writing

i'm now blogging at:
http://ellysgarden.wordpress.com/2012/03/29/my-dream-garden/

looking back to now

what will i remember about my firstborn baby twenty years from now?

just one month now, and already my little beauty has changed.
her little body is stretching out her newborn sleepers,
and she is holding up her head to see the world beyond my shoulder.
her cheeks are noticeably chubbier,
her cries have grown stronger, and some of her first hats no longer fit.
her eyelashes are darker and longer, and i find her more beautiful with each passing day.

will i remember when my baby was so small she fit easily on scott's arm?
will i remember her soft, round head and golden hair?
will i remember those first squeaks that first night in the hospital?
will i remember her dainty fingers and toes or that her first diapers barely stayed on her lean body?
will i remember her coos, smiles and wide, blue eyes looking into my soul?
will i remember being surprised at the sharpness of her fingernails
or that i cried when she was crying herself to sleep?
will i remember the tears i cried asking God for her? 
will i remember praying for her each night with my hand practically covering her little body?
will i remember her eager frustration when it was time to nurse or the sweet look of serenity when she was done?

barely seven pounds now i find it hard to imagine little aspen all grown up, but i know it will happen.
every parent i know says to savor these moments because too soon they will be a distant memory.

so as i hold her in my arms, or put her little feet into her cozy sleeper, or lift her from her crib,
i'm savoring.  every chance i get i kiss her sweet head and tell her how much we love her, and that Jesus loves her even more than we do.

i want the memories to root deep into my heart.
remember this, new mama.
remember.

Stretched

stretched
skin and body
as life grows in the space between my heart and hips.
stretched
mind to envision
a person evidenced by my protruding belly.
stretched
time counting
as months became weeks became days.

yet the stretching has hardly commenced.

those who have walked a step ahead speak of

stretched bodies longing for sleep,

stretched arms aching with the holding,

and stretched hours of unceasing cries.

yet their stretched smiles hardly contain the joy

and stretched hearts overflow with deepened love.

photographer: the lovely heather mavel

 like the physical marks i'm beginning to wear

as evidence,

i never requested stretching.

though it comes as no surprise that

love requires expansion

at least of heart and soul

if not of body.
and for this life and love,
i am willing.

-e.m.ott

2011

hope still

i talked with my dear japanese friend the other night. 

when she called the miles across the continent and the ocean between us disappeared as we connected.  she asked about my pregnancy and we shared about work, marriage and children. 

a kindred spirit she is indeed - a friend many years beyond living and working in the same town still knows the things i love and eagerly relates them to me.  she possesses a depth of character that challenges me still and a simple trust in Jesus and ear to hear His voice that reminds me to keep listening.

as the night drew later, and my 9 month pregnant body began to long for sleep, we prayed together.  when she prayed for scott and me and our little baby, she said something that i won't easily forget.  she thanked God for this little life within my womb, and then she went on to thank Him for continuing to give life as as sign that He still has hope.  hope in the people of this world - in us- that He hasn't given up on us.  

even amidst all the muck and despair that surround, hope and new life remain.  my own growing belly testifies that new souls are still being given breath.

and that yes, indeed, there is hope still.    

kicked in the head

since the moment we discovered we were pregnant again, scott has longed to not only feel this baby move...but to be kicked in the head by our little one in the womb.  don't ask me why.

it seemed like it took months for me to finally feel her or be sure of that what i was feeling was this baby within, and then another month or two passed before scott finally felt her too.  but now normal means that i feel this baby girl wiggling, squirming, and doing somersaults beneath my skin constantly.  often scott will lean his head down and say, "kick daddy in the head," to which she had failed to obey.  apparently this little girl has a mind of her own...


tonight when scott came home from work, he kissed me and greeted our baby by kissing my belly, as he always does.  then he leaned his head in, and said, "she kicked me in the head!"  a moment this daddy had been waiting for was realized, and sweet it was.

