Easter Days

Our church has a standing Easter tradition.

Every year on Easter Sunday we gather, favorite dish in hand, at the Varnell's perfect party house in Fort Worth's historic district. The food spills over from the dining room table into the kitchen, where it covers all the counters; cheesy casseroles, sausage balls and all sorts of cakes and pies. After a few hours of brunch with friends (complete with mimosas!) we head on over to the park to watch the little kiddos race to find those colored treasures hidden in the grass.

With the exception of our time in Amarillo, Adam and I have made every Easter brunch for the last six years. I have such fond memories of Easters from my childhood; I was really excited to celebrate with our little munchkin and usher in new spring traditions. A casual affair, we all dressed up this year. Maeve looked so sweet in her little yellow dress! (Thanks Mom & Dad!!)

With Maeve's new found delight for other people's food, the walk through the land of goodies was full of fist grabs with plenty of new tastes landing in her mouth.

(There may or may not have been some dives for our mimosas too...thankfully she missed.)

Daddy finally gave in and began sharing his brunch with her.

This has been a year for babies at Mosaic. All in all six babies in eight months. The littelist baby, Kaitlyn, was out of town for our Easter picture this year so we'll have to get another one soon.

Here you have (left to right) twins Felix & Luna (4mo), Alice (9mo), Harper (2mo) and Maeve (6mo).

All of us chuckled at the idea of our six little toddlers confusedly waddling around the grassy hills of the Fairmount park next Easter, not sure the importance of the little colored eggs. As the time of her first year with us is rapidly passing by, I really try and savor every day. (Even those harder to appreciate moments.) But holidays, it seems, always make it easier to savor the moments with Maeve...and admittedly, make me think of what our future Easters, Fourth of Julys, Christmases will look like and how many little bitties might be there to help make them perfect memories.

God's Presence

At church we've just begun a series about our relationship with God. Alongside services we're doing small groups and reading "Can You Hear Me". This first week began with a meditation on Psalm 139 and Jeremiah 23:23-24. We were to contemplate what it meant to experience the presence of God, to be aware of God's presence and how you know.

1-6 God, investigate my life; get all the facts firsthand.

I'm an open book to you;

even from a distance, you know what I'm thinking.

You know when I leave and when I get back;

I'm never out of your sight.

You know everything I'm going to say

before I start the first sentence.

I look behind me and you're there,

then up ahead and you're there, too—

your reassuring presence, coming and going.

This is too much, too wonderful—

I can't take it all in!

7-12 Is there anyplace I can go to avoid your Spirit?

to be out of your sight?

If I climb to the sky, you're there!

If I go underground, you're there!

If I flew on morning's wings

to the far western horizon,

You'd find me in a minute—

you're already there waiting!

Then I said to myself, "Oh, he even sees me in the dark!

At night I'm immersed in the light!"

It's a fact: darkness isn't dark to you;

night and day, darkness and light, they're all the same to you.

I've shared my feelings with some close friends in the past about how I experience God, but it's something I keep private for the most part for fear some won't understand. Our church is unique in the fact that it provides "open mic" a chance to be a part of service and share "your piece of the mosaic" and that was something I felt I should do because I KNOW how I feel about this. So, while I mull over things here on my side of the woods, I thought I would share with you what I shared with my church family last weekend.

When I’m listening to certain music, epic & pressing in some way, after a few moments a feeling creeps into me that I can’t quite name. My chest tightens, I feel the urge to close my eyes, and I need to move. I can picture the movements, the perfect movements for that piece of music.

Sometimes it’s just the urge to dance that comes over me, without any music at all, a particular move my body wants to make, always accompanied with the tightness in my chest & the urge to close my eyes. Watching performances with the specific type of music or dance has the same affect for me, often with tears.

For me, dancing has always been a very private and guarded thing. I either want to be alone, or somewhere safe, removed and expected, like rehearsal or a performance. Dancing I’m no longer myself, but this puppeted creature, moved about by the music and something that isn’t of this world. It’s how I was created to feel and express, to worship and be. Dance, ballet, is where I meet God, where I see Creation and the only place I can express myself to God and feel like I’m heard. It’s my prayer.

When I see a beautiful movement, feel my limbs stir or see a graceful dancer, to me that’s proof of God’s existence, these ethereal movements orchestrated by a higher power.

I thought about sharing a piece with you all tonight, but I don’t think I’m quite ready. So instead I’d like to share this short clip of Polina Seminova. It may not strike you as particularly epic or intense but I love it because she possesses amazing grace and skill. She moves with the music in her rehearsal clothes in an empty auditorium, feeling everything. I think she feels God here too.

Polina Semionova from Sebastián Acevedo on Vimeo.

