. . . and giving . . .

37. Tea to sooth a sore throat.

38. A dry day. (Laundry, and other things, drying)


39. The love of a brother. (Wonder Boy and Princess Grace share a towel after playing in the rain)

Molding

Seven years worth of half-spent candles fill a bowl to overflowing. Seven winters of occasional warmly-lit dinners; seven advents spent; seven years of occasional electric-less evenings. Candles don't last long here, soon growing gray and dirty - long before they can be used up.

Today, it was time for the red candles to find new life. Red brings great joy to this mommy, so fully half of these old pillars are red. A cutting board and large knife soon reduce the pile to small, ugly chunks. A large old can, a heavy sauce pot, and two or three damp matches are applied to the task, and before long, pieces soften and smooth into a deep red gloss.

Little hands and eyes crowd, eager to see this process. Questions fill the air. String cut and tied to pencils - the dipping begins.
Slowly, 5 small lives (3 homegrown, 2 borrowed) turn bare string into small tapers, ready to be put into service. They will give only a small light, and will burn for but a few moments, but there has been joy in the forming of them.

An hour or two of my time went into candle-molding today; an hour or two of me, invested in child-molding at the same time. This is what it is, parenting: moments gathered together or scattered around, events shared, lessons learned.

With each moment, another layer of wax is added to the candle.

With each moment, another layer of being is added to the child.

The hand holding the candle must be steady, attentive, mindful of the wax and the water - lest the candle become crooked and unusable.

The heart guiding the child must likewise be steady, attentive, and mindful of His Heart - for the child is His child first.

Three small candles, newly formed, are prized in this home tonight.

Three small lives, forming, are prized in heaven tonight. How brightly they will burn and for how long, is know only to Him who formed them.

Use me to mold them well, through your grace and for your service, Father.

He gives . . .

33. The night-song of cicadas and crickets.

34. Hymns to sing, a little off-key, with the children.


35. The roof, our monsoon playground.

36. Rain pounding on our corrugated aluminum roof: the music of the season.

Grace that keeps giving . . .

32. The sweetest pineapple EVER!

33. A friend to look after things while we are away.


34. Reading Runaway Bunny with Princess Grace on my lap.

35. A new generator - keeping us cool this evening.

36. The certainty of knowing that HE knows, even thought right now, nothing seems clear to us.

Gleaning

She stoops, shuffling through the remains of what, just a few hours before, had been a field of golden-crowned green. Her back bent with toil and age, she retrieves the missed stalks one, maybe two at a time. Her worn hands tell the story of her life: work, hard and long. The end of her sari is drawn over her head, shading her from sun and scorn. Over and over she bends to add a few more grains of rice to the family pot.

When you reap the harvest of your land, moreover, you shall not reap to the very corners of your field nor gather the gleaning of your harvest; you are to leave them for the needy and the alien. I am the LORD your God. Leviticus 23:22

. . . not so in this place where each bundle is carefully cut, wrapped, and counted. Very little is left for the poor, and so many are so poor. And each must earn her keep.

She struggles on, moving from field to field, finding only a few bits left over. Hopeless.

Is this how I approach you, LORD? Tiredly following behind, occasionally gleaning a bit of hope or truth or life?

Do I not realize this truth:

The believer is a favoured gleaner, for he may take home a whole sheaf, if he likes: he may bear away all that he can possibly carry, for all things are freely given him of the Lord. --Charles Spurgeon

I settle for so little. Yet He has said that everything we need is available to us!

Oh, LORD, you have given so much, yet I notice so little. You have provided thoroughly, yet I seem to prefer the scant pickings I happen to find. Help me to embrace my position as a favoured gleaner, that you may receive more glory!


Art: detail of The Gleaners by Millet

always giving . . .

29. The smell of rain.

30. Fresh pasta, ready for dinner.

31. Lychees!

continuing on . . .

24. Our restful Friday Sabbaths in our "other home country."

25. The momentary flash of pink in the early dusk clouds - relieving the mundane-ness of washing dishes.

26. An amazing sunrise today, noticed by The Scholar alone; perhaps painted by God's hand for this child alone.


27. The helpful spirit in Wonder Boy as he crouches and crowds to help Daddy install some new shelves.

28. Six small hands eager to help with some painting.








It's all about Him . . .