I just realized it would probably be best to recap Noah's past year of preschool and post a few pictures of the Christmas program before we start the new school year...
2010-2011 was Noah's first year at Mustard Seed Preschool. A few highlights:
| Gonna go biking? No, silly mommy! See the helmets? The backpack parachutes? Clearly soldiers in space (or GA). |
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| Above top right: Wal-mart sells GREAT boys. Above bottom right: Supervising installation of our new HVAC. |
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| Middle right: Mom: It's a habitat for small fish, frogs, bugs, or worms! Noah: Wow! Can I put a cat in it? Aaron: Meow! Meow! |
I have hacked my life up into grace moments and curse moments...cut myself off from the embracing love of a God who 'does not enjoy hurting people or causing them sorrow' (Lam 3:33), but labors to birth grief into greater grace...That suffering nourishes grace, and pain and joy are arteries of the same heart--and mourning and dancing are but movements in His unfinished symphony of beauty. Can I believe the gospel, that God is patiently transfiguring all the notes of my life into a song of His Son?(I couldn't find a quote that does her point justice, so I highly recommend the book.)
What in the world, in all this world, is grace?
I can say it certain now: All is grace.
God is always good and I am always loved.
[I can] take the pain that is given, give thanks for it, and transform it into a joy that fulfills all emptiness. I have glimpsed it: The hard discipline to lean into the ugly and whisper thanks to transfigure it into beauty.
It's natural to dislike saying goodbye to things we care about. Who wouldn't want to preserve the beauty, the vibrancy, the fun of things they've loved? Of course, these are the very qualities we destroy by refusing to let go...Denying an organic end point is like trying to animate a corpse. The deserts of our lives can be unlivable. But if we stay awhile, something unexpectedly comforting happens. "Every happiness," writes Rilke, "is the child of a separation it did not think it could survive." Conversely, any sorrow can be the parent of a joy we've never imagined.And then today, I read Jesus' words in The Gospel of John. His close friend Lazarus has died, and Jesus tells Lazarus' sister:
"You don't have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?" (Jn 11:25-26, The Message)It's one of many times Jesus describes that belief allows us to find life through death. That when we see through His perspective, we see how pain leads to greater joy (Matt 16:24, Phil 1:27, Col 1:24, Jn 12:24-28). That He uses the most perplexing and disturbing events to create the most beauty (i.e. the cross). I love that John also includes the doubters' questions:
"Master, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died."(Jn 11:32)
"If He loved him so much, why didn't He do something to keep him from dying?" (Jn 11:37)And Christ's response: He wept. He got angry at their suffering. And then "Jesus looked her in the eye. 'Didn't I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?'" (Jn 11:40)
We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us! But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love. (1 Corinthians 13:12-13)For further reading:


Our area shut down one year ago, and it's best I didn't know how long it would last. Friends from Kansas were visiting and heard the...