Living in limbo
is a half-packed suitcase
and a never fully-decided
wardrobe.

Living in limbo
is friendship-
not quite followed through
so no one is left in the lurch.

Living in limbo
is seizing the opportunity
of the moment before
both you and it are gone.

Living in limbo
is hovering between
the present and the future:
unable to pause, unable to fast forward.

Living in limbo
is a gift of growing time
before being drawn
into a new routine.

Growing up hearing the words "God loves you" doesn't automatically translate into believing those words. Sometimes those are just words that bounce off of our consciousness and out into the never realized part of our brains... unless really felt and experienced.

Only recently have I, after a long time of not, felt like God loved me. Maybe it's from being separated from my emotions in order to survive from around the time of my miscarriage... maybe it's just that I'm flawed and expect Him to be like me, I don't know. I just know that I was lying in bed praying as I nursed my baby like I do when it's bedtime and for the first time in a long time I felt really loved by God. Does this mean I wasn't before? No. But it's reassuring to feel it sometimes.

Not long after this experience, I got my kids a scripture lullaby CD (volume 1 & 2) because they fall asleep better with music and I prefer the music to be uplifting, since music is easily remembered. As I was listening to the words, this really struck my heart: "You're not here by chance, you are My design, I did well to give you life" It reinforced the feeling of being loved, with something more. Sometimes I think I'm so imperfect that, yes, He loves, but surely with reservations and certainly He couldn't love me with pride! But He does. And it's humbling. And He wants us to love each other the same way He loves us... which, once experienced, makes you understand why.

Here is the scripture lullaby with it's references:

Psalm 139:14
"...I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Wonderful are Your works, Andy my soul knows it very well." NASB

Psalm 23:6
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me All the days of my life; And I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever." NKJV

Genesis 1:27

"So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them." NKJV

God's song to you, His child, His creation...

"Looking out into the night sky
A million stars shining down and
I can see how you'd feel so small
Don't forget I'm your Creator
You are Mine and I adore you
Nothing else moves my heart like you
You're not here by chance, you are My design
I did well to give you life

You are fearfully and wonderfully made
Long before you drew your first breath
I knew your name
Surely goodness and mercy
Will follow you forever
For you are fearfully and wonderfully made

Looking deep into your eyes
you're beautiful, like no one else
I smile when I think about your face
you were made in My own image
Carefully, My love would finish
Forming you into who you are
I won't let you go, I'm here with you always
I'll watch you grow strong because I know

You are fearfully and wonderfully made
Long before you drew your first breath
I knew your name
Surely goodness and mercy
Will follow you forever
For you are fearfully and wonderfully made"

There's so much in your
conversation
that isn't words.

How do I respond
to the hurt in your eyes
when your words say
"I'm fine"?

The nano-seconds
of flickering emotions
in your face
tell me you don't agree
with yourself.

Your physical self
is trying so hard
to contain the emotional.

I wish you were confident enough
to tell me with words
what you really want to say.

Exodus 2:9 And Pharaoh's daughter said unto her, Take this child away, and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages. And the women took the child, and nursed it. (10) And the child grew, and she brought him unto Pharaoh's daughter, and he became her son. And she called his name Moses: and she said, Because I drew him out of the water.

This story is much harder to read now that I have children of my own. Now I can feel the mother's anguish and desperation as she searched for any solution for the survival of her child. I can feel her joy as God miraculously made a way. Then I can see how she probably had doubts. Wouldn't a dead innocent child be better than one who grew up to defy the Holy One of Israel? And in the surroundings Moses was to grow up in, she had no way of knowing how he would choose. (Not that we ever do.) I can see how each moment of physical nurture, also became one of spiritual nurture. I can see her trying to ingrain the Torah into her child and whispering "Hear, Oh Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord" to him while he slept.

Since it was common to nurse children into the 4th year and sometimes up to the 6th, this makes this story come to life even more for me as I watch my own 4 year old. I see, now, how critical those years are for spiritual development. I see her sincere hunger for God and immeasurable faith. She teaches me about God every day. I pray that I am also teaching her the right things about Him.

Proverbs 12:22-23 "Lying lips are abomination to the LORD: but they that deal truly are his delight. A prudent man concealeth knowledge: but the heart of fools proclaimeth foolishness."

I was born with a strong desire to please people. Self-sacrifice was many times worth it if I could get affirmation. This generally meant my parent's and teachers... thankfully I was sheltered and this trait was not exploited. As I grew, this sometimes meant that in order to please someone, the story I told them would be "tailored" to them. In the beginning stages of maturity, I didn't have the discernment to know how that could easily lead to lying. Eventually, I saw what I was doing as wrong and developed a strong desire for the truth in every area of my life, even when it was painful.

