Who is the author of your book?

My friend Sarah just posted this as (part of) her Facebook status:

 Logan says to me today "Who is the author of your book?" I replied with his name; then he says "who is the illustrator?"

So here I sit, stuck in thought.  You see, I got all tangled up right there in that first question, "Who is the author of your book?"

 Who is the author of your book? 

This is, unfortunately a question that doesn't cross my mind very often.  I mean, I have hundreds, maybe even thousands, of books in my house.  No exaggeration.  In fact, were it not for all those books, I would probably have room to put in a second bathroom.  That's not the kind of book I'm stuck in, though.  

I'm stuck in MY book.  MY story.  Stuck wondering who is really the author.  I want to say that God is my author.  I want to say that MY book is a biography.  You know, a book someone else is writing about me.  (A good one, too, with lots and lots of humor, great attitudes, tons of friendliness, and a taste of grace and mercy thrown in where it's needed.)  

The thing is, though, that I'm afraid my book's often a bit more of an autobiography.  You know, a book about me.  One I'm writing myself.  A lousy one, that no one will ever read.  A disappointing, sorry excuse for a story.

It's true, though.  I want to hand over the pen.  I want to let God write my story.  The WHOLE thing.  Oh, He's already written the introduction.  And I know he's already written the epilogue.  But all those chapters in between?  Well, we've been fighting over authorship for quite some time now.  Maybe forever.  But that's not what I want.  I want to just let go.  I want to just let God write the whole story.

The illustrator, though?  I think that's all me.  You see, I think it's okay if I do some of the fancy work.  Some of the handiwork.  In fact, I think God wants me to get down and dirty, to pull out the water colors and markers and chalk and make my story beautiful.  I'm pretty sure that's what He had in mind when he started writing my story.

Who is the author of YOUR book? 

Lord, I'm done fighting over who is going to write my story.  The pen is yours.  Take it.  Write my story.  I'll be here with my paints and markers, ready to make the pages beautiful and add my own little spin, but I'd like for you to take over the writing.  I'm sorry for all the times I've taken the pen from you.  I'm sorry for all the times I've tried to write my own chapters.  Thank you for always knowing what you've got in mind for the next page, though.  The next one, and every one after that, is yours.  Write away, Lord, write away!

  

 

Little Lou craves attention

See this little girl right here?

She craves attention.

Specifically MY attention.

And I don't blame her.

You see, Little Lou had just turned 2 when Bugsy was born with jaundice and a crooked head.  

Little Lou was 2 years and 3 weeks old, and she went from being the center of our tiny little world to taking a very obvious back seat to her baby brother.  Little Lou's 6 now, and Bugsy's 4.  There has never been a "dull" moment in the last 4 years.  There's never been a time when everything's been calm and we haven't been waiting for the "other shoe to drop."  Never. 

Little Lou craves attention.

Specifically MY attention.

And I don't blame her.

Last week we went to a hoedown at church.  Just Little Lou and me.

It was a silly party full of silly women.  One of the older ladies in the church taught us a simple line dance.  We ate hotdogs and baked beans and potato chips for dinner.  Little Lou had TWO rootbeer floats.  She was giddy and joy-filled the entire evening.  She had a blast and she made me smile.  We had a lovely evening making memories together.  Little Lou got the attention she needed.  I got the "time off" that I needed.  We both ended the evening feeling fulfilled.

And I decided we'll do it again.  

Not the hoedown, necessarily.  That was a one-time deal.  But the one-on-one time.  Our days are busy.  I get the kids up, send Little Lou to school with a friend, do all the "stay at home mommy" stuff with the boys, pick Little Lou and two friends up from school, take them home, facilitate homework time, make dinner, give baths, put kids to bed, and collapse.  I don't have much time to devote to each of the children individually, and I'm failing miserably at making the connections, particularly with Little Lou, that she needs.  I want to build a bond with her.  I want to know her.  I don't want to be her friend...I want to be her mom...but I want her to know that she can trust me and talk to me.  I want her to know that I love her desperately and am behind her 100%, no matter what.  I want her to know that she's mine not only because she's my daughter, but because God's entrusted her to me for a time.  I want her to know that her "flaws" are what make her who she is, and that I love her not despite her personality, but because of it.  I want her to be happy.

So we'll be hanging out again.  Soon.  Just the two of us.  We'll be building bridges and making memories.  We'll be going out for ice cream.  We'll be playing together at the park.  We'll be dancing in the rain.  Whatever.  I don't really care.  I just know that God has given me this precious little soul to mold for His use, and I'm doing a lousy job of it.  I'll be making time for Little Lou.

She craves attention.

Specifically MY attention.

And I don't blame her.

Marco Polo -- A Revelation

A turtle tent in my livingroom has been prime entertainment for 3 hours now.

It's currently being used as a movie theater

but it's also been host to such games as "duck duck goose" and "throw the puppy."

No matter what they've been up to in there, they've had a great time!

My favorite "event" of the afternoon, though, was a little game they called "Isaac."  I was too busy marveling at the game to take any pictures, so you'll just have to take my word for it.  Here's the premise of the game: one person goes into the tent and begins yelling "I" to which the others, on the outside, respond "Saac!" as they run around the house looking for a hiding spot.  At some random time (or at least it seemed that way to me) the one in the tent would emerge.  He or she would continue to yell "I" while searching for the now hiding "saac"ers.  Occasionally the "I"er would yell, "Is anyone in the hallway?" and everyone else would respond, "No!"

Can you see why I was so fascinated?  These kids, totally on their own, created a little kid version of "Marco Polo!"  I just watched in amazement as they played this way for over half an hour.  (Part of the amazement was that they made up the game at all...the other part was that they played for over half an hour!)

As I watched the game unfold, I couldn't help but wonder what it is about the game that is SO ingrained in each of us that these little kids, ages 2-5, could create and all understand this game that WE played when we were teenagers.  Someone had to teach it to us! 

But then, maybe they didn't have to teach us.  Because see, here's my take on the situation.  We spend much of our lives playing "Marco Polo" or, as the kids were playing, "I-saac."  It goes something like this:

"Hey Elizabeth!"

While running, "Yes, God, I'm right over here!" 

"Hey Elizabeth!"

"I'm right over here, God!  Come find me!"

"Hey Elizabeth!"

"Can't you find me, God?  I'm right here, hiding behind my insecurities...my shame...my...SELF!"

"Hey, Elizabeth!  Are you walking outside of my will?  You know you're not supposed to do that."

"Well, of course not, God!  I wouldn't get out of line!"

"Hey Elizabeth!"

"Yes God?"

"I found you.  I've known where you were the whole time.  Won't you come back to the tent with me?"

That's right.  I think sometimes we have a Marco Polo relationship with God!  Wow.  Guess what, though.  We can't hide from him.  Just like when the kids were "hiding" under the kitchen table, or as kids WE were "hiding" at the other end of the swimming pool, we can't hide from Him.  He always knows where we are!  We can try to run from him.  We can try to swim to the other end or run and hide behind a chair, but he STILL knows where we are.

How fortunate that we have a God who never loses track of us!  How blessed that we have a God who loves us enough that he'll seek us out even when we do try to run! 

Thank you, Lord, for being steadfast!