Desert Longings

Maybe it is because the weather outside is frightening, but I have been longing for the desert. The sun.  The heat.  The rock and sand.  The fierce, barren loveliness of it all.

I close my eyes and I can feel the hot wind of The Wilderness of Judea.  I can see the brutal glare of the sun glinting off of the face of Masada.  I can feel the sweat trickle down my back as I hike into the holy quiet of The Wilderness of Zin.  Heat radiates off ancient stones on the path to En Gedi as I run my hand along the rocks where David hid and gaze into the brilliance of the Salt Sea in the distance.

The desert calls to me, but what can I do?  It is December in Tennessee and I don’t exactly have the means to hop an airplane to Israel, or even Arizona for that matter.  I tried out Bikram Hot Yoga on Saturday to see if that would help.  Dont’ ask me about it.  I don’t have anything nice to say.

What was I thinking?

There was heat alright.  Heart pounding, head shattering heat.  I left exhausted instead of refreshed.  Depleted, instead of  renewed.  Angry instead of peaceful.  There was heat and struggle, but there was something missing.

I close my eyes and I am back on the path to En Gedi.  The sun beats down as I adjust my hat and take a drink from the water bottle I carry everywhere I go.  A few more steps and I hear the faint sound of water trickling against the rock.  The sound grows stronger as I  climb the path.  Soon I see a small stream.  Further ahead it widens and quickens. In the distance I hear the steady roar of water as the world begins to turn green around me.  Then, around the bend everything is transformed as water crashes from the top of a high cliff into a deep pool in front of me.

And that is why I love the desert.  The sun.  The heat.  The rock and sand.  The fierce, barren loveliness of it all.  It is because I am reminded that no matter how deep my wilderness, there is hope.  No matter how dry and weary the land, an oasis awaits me. (Psalm 63:1) No matter how desperate and broken I become, I can safely sing in the shadow of God’s wings. (Psalm 63:7)

“Because your love is better than life, my lips will glorify you.  I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands.  My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise you.  On my bed I remember you; I think of you through the watches of the night.  Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.”  (Psalm 63:3-7)

The (Forgotten) Elf On The Shelf

I lost my mind and bought an Elf on The Shelf. It took me all of two days to forget to move it after the little kids went to bed.

“Why didn’t the elf move?” they asked the next morning over breakfast.

“Uhhhh…” I stammered while my teenage daughter snickered behind her french toast sticks. “How do you know he didn’t move? Maybe he likes that spot.”

And then I forgot the next night too. And the next.

The little kids began to discuss the possibility that our elf was a dud.

“Do you pay Santa to have that elf here?”. They wanted to know. “Because he’s not a very good one.”

More snickering by the teenager.

The next morning my eyes fly open and my first thought is “Move the elf. Move the elf.”

I came downstairs to find he was gone. The snickering teenager took pity on the little kids and moved it herself.

I was determined to do better. So the next night I stood with the elf in hand after everyone was in bed and tried to come up with something fantastic.

I have a friend who is very creative with her elf. She even once had it roasting miniature marshmallows on a toothpick over a candle flame when her kids came down for breakfast. She also takes hot Paninis to the school when she visits for lunch. She makes homemade Lego Halloween costumes and tiles the bath. All of this while suffering from chronic anemia. I told her that if she ever gets blood there will be no telling what she will accomplish and that I may then not be able to be her friend anymore because she will make me feel too bad about myself.

So I stood there, Elf in hand, trying to think like her. Nothing clicked. Finally, I spotted a toy car on the ground. Ah, ha! I would place the car on top of the entertainment center and have the elf drive the car. Brilliant!

The kids came down the next morning and stood beneath the entertainment center staring up at the elf.

“Why is he in a car way up there?”

“Hey- that’s my car.”

“What the heck?”

The teenager snickered behind her bacon.

Stupid elf.

This Yoga Mat Smells Like Feet

Finally, I was back at yoga today after a week of Thanksgiving preparations and then my week-long standard post-holiday virus. My gifted yoga instructor, Keleah, cranked up the heat, dimmed the room, started the music and sent everyone to child’s pose.

A deep breath, and ahhhh….

“Ugh. This yoga mat smells like feet.”

And since I am the only one who uses it, I am the only one to blame.

Keleah interrupted my self disgust to proclaim, “Unto us a Child is born…” and just as quickly as I had dissolved into wondering why I can never hold it all together, I slipped into the arms of grace instead.

Unto us a Child is born, and that makes all the difference for hardworking, perpetually falling apart, less than graceful humans like me.

I learned from the cradle that God wrapped himself in humble flesh to lie in a manger. I knew in pre-school that the baby grew into a sinless man who gave himself to pay the price for all of my naughtiness. Oh yes, I possessed a bent towards mischief even then and I learned without anyone teaching me that the best way to cover up my bent was with dishonesty. Terribly inconvenient trait in the first-born child of a country preacher.

But I didn’t learn until far into adulthood that Jesus of Nazareth was not only redemption for my mischief and deceit but a safe place for me to rest when I had given my all and fallen face down once again into let’s say…a yoga mat that smelled like feet.

And oh, how I’ve needed that safe place of grace, because as all of us who give it our best and then fall time and again know- if we are not condemning ourselves, there is an absolute wealth of people lined up to take over the job…spouses, mothers, mother-in-laws, teenage children, pre-school children for that matter. Sometimes, our accuser is even a complete stranger.

I’ll never forget the time I drug myself wearily into a new mom’s prayer group for the first time not long after my girls came home from Haiti. I had just gone from three to five children, and no one was adjusting well. There were a lot of car seats to buckle and unbuckle (four to be exact) A lot of crying. A lot of grieving. A lot of chronic eye-twitching and heart palpitations on my part.

So, I collapsed into this prayer group for the first time and to get to know each other, we all went around and told our names and how many kids we had and their ages. When my turn came, I rattled off the stats to the predictable gasping around the room.

Five??? You have five???

Then, one lady addressed me directly with a terribly concerned frown on her face. She was a very involved mother of two. She asked, “So, with five children do you feel like you are able to give each of your children enough individual attention?”

Ouch. What do you say to that?

There’s not much to say, but only one thing to do- fall into the safety of the Arms of Grace. For unto us a Child is born, and He’s already seen our worst and loved us anyway.

Even when our yoga mat smells like feet.