tradition!

When I was in elementary school, my grandmother took me to see a production of Fiddler on the Roof at our local theater. The very fact that I shared this exeperience with my grandmother points to the tradition that is an integral part of my family. As the cast opened the show with a stirring (albeit potentially cheesy) rendition of “Tradition!,” I was drawn into the story of this simple Jewish family. At the time, I didn’t understand the political undertones or the historical setting of the play, I simply saw a family making it through life day by day as they held fast to the traditions that had brought them safely thusfar. For weeks afterwards, I paraded around the house singing “Tradition” at the top of my lungs. It spurred conversation around the house about traditions we held dear. In fact, shortly thereafter I remember standing on the back porch with my dad as I asked him about the truth regarding a  Jolly Ole’ Fellow whose identity I’d begun to question. My father used the song I’d been singing to begin to share about the traditions that make the holiday season magical…skillfully avoiding and answering my question all at once.

So, this morning…I don’t sit at the computer with a profound word or inspiring comment…I’m still waiting for that to happen one day. Instead, I sit here reflecting on the traditions that will mark the coming months. If you’ve stumbled upon this bog, welcome to the holidays in our house. Here are the traditions on the horizon:

1. This one’s already happened. Sometime in mid-December, for the past 10 or so years, the ladies in my family have headed to Charlotte to the Southern Christmas Show. 12 hours later, completely exhausted, full from a great supper and carrying heavier bags and substantially lighter purses…we pull back into the driveway–fulfilled.
2. Today…the day before Thanksgiving, is the day that “Operation Transform the House” begins. Out of respect for those less excited than I, the outside decorations will stay in the garage until after Thanksgiving. The inside, however, will be transformed today.
3. Thanksgiving Day will include a traditional feast and a nap or two. But the traditions I’ll cling to are the time spent with family members watching Macy’s “Thanksgiving Day Parade”…and yes, tearing up as Santa comes into Times Square. At some point that day, I will also watch my very favorite movie of all time, Miracle on 34th Street. Jerry and my Dad will play golf (a newly established tradition) while the girls watch the parade and begin concocting the Black Friday plan. No online ads for us…the Thanksgiving morning paper is part of the fun. Knowing we have less than 24 hours to plan also adds to the thrill of the game.
4. Black Friday will include some shopping. I may not buy anything, but I’ll go. And, I’m wearing a Christmas shirt.
5. December will be filled with holiday programs, music, ABC Family’s 25 Days of Christmas, and lots of trips to see lights. Favorite displays include Riverbank’s Zoo, Saluda Shoals Park, and the James Island Light display. The best trips to see Christmas lights include pjs and hot chocolate.
6. Speaking of hot chocolate, Jerry and I will end most evenings with something hot to drink.
7. At some point (typically between December 15th and 24th), my father and I will go shopping for my mom. Other family members will be invited to breakfast, but not to shop. My father’s love for my sister and I knows no limits and does not include favoritism, but Christie will not be a part of the shopping. She has occasionally tagged along, and now understands why she does not want to come. My dad finds my mom and sister’s shopping–well, I better not say. They like to look for a gift, gather many options, and make a final decision. He and I simply move in for the kill, often accomplishing all of his shopping in less than 3 hours. He follows me around, signs the receipts, and carries the bags. We go home and he signs gift tags (a tradition in and of itself) as I wrap his presents. The mission is accomplished before lunch.
8. Christmas Eve includes a trip out into town somewhere…not to shop, simply to drink in the holiday atmosphere one more time.
9. By Christmas, I’ll be 28 years old. I’m not sure that my parents took me to church in 1981 when I was 25 days old. However, to my knowledge, every Christmas Eve since has been spent at Lexington Baptist Church. In my heart of hearts, I know that might not always be the case. If that happens, that first Christmas Eve away will be special and sweet in it’s way, but I’ll mourn not being at “my” church for that service. It’s such a special time. After it’s over, we’ll go back to my mom’s and celebrate Christmas Eve with Oyster Stew (yum!!!) and Potato Soup. Members of boths sides of my family who aren’t otherwise involved with families will be there. We’ll eat, laugh, track Santa (yes, still) and enjoy time together.
10. Christmas morning needs no explanation…it cannot be impoved with words.

Yes, there were some traditions that no longer make the list. As much as Jerry loves Christie, we don’t invite her to sleep in the bed with us on Christmas Eve the way she and I did for…well, until we were married. The number of stockings at my mom’s house grew from two to three in 1981…from three to four in 1984…and from four to five in 2005 (probably really in 2004).

And this year, there will be new traditions. Our mantle will have a new stocking. We now have a house elf. The Christmas Eve service won’t be quite as peaceful this year. Our house will be a wreck. Some tissue paper will probably be eaten and boxes and bows will be the highlight of the day. I have a feeling 1981 looked much the same. Even though I found last year’s traditions just about perfect, living life means they’ll change. That’s even better, because as good as traditions are, some changes are more than worth it. New traditions must be made.

Time to go…the decorations are calling my name. Somehow, I have a feeling decorating may take a bit longer this year.

written on…cardboard?