 

soul amnesia

"I am beset by chronic soul amnesia.  I empty of truth and need the refilling.  I need to come again every day - bend, clutch, and remember- for who can gather the manna but once, hoarding, and store away sustenance in the mind for all of the living?" - one thousand gifts p.106
 

woken early this may morning, 

the baby within perhaps preparing me for coming nights

of lesser sleep and waking cries.

its hard not to bemoan a sleep-in saturday, lost again to wakefulness.

in the bright morning light i climb the stairs, the late spring

sun blinding me in my ascent.  with tea in hand, i open a book i've 

been savoring lately.  the words penetrate me 

in their honesty and call me to a life marked by giving thanks.

yes, soul amnesia is my chronic illness.  how quickly i fail to remember that only in worship of my God are things set to rights within me.  like the flowers bending before the sun has lifted their heads, it is only in stopping amidst the rush of life to bow low and gather the manna He offers me this day, that i can be fed.

texture

one of the benefits of working two needles and 

a ball of yarn is this-

a new texture reveals itself in your hands.

baby blue alpaca moves between my fingers

the touch of spun wool a gift

repeating

smooth bamboo needles the color of honey

slide in and out of every stitch

creating

covers for hands, necks and new baby skin

flow from a single strand 

moving

in a particular fashion

a pattern emerges where consistency is revered 

leaving

behind a new beauty

a texture of seeds and purls, knits and cables

weaving

and always, some yarn remains

a stash or remnant from which consider anew

beginning

wrappings

wrapping packages is something i absolutely love.  seeing their colors and shapes beneath the tree is eye candy for me, even though the simplicity of brown paper and twine or ribbon remains my favorite.  this green holly paper shown above serves as a family wrapping tradition.  i doubt many families have one, but we do.  back in the 1940's & 50's, my grandparents owned a music and camera shop in what was  then the small town of barstow, california.  according to my mom, they had huge rolls of this very paper for wrapping gifts in the shop.  after my grandparents sold the store and moved to idaho, my grandma kept one of those giant rolls and would wrap a gift or two in it each year.  everyone looked forward to see who would receive a package wrapped in "the paper".  even after my grandmother passed away, my mom kept the remnants.  this christmas (some 50 years after the shop was sold), i received a package wrapped in this sweet family tradition.  wanting the paper to last, i captured it with my camera.

our token

HONEY

Several times a year the women at my church gather for "Women at the Well", a Saturday set aside to meet with each other and the LORD.  There is space and quiet, something difficult to carve out on our own and even together.  There is always one in December- the busiest month- an advent focus to just simply stop and listen.

Tara talked about honey, among other things, about the fact that John the Baptist found sweetness in the desert.  She mentioned the fact that honey is mentioned some 40 times in the Old Testament, but only 4 in the New.  Twice in John and twice in Revelation.  Perhaps this is because the One who is sweetness had finally arrived in our midst.  

And she brought us honey, raw and local, and encouraged us to dip some out of the jar...to observe it, play in it, taste it.

From that arose these thoughts of mine...

Hungering for Honey

Oh so heavy and slow is the waiting.
Purifying- yes, though at times I feel raw.
Sweetness promised at the tip of the
spoon, but the winter is long and the honey cold.
 
I see it golden and light-filled in the jar- 

full of sweet promise.  I see the spoon dipped deep,
then swallowed by the devouring substance.
Finally the spoon emerges, swollen with the bees’           

labor, and I know it will slide onto me.
I just don’t know when….
But I walk away with sticky fingers.

December 11, 2010 

Women at the Well

la nympheas

still in bloom...despite this late october date.  this is colorado, right?  the trees ablaze with golden light and not even a hint of frost in the air.  it seems unbelievable, but i captured this lone waterlily today at the denver botanic gardens in the pool of reflections.  and now i see what inspired monet to paint so many nympheas and the water around them.  how clearly i remember the day i sat in wonder at Musée de l'Orangerie in paris enraptured by monet's wall length canvases of these beauties.

for you

throughout my formative years i went to big churches with multiple services and a sea of unknown faces where it was a surprise to actually run into someone you knew.  these churches offered their own gifts to my family and me, but something was lacking.  i just didn't know what it was.

after college i found myself in the company of a house church, which was a breath of fresh air and life-shaping in many ways...but it was only for a season.  and then i moved to a little town in japan.  a little town with 3 little churches.  no longer was this a choice in the land of plenty.  suddenly mine was a known face among 25 others.  when someone was absent, their presence was missed.  and the presence of others greatly felt- for better or worse.

