The Colors

Easter approaches.

And the world is waking from a winter slumber.  I see daffodils pushing up, azalea bushes blooming and the front porch is powdered yellow.  Lila coughs and sneezes and her asthma reminds us that spring is here.

A couple of weeks ago, we gathered with friends and colored Easter eggs.  Little fingers turned blue and purple and green and big kids helped out younger ones and there was laughter and joy all around the table.  The beautiful chaos of these little ones…

And at the end of all that happy laughter and egg coloring, it was time to clean up. Glitter and stickers and cardboard bunny cut outs. Spills and egg shells and little plastic cups filled with water.

This is my secret- I love cleaning up the Easter egg dye. And if you know me at all, you will find it astounding to read that I love cleaning anything.  But there’s something about watching all those colors swirl together in the bottom of the sink until they are washed away again.  Since I was a young girl, I’ve loved this moment in the process.

I asked God to teach me.  Teach me why these colors swirling and going down are so beautiful to me.

I called over the big girls- Mia, Miranda, Julia and Aubrey.  Aubrey was our camera woman and Julia mixed colors creatively where I would’ve just dumped them in.  All five of us together, watching the art in the bottom of the sink.  Watching colors blend and swirl and tiny currents flow as the water washed it all away, leaving only white porcelain behind.

We five watch and wonder.  We five stand together, full stop, watch this beautiful blending.

And it’s one of those things- like a rainbow or like a sunset…it’s beauty in photograph can not compare to the beauty in the here and now.  I think some things are just that way.  Some things, He just wants us to see and enjoy in the moment and not try and record it.  But to just be fully in the moment.

I think about the cross and sin and the great Washing that He does for us.  I think about how our sin clings to us, how we hold onto it.  I think of how our sin and ourselves are sometimes so entwined.

These colors pouring out in the bottom of the sink- it’s like our sin.  How beautiful the work of the cross.  That God would send His son and let all of our sin pour into Him on that day.  That the washing of His blood makes us white as snow, clean and renewed.  Restored.

I stand with these beautiful girls- all four of them full of promise and hope and new life.  They are each special- called and chosen.  Each one with her own gifts to bring, her own uniqueness.  Her own Mia-ness, her own Aubrey-ness, her own Miranda-ness, her own Julia-ness.  They are each one fearfully and wonderfully made.  Each one adding her own color to the mix.

These colors pouring out in the bottom of the sink- its like the Body.  We are all part of beauty.  These girls I stand with and even myself- we are part of beauty.  Julia the green, Aubrey the purple, Mia the yellow, Miranda the pink.  All of these colors blending together to make something beautiful.

My heart cries out that they would know their beauty and that they would know their purpose.  That they would see how God washes away all sin and hurt and sorrow.  That they are redeemed, restored, beautiful and purposed.

I think about saying all this to these beautiful ones.  I think about telling them how God made a way for them- but I know they know.  And I think about telling them how crucial they are to the Body…but I want them to hear it from His Mouth and not mine.  I ask Him to tell them, to write it on their hearts.  That this moment would be one that they know His heart for them.

And we stand, all five together, watching this beauty in the bottom of the sink.



Of course I think about it when my eyes open this morning.

This is the day.

This is the day I should’ve risen early, heading to Mary Immaculate hospital for the birth of my sixth baby.  This is the day I should’ve been having a c-section and meeting my new little one.  This should’ve been a celebration day.

But it’s not.

And, seven months later, the ache of loss still feels pretty fresh.

The loss began at my eight week check up.  It took six weeks to resolve, but it finally did resolve in a D&C.  It was a long, painful in body and painful in spirit sort of an experience.

This was a very wanted baby.

I asked the Lord to show him to me, just so I would know who I was mourning…because that’s so hard, I think.  You’ve lost someone you love, but you don’t know his or her name or even if she’s a him or her.

God showed me in my dreams a little boy who looked like Clairey, with brown hair instead of red.  With a light sprinkle of freckles.  God showed me my son as a baby first.

The next day, I was laying in bed, recovering and praying and thinking about all the people I’d lost.  My other two miscarriages, friends, family members…God showed me my son again…

An older boy now, maybe around three, held on the hip of Jesus…cheek resting against His shoulder.  His the face of contentment, resting in the arms of our one Jesus that holds us all together.  I heard his name.  Peter.

And so today, I think about that little boy.

Today, on what ought to have been his birthday…today, on the day we were supposed to meet face to face.

I think about Peter and I miss him.  I mourn today, instead of rejoice.  I ask Jesus to sing to Peter the song I’ve sung to every baby I’ve ever loved.

Amazing Grace
How sweet the sound
Amazing love
Now flowing down
From hands and feet
That were nailed to a tree
Grace flows down and covers me