a faith observed: Santa's chasing turkeys

Friday, November 21, 2008

Santa's chasing turkeys

It was boiling hot today, so Simon and I went to the beach in the morning and then Andrew, Simon and I headed back this avo. We took the opportunity for a little photo shot with our gorgeous Santa.

Simon loves the Rivermouth where we go on "turkey hunts". He's very serious about his turkey watching, having added "turkey" to his vocabulary. As soon as he sees one in the bush, he's off after it. His body communication is gorgeous. When he can't find one he puts out both hands, palms up, and gets a very serious questioning look on his face. And then, when he does see one, he raises his arm and points to it, then he claps and signs "more" and is soon off down the track looking for another. Today the turkey's took off with his prized bag of pretzels, but Simon didn't seem to mind too much. Simon has become a very serious pretzel-eater, and likes to cram fistfuls of them into his mouth all at the same time. Very cute.

2 comments:

Cass said...: oh ... the bare bum shot is priceless!; November 22, 2008 at 12:03 PM
Marge said...: Liz...you are doing a GREAT job of blogging!! And of course the subject matter is amazing! Love ya...Mom; November 26, 2008 at 2:39 AM

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This is me, a faith observed.

C.S. Lewis writes about the pain of losing his beloved wife, Joy, in his book, "A Grief Observed". In some ways this is my attempt to share my journey through grief and back into life, as the past nine months have been characterized by an immeasurable longing for my beloved father, who died suddenly this past January.

After months of hibernation from the internet, I unexpectedly find myself able to re-begin this blog and connect with my larger community of family and friends. This blog will likely reflect less of the intensity and depth of my pain and more of the simplicity and ordinary joy that keeps my life full - namely days running after our little boy, Simon Pierre. But it is because of the incredible love and presence that defined my relationship with my father, that I feel I can will myself to not just survive each day but to pour that same kind of love and attention onto Simon.

My father was an endless source of strength to me, a pillar of faith. His last words, spoken to my mother as he passed into that which is unseen, "God is good - good all the time", have remained with me through this dark cloud of grief. And when God seems hidden, when justice seems to be losing out, when life is unfair, and when death swallows up the one I most love, I remember my father's words and breathe in this promise, that the God of love is in the process of restoring that which has been destroyed.

And as my father told me in dream I've had since his death, "Look to Jesus. As a father, to point you towards Him is the best gift I can give to you." So here I am, this is me, a faith to be observed.

I hold onto that which is not always seen- the promise of God's goodness, the hope that one day in the promised new heavens and earth- on a grassy hill or a sand covered beach- the lion and the lamb will lie down side by side and I, too, will lie down side by side, next to my father, and we will laugh and laugh until there are no more tears left to cry.