who you are.....

But I'm a happy girl so I'll smile! 

And you can give me food but I'm still not sure about you....

          at•tach•ment (əˈtætʃ mənt)

n.

1. the act of attaching or the state of being attached.

2. a feeling that binds one to a person, thing, cause, ideal, or the like; devotion; regard.

3. something that attaches; a fastening or tie.

          Origin: 

1300–50; Middle English atachen  < Anglo French atacher  to seize, 
Old French atachier  to fasten, alteration of estachier  to fasten with or to stake, equivalent to estach (Germanic *stakka stake) + -ier infinitive suffix

Mariam is attached to her parents. They have set a stake so to speak, and provided her an anchor, a reference point, a bond.  It is as it should be, even if it makes Bebe feel a little left out of their inner circle.  I want to be a person that she trusts but I haven't seen her that much, she's still very young and I expected her to be a bit hesitant.  All natural things in the life of a baby. 

Ahh.... these are the arms I wanted. 

But what does my experience say about the other world we also inhabit? The natural world points to and informs our understanding of the spiritual world, the reality that will outlast both time and material. Therefore, in the world of our spirit and soul we also form attachments, enjoy the familiar and fasten ourselves to things and people.  

As Christians, we believe that God put down a stake, a cross, to be precise, and we can bond to that truth, that anchor and form healthy attachments to the God who loves us, who has a good heart toward us, who wants our best.  Much like Mariam's earthly parents, God watches over his children and longs for them to know Him and love Him in return. 

So-  do we look up with eagerness when we hear His voice? Do our lives reflect the inner circle of love and grace where we have been invited to dwell?  Do my attachments  cause a holy hunger in others?   For remember, our membership in faith is not exclusive. We are not trying to create the necessary earthly bonds for a healthy parent-child relationship.  The very Creator of family, of community has already created the safe place for us. We just enter into His family and then, turn back at the door and declare, "Come in with us! You belong as well."

 So much to learn from the small wonders God has given to us in this world. 

Sleep well, Mariam Charis.

Welcome to the family!