back in the US, i have found another small church.  or rather, it found me.  i don't know every face, but i know and am known by many.  i love it.  i love the people, i love the pastor's heart, and i love the palpable sincerity that oozes out the doors.  and perhaps i love best that we all walk up to take the bread and wine and remember Jesus together every week. the pastor and some of the deacons know me (and most people in our church) by name.  i am moved that someone's hands break the bread and someone else's hands pour the wine. and i know those someones.

today while we worshiped and took turns walking down to receive the bread, the deaconess broke off a small piece of bread and put it into my waiting palm while looking me in the eye saying, 

"beth, the body of Christ broken for you".  

and then i walked to the person holding the cup who also looked me in the eye and said, 

"beth, the blood of Christ shed for you". 

and i ate and drank and remembered that Jesus came as a person with a voice, with hands and with eyes.  a voice i would hear, hands that would offer me life, and eyes that would look into mine.  


this reality is inescapable...and so very personal.  Jesus is holding out life to me.  His body was broken and His blood shed.  He overcame death for me.  and He offers me life to the full.  and while doing this, He speaks my name.

honest weight

saw this old scale at "the savory spice shop" in downtown denver.  

i loved the old look and inscribed promise,

"NO SPRINGS - HONEST WEIGHT".

no doubt people would prefer if their home scales did not 

promise such pious readings...

the teaching fountain

hidden 

out back but 

eye-catching

as the droplets

fell from one

layer to the

next

reflecting clouds

and sky each 

drop splashing

then creating

a liquid mirror

on textured

stone

enraptured

i look long

and hard at 

the so-named

teaching fountain

there.

hidden

inside but

eye-catching

as the water

spilt down from

lash to cheek to

chin

reflecting a storm

of longing

rivers form 

creating wet

mirror exposing

her soul on the

 cheek

enraptured

i look long

and hard at 

the so-named

teaching fountain

here.

love it more

so often we settle for
the screen.
actually we love it.


side by side, watching 
that which is other,
but shared.


the laughs, the wit,
the way we feel at
the end.


but lately we've been
walking, and i 
love it more.


today the wind was
cooler than i thought.
my hair whipped 
around, a mess.


side by side,
looking.
hand in hand,
talking.


the blossoms open,
the grocery cart 
upended, 
spring arriving.


groceries over your
arm, my hand inside
your pocket.


i love it
more.

eden inspired

 tiny basil sprouting (finally) in my recycled version of peat pots...an egg carton!

 perhaps i inherited it from my grandmother with her productive idaho garden, or from her daughter (my mother) for whom each year hope springs new as she considers her own garden possibilities.  life in japan proved that most people have the potential to grow anything anywhere as i observed tiny japanese balconies and porches pouring over with plant filled pots.  and the more i understand the benefits of organic and local food, the more i desire to grow my own.  what is the name of that singular pleasure summed up from digging in the earth, planting seeds, watering them, hoping, and watching tiny green sprouts emerge from the dirt? 

a shot of heirloom tomatoes from the aspen farmer's market last september. 

i shot 3 rolls of film at the market as it was a feast for the eyes.

 last summer i fell in love with heirloom tomatoes.  our CSA provided me with enough black, yellow and red gems to garner a taste for meaty, juicy tomatoes that tasted like nothing i've ever purchased from the supermarket.  a month or so ago i spotted a book at the bookstore called grow great grub: organic gardening for small spaces.  

 gayla trail originally started as a blogger http://www.yougrowgirl.com/thedirt/2007/03/30/tomatoes-to-grow-in-containers-or-otherwise/ as she documented her own container gardening on her apartment roof-top deck.

since our rented home is for sale, i had originally given up on garden possibilities this year.  however, galya's book opened up the option of starting a garden that i could take with me.  since i hope to reap the bounty of my harvest - container gardening seemed a perfect fit!  i found some heirloom tomato seeds at the local nursery and planted tomatoes from seed (inspired by my friend holly who has a huge garden in oregon).  and miracle of miracles...they actually sprouted!