Mosaic Baby Surprise

When we got to church tonight, the table in the back of the room was COVERED in a sweet pink table cloth and all things baby and Kaitlin. Diapers, items from our registry, groceries, diet coke, my favorite snacks and desserts, and goodies for the evening. Adam was apparently in on the surprise, but my sweet friend and mentor Holly (she married us) had organized this surprise baby-party for after church. I was completely blown away. Mosaic provided some of the goodies, but our friends did so much for us too. Other friends, including a couple we're just getting to know, gave us TONS of hand me downs. One new friend said they were her favorites of her daughters clothes that she couldn't bear to part with, but wanted us to have. We also received many hand me down diapers, diaper pins and covers! (For cloth diapering)

I love our church, and felt so loved and so happy. Everyone brought pieces of parenting advice for my scarpbooks, and we stayed and talked and ate and partied. Someone even brought creme brulee and cheesecake for me.

Adam counted, 52 diet coke cans, 12 bottles. HA! Do these people know me or what?

Living Your Story: Running

At church right now we're doing a series on stories. What is your story? Is it a good one, a bad one, are you really living it? Each week, in preparation for the following weeks service they release prompts to inspire thought, writing and sharing. The idea being of course that we need to share our story with others.

One thing I love about our church is that towards the end of service there is a time we call "open mic". It is literally when the microphone is open to anyone who feels compelled to share with the rest of the church in response to service, how they're being inspired or challenged by God at the moment, or even a piece of art (dance, photography, poetry, etc) that they want to share. I'm terrified of public speaking and have only shared at open mic one time in all the time we've attended. Wanting to share his story, but avoid open mic, a fellow church-goer emailed out his prompt-responses. I won't share them in full because I don't feel it's appropriate, but there is an excerpt of his response for this week that I really enjoyed.

The prompts given out for next weekend's service are as follows:

• When did you quit running?
• When did you do something you did not want to do only to find out that you loved it?
• "There was once a chance I didn't take..."
• It was Erica Jong who said, "If you don't risk anything, you risk more." Write about what that statement means to you.
  
  
  An excerpt of response:
  
  
  "I came out of the womb running. Honestly, I don't believe I ever stopped. Really, though, I'm not sure anyone ever stops running. In that regard, we are like sharks. We must constantly move. If we ever stop moving we die. I had a professor/mentor my first go in college who used to say that life is like a caravan. Sometimes you are leading the group, sometimes you are lagging behind, but the only time we get left behind is when we stop moving, and that is also when we die.

  This ties in nicely with Erica Jong's quote, "If you don't risk anything, you risk more." I think of people like Howard Hughes. Rather than face his fears and move on he withdrew and wouldn't risk, and in the end, he died isolated. This is different than dying alone. Everyone dies alone, but some die isolated. Some die by retreating to a "golden age" of their life, and they miss out on the beauty around them. Some die by never risking love, or faith, or adventure, and they end up living a life of "what ifs." Anais Nin is quoted as saying, "And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk to bloom." I like that. It dovetails nicely with Jong.

  So, yeah, I believe we are always running. Sometimes we run toward something or someone. Sometimes we run away. Sometimes it's beautiful scenery, sometimes dull, sometimes scary. Maybe we jog or sprint or distance run, but we always run. I think that is why, in the end, God offers us rest, but in the meantime, what it boils down to is this: Which direction do you choose to run, toward or away?

  "Acquire the Spirit of Peace, and thousands of souls around you will be saved." ~ St. Seraphim of Sarov"
  
  

Post-Mongolia

So....since making it through the 30+ hours of travel back from Mongolia, I have had no luck beating the jet-lag blues. Perhaps some Ambien would have been a good thing...I have been using the 'NyQuil' approach, but am having trouble staying asleep through the night. Today I couldn't fall asleep until 8am (yes) and woke up at 4pm. Blerg!

Sadly enough...I find myself missing Mongolia. Or our experience there. I feel a little hollow and purpose-less without a daily agenda and 15 other people to share it with. *shrug* Odd. I really, really want to go back and make it some semi-regular part of my life. Somehow.

I've been a lot quieter since getting back. (this is truly shocking) I've felt like blogging, and reading, and journaling....sitting in silence and thinking. I finally called my mother today, but other than that the only person I've felt like talking to is Adam. Maybe because I don't want to break the trip's spell?

My house in little Mexico has never seemed so glamorous and inviting as after this venture to Mongolia---with tiny hard beds, bad water, lack of plumbing, lack of electricity, and no Adam! My bed has been a wondrous hideaway for my aching, confused body these past days...trying to figure out "what time is it?" and "where am I?".

I am happy to be home. Very happy. But, I miss Mongolia.

Don't tell.
PK