a faith observed: Baby Markets

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Baby Markets

My friend Erin was looking for someone to share a stall with her at our local monthly baby market, so I thought this would be a good time to try to get rid of a few things before Grace arrives.

After culling through the many bags of baby clothes, I realized I didn't have anything to sell that wasn't winter clothing. Not exactly what people are looking for in this sweltering heat. But I thought, we'll see what happens - surely there are some others out there like me who shop ahead when they see a good bargain.

Unfortunately, I was wrong... I just wasn't going to move the winter clothes on this hot day but I did manage to make enough to cover the stall fee ($12!) and buy a BIG firetruck for Simon and one of those bamboo cloth nappies For Gracie so I broke even! At the end of the day my friend Erin gave me 2 more of her Nappy Zappies and her friend gave us a great backpack. Most of my clothes ended up at the thrift store, Gracie's things are now organized, and there is more space in our downstairs office/storage. All in all a success.

1 comment:

Marge said...: Sorry!! Oh well...fun day out!; November 30, 2009 at 3:01 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.