First, that meant that I just didn't talk in public as much. There are too many nuances and social expectations that multiply exponentially with each added person that challenge a dedication to truth if you have not developed that trait in the public arena. It's one thing to be brutally honest with yourself, but to keep that distinction in casual conversation is often easily construed to make you appear as if you think you are better than others, or cold and unfeeling... sometimes it's just better to keep quiet when you're trying to learn to speak only in truth.

Eventually, this meant that I became a better listener. I learned to more accurately see what someone was feeling and trying to say that their words weren't conveying. I realized that people have so much built up inside of them from trying to verbally prance through the social arena where frank speaking isn't exactly encouraged, and everyone seems to just be speaking at each other with few listening, that someone who would just listen to them would eventually let them get past the fluff and tell you what they really felt. This heightened my desire to say what was true to me and to speak what I knew with conviction.

I'm still an evolving truth speaker. I constantly come away from conversations with a pricked conscience and find myself repenting, yet again, for careless words. But I'm learning, and figuring out that the next step for me is not only speaking truth, but love. Looking at others through the black and white lens of only truth is disheartening and easily becomes judgmental.

Ephesians 4:14-16

"That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness, whereby they lie in wait to deceive; But speaking the truth in love, may grow up into him in all things, which is the head, even Christ: From whom the whole body fitly joined together and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of every part, maketh increase of the body unto the edifying of itself in love."

When I let love be the motivation behind the truth I am saying, it is a healing experience-sometimes for both of us. There will always be human error in every human gathering. My natural tendency is to isolate myself from people to minimize the room for error... and while I will never be the extrovert and will always need time for myself, I need people and God provides His grace for this. A verse that I have been clinging to that addresses this is 1 John 1:7.

"If we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship one with another and the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses every sin."

Birth can be healing. I've read that at birth, not only is the child born, but at that moment the mother is also is born- she didn't exist before that moment in that capacity. It's true for me, but to a different layer. The first time I experienced birth, it was with major bonding issues, which produced guilt and other complications. The second experience has been completely opposite. Each step has helped me realize what should be- should have been. While I still struggle with guilt for not being as good with my first baby as I can be with the second one, I realize that I honestly did the best I could. More than that, I'm learning to forgive myself. I'm learning how love multiplies instead of divides with a second child. Oddly enough, it's like each good thing that I unlock with my second child, I also learn how to apply it to my first. The strong bond I've formed with my new baby has only shown how much stronger I can love my first- and strengthened that relationship. However, I realize how symbiotic this relationship is: without the struggle and pain of learning through much trial and error with the first, much of the sweetness I'm experiencing now with the second wouldn't be happening- both experiences are enriching the other.

The great fear I had of repeating my first experience has been replaced with more gratefulness than I can explain. I realize how blessed I am- I KNOW what could be, and isn't. It strengthens my desire to help other new mothers struggling with their firsts. If I can ever use my pain to bless someone else in helping them avoid it, it helps my struggles seem less meaningless and they become redeeming.

To all of the mothers who helped me through that time, bless you. I'll never forget it.

He was a small guy, compared to the rest of us 5th graders. I remember him looking as if he would physically fit in with the 3rd or 4th grade. His skin was shiny from a day of school and waiting out in the sun for the bus. The mischievousness that kept him in trouble wasn't apparent at that moment. The curving hill that sloped down around the bus stop was teeming with different sections of elementary school kids, each in their own group. This arena-like setting amplified his seriousness. He wasn't often still, even now he was pacing around watching the other kids. Finally, standing with feet planted, facing the multitude, he took in a deep breath and yelled what was on his mind:

"THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS!"

The 5th grade teachers looked puzzled and amused. We were studying this in our literature unit, but it had never provoked this response.

"THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS!" he yelled.

"THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS!" As if it were his last chance to warn his own people.

It was the first time I saw literature deeply impact someone.

Regret's a funny thing. You can learn from it or let it drag you down.

Joining choir in 8th grade was a life-changing experience. I had spent the previous 2 years learning saxophone in band with a teacher who was verbally... um, strong. I don't learn best in that sort of environment, though I feel weak for admitting it.

Our choir teacher was a larger-than-life person with a way of building people up where they could do things they thought were impossible. Like singing in front of an entire class of peers alone. Or in front of a large audience. Or in front of a judge. The first time I was called in for my turn to sing in front of a judge, my face turned a funny shade of whitish gray and I felt incredibly sick... but it got better each time. Choir helped teach me to stand by myself and be an individual, while at the same time being part of a community and working together to create a desired outcome.

It helped me earn a scholarship to college. There, though, I had to, once again, audition in front of the teacher to figure out my placement in the choir and whether I would be in the special ensemble. I tried out for both, because, I was already there, why not? But insecurity leaped in. After all of the preparation through middle school and high school choir, it still got me down... and I convinced myself that was too scared to give it my best shot. My voice was shaky and when I needed to repeat back a tonal example, I gave up and said I couldn't and left.