black heirloom tomatoes that i started from seed in an old seedling pack.  

i can hardly believe they are growing!

it really felt like an exercise in faith as i watered the dirt for over a week before any green poked through.  but the sprouts have shot up and i hope that a few of them will turn into real tomato producing plants.  the plants still have about a month before they will be safe to plant outside (colorado still has potential for frost), so the story remains unfinished.

heirloom yellow pear sprouts (with 2nd generation leaves- the 3 pointed ones)!

last week i planted lettuce and arugula in outdoor containers, and today i planted some more basil and flat leaf parsley in indoor kitchen pots.  once again i've started watering my seeds in the dirt...hoping that more green life will spring up.  i find myself in awe of God and his design that provides so well for us.  the seeds once held in a tomato, lovingly dried and saved may birth many whole tomato plants.  i hope a happy ending awaits, but in the meantime it brings delight to participate in this little bit of eden, as small as it may be.

mysteries

my dad always gave me a rose or flower on valentine's day.  he understood that all women, and even little girls, love receiving flowers.  it speaks to something deep within, doesn't it?  well, he understood that, and he faithfully gave me flowers every year.  even when i lived in japan he asked my brother-in-law to make sure i had some floral reminder that my dad remembered me and loved me.  how i wish that every girl could be loved so well by their father.  he always called me his "beautiful, coordinated genius" (his unique term of endearment and encouragement).  and he was a wonderful encourager.

well every since my dad passed away, i have continued to receive flowers to "my beautiful coordinated genius" on valentine's day.  the first year i was astounded, and honestly i continue to be!  this year i was taken by surprise when the doorbell rang and these gorgeous tulips were delivered!  (i'm only sorry i didn't photograph them the first day!  however, they looked beautiful for over a week!) 


tears instantly sprang into my eyes when i read the words so dear to my heart.  my dad gave me what he knew i needed most- love. some people receive an inheritance of wealth or property.  my dad left me with an inheritance of encouragement that i could attempt anything, but whether i succeeded or failed, i knew his love was constant.  this fathering mirrored the love of God the Father.  riches, indeed.  

o

mr. fox

doesn't he look studious?

in the library about to tackle moby dick.

but alas, things are not always what they seem.

i can only begin to imagine what my own mr. fox 

might keep in his own hollow book...

from his mischievous grin, to his quirks, to his tender heart,

i love this man.

lectionary lovers

there are few to whom using a dictionary of this size would bring such joy. but as you can see from the ear-to-ear grin, kira is such a one.  we all added to our vocabulary on sunday when joanne referred to our "litigious society".  so we had to pull out the giant reference tome to discover its meaning. quite apropos for the scrabble divas.  we laughed our hearts out as well while joanne regaled us with hilarious stories from her life as a nurse practioner.  such fun.  sweet reunion.

the lectionary loving scrabble divas.

thanks friends!

(kira, erica, suz, joanne & beth) 

heirlooms

the last 10 years or so of my grandmother eunice's life, she would select various items of hers or my grandfather's that she thought her daughter or grandchildren might like and gave those as gifts.  

 one year she gave me a crystal dish and another year an antique watch.  one Christmas she wrapped this necklace in holly paper for me.  i treasure this particular heirloom not only due to its obvious beauty, but because it belonged to her.  and even more-so because this little piece carries a story and a bit of my own history.

in the mid-1930's, a particular gentlemen sold dresses door to door in "ark city", kansas.  one day he appeared at eunice's door.  the convincing salesman not only sold her a dress, but sold her on a date as well. 


not too much later when jim proposed to eunice, he gave her this diamond necklace in lieu of an engagement ring.


in the late-1990's, eunice gave it to me, her then unmarried granddaughter.  it was a token of hope for me that one day a man might propose to me. and as the wait stretched on, i would wear this necklace...daring to hope.  

though he didn't sell me a dress at the door, a certain man did indeed sell me on a second date and then a third.  when he knew i was sure of his love, on bended knee he gave me a diamond that he had chosen for me.  one more beautiful than i ever would have chosen.


more than one year later, this sparkling gem on my finger still catches my eye, and i revel in the chapters recently added to my own story.