Thankfully, I still had the scholarship and a place in the choir, just not the ensemble. That memory, though, sticks with me. I COULD have sung the tryout. I know that now. I can see now what a lie insecurity is. How ironically founded it is in pride. How failure is not a life-time sentence, just a learning experience in our journey towards God. I can see how fear of failure inhibits growth.

Where do we learn to give up? Where do we learn to judge ourselves as harshly as we imagine the world judges us? Where do we learn that it's better to think we can't do something than to try it and fail?

More importantly for me now, how do I teach my children that they CAN do things? How do I teach them that failure is healthy and sometimes even a necessary step towards success?

I don't know. But I'm not giving up on teaching them.

¿Cómo es posible
dar la luz,
si no tengas
luz
que dar?

En busca de la luz
soy.

Sé que hay luz
que existe
fuera de mi vista

¿Cómo la doy?

Quizás:

-no importa si la veo yo,
-con inocencia
pueden alcanzarla
los que vienen de mi.

baby kicks
remind of the future
in the middle of today;

a squirming mass of
will be
pokes its foot in my side.

perhaps that's why I move
a bit slower

I'm living in two moments:
right now and
then.

Somedays I feel like
my routine
went on a blind date
with a guillotine.

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The only thing that would make this better is if they were giving a skirt away.
Oh, wait. They are! Here... go check it out.
Giveaway ends Friday, September 16.

The process of birth
the stages
the effects
leave marks on the body.

But I'm finding
they are imprinted
just as strongly
on my mind.

I have stretch marks
from memories...
growing pains,
mental labor.

Sometimes it is more painful,
more fearful
than the physical.
It can cycle over, and over.

There are so many emotional ties.
So many things to forgive
of myself.
So many blessings to relive.

How does one mentally
prepare for birth?

I've heard that women have the
sensitive spirit of horses:

That we do not trust easily.

That we survive under heavy saddles,
bridles, reigns;
That we thrive on freedom.

That it is better to let us approach cautiously
and learn to love you,
than to force a bond prematurely.

That we have beauty
masking strength.

Why is death less terrifying
than birth?

I hate the thought of laziness.

Death is free falling, uncontrollable, gone.
Birth is wracking, pushing, consistency.

Is it psychological?
It must be.
Death is only ceasing to be,
but birth is bringing about
a whole new being.

If stated in those terms,
I will not,
can not afford to
be beaten by fear.

And I'm certainly not lazy.

Similes that made me smile: More 5th grade poetry...

Looking at the window on a Sunday night
Stars are shining like neon lights
Then all of a sudden to my delight
My eye caught something like lightning bright
It was the fireworks from a nearby site
To please the crowd on that Sunday night.

Geo I.



Roses are red
The lions are yellow
The world is colorful
but my heart is as dark
as a closed room at night.

Omri U.



My big, purple book is as fat
as a gray elephant.
It could eat as much as a lion
if it were alive.
I can use it like a barrier
it is so big.
An elephant may come and say-
"A purple elephant!"
If he sees my big purple book.

Sabrina T.



The night is like a jewel today
but we don´t know how tomorrow will be.
Let´s hope tomorrow will be the same,
as like this night´s jewel.

Laura G.



Winter is as cold as Antarctic.
Summer is as hot as the sun.
Fall is as brown as the leaves.
Spring is as pleasant as
a garden full of flowers.

Santiago S.

Who learns more?
The teacher or the taught.

Part of what is to be learned
is how to learn.
The process,
not the result.

If a teacher is not learning,
is not willing to be taught:
The class room becomes
a stifled mirror of that attitude.

But,

If the teacher is the most avid pupil,
learning as natural as breathing:
Then teaching is more than a subject.
It becomes a life long process:

Of soaking in information, finding meaning
and enriching life.

We were studying metaphors this week and I had the students think up 5 metaphors and write a short freestyle poem with one of them. These two I really liked, for different reasons:

The roses flew
with the wind in the field
and I was thrown to the ground.
Then a rose asked me
"What happened friend?"
And I responded
"My heart got broken
and my spirit flew up."
Omri U.

I love the expression. There are still a few things to smooth out, but for a trilingual 5th grader still figuring out some of the language kinks, I was impressed.

Friends are few.
Enemies are a lot...
but I still believe in friendship.
Some are gold,
others are trash
Don´t choose them in a rush.
Santiago S.

Sage advice from such a young guy. I hope he can believe in friendship his whole life through!

With a seed,

strength grows

a little at a time

and becomes the majestic Ceiba.

Love and duty.
Duty and love.
Sometimes they are very much the same.

Love is consistently performing your duty.
Duty is consistently displaying your love.

I love you
because I should
because I want to
because they are the same?

I serve you
because I should
because I want to
because I love.

I do my duty because I love.
This is balanced.

I love because it is my duty.
This is weighted.

If duty motivates me
I find myself empty and burned out.

If love motivates me
I find myself with joy flowing out.

Duty and love.
Love and duty.
While they may dance together,
one must overcome.