Many of us have heard expressions like “written in stone” or “written in blood” or “written on my heart.” We don’t often (ever?) speak of a truth as being “written on cardboard.” Yet, this weekend, that’s exactly what we will do. This Sunday, we will pause to remember the work that the Lord does in each of our lives as we take a look at the testimonies of what He’s done in the lives of our church family. What’s your cardboard story? You, too, have a story to tell. As the Lord works in the lives of His children, drawing everything together for His purposes, a story is written. In the midst of the vally, we can’t always see a purpose. In the fall of 2006, after nearly a year of trying to start a family, a nurse called with the result of some bloodwork I’d had done to tell me that something was wrong with my hormones, something that meant I might never have children. At that moment, there was no meaning, no purpose, no story to tell…all there was for me was an overwhelming feeling of despair. For longer than I care to admit, I saw the hurt and pain of infertility, and never the cardboard story. I didn’t realize that one day I’d be able to turn over the cardboard; I didn’t think there would be another side. Yet God was working, orchestrating the behind-the-scenes movie of our lives. When I only saw the darkness of my hurt, He saw the light of hope. When I only saw the front side of the cardboard, He knew the back. Your story might not be finished…your cardboard might seem one-sided. Yet the Author of Life is writing the back. There’s a back to this sheet of cardboard in the lives of Jerry and Kimberly Freeman, but there are many more signs yet to be completed. Some are complete, some have the front side already, and some are still blank. Sometimes I try to fill them in myself, only to find that the Father’s marker is bigger than mine.

So, if you are in Lexington Sunday morning, and you need a place to worship, come join us at LBC. Take a look at the work the Lord is doing in the lives of His children. Take a look at their cardboard testimonies. We’d love to have you join us for this special day. But more importantly, take a moment to tell someone your story. If you had to sum it up on a sheet of cardboard, what would you say? How could you use your story to connect with others? How could you use your cardboard to point others towards the Father? You have a story to tell. Find a piece of cardboard.

then sings my soul

I couldn’t begin to count the number of times that I’ve planned to sit down and blog, only to be interupted by another task, a bout of drowsiness or the unquenchable urge to get down on the floor with my Hobbit and play. This morning, however…Jerry is watching the series finale of Seinfeld and the Hobbit is napping soundly in her swing, so it is time for me write.  Since the last time I posted, the moments have blurred into a happy routine of bliss as we settle into life as a family of three. The time has come for Maddie to begin day care as I return to school for the 09-10 school year. It hasn’t been easy but we are adjusted. Maddie is happy and well-loved at day care and I can rest knowing that, if I can’t hold her close all day long, she is spending time with a group of ladies who will love and care for her as their own in the time that I am away. For this time and in this season, my calling remains to be a child of my Magnificent Creator above all else, then wife to my amazing husband and mother to precious daughter…and teacher to my extraordinary students. As much as I’d love to stay home with my sweet girl, for now, I am confident we are being obedient as I continue to teach.

Last Sunday morning Maddie was dedicated at Lexington Baptist Church…the same church were I was dedicated 27 years ago. It was a day of great celebration and love as so many of our church family members have prayed with us and longed for Maddie even as did. It was a celebration of the life of this precious child and the faithfulness of God as we formally consecrated her to the Lord. Pastor Mike read a passage of scripture that has been my cry since learning that we would be blessed with a child. In 1 Samuel 1:26-28, Hannah–with a heart shaped by the despair of infertility–said, “Oh, my lord! As your soul lives, my lord, I am the woman who stood here beside you, praying to the LORD. For this child I prayed, and the LORD has given me my petition which I asked of Him.  So I have also dedicated [her] to the LORD; as long as [she] lives [she] is dedicated to the LORD.” For a long time, “How Great Thou Art” has been my favorite hymn of the faith. Perhaps that is becuase it was my maternal grandfather’s favorite hymn. His soul went to sing in heaven before I was born…but the stories I’ve heard of his love and sweet spirit have a special place in my heart. “How Great Thou Art” was sung at his funeral and at our wedding…and was one of the hymns sung during Maddie’s dedication. The Swedish poet Carl Gustav Boberg who wrote the poem upon which this hymn was based articulates my heart more eloquently than even I could, so I leave you with this translation…

O mighty God, when I behold the wonder
Of nature’s beauty, wrought by words of thine,
And how thou leadest all from realms up yonder,
Sustaining earthly life with love benign, in peace with thee.

Refrain:
With rapture filled, my soul thy name would laud,
O mighty God! O mighty God! (repeat)

When I behold the heavens in their vastness,
Where golden ships in azure issue forth,
Where sun and moon keep watch upon the fastness
Of changing seasons and of time on earth.

When crushed by guilt of sin before thee kneeling,
I plead for mercy and for grace and peace,
I feel thy balm and, all my bruises healing,
My soul is filled, my heart is set at ease.

And when at last the mists of time have vanished
And I in truth my faith confirmed shall see,
Upon the shores where earthly ills are banished
I’ll enter Lord, to dwell

And so, as we sing today…
Then sings my soul, my Savior, God, to Thee! How Great Thou Art! How Great Thou Art!

time is ticking away…

I cannot believe that since the last time I have posted we have packed up newborn clothes, 0-3 month clothes and grown two diaper sizes. We have learned to roll over, bear weight on our legs and are working on sitting up. Perhaps this is a sad commentary on my faithfulness to blogging…perhaps this is a tribute to the amazingness with which time is ticking away. More than likely, it’s a combination of the two. Pausing to blog and missing a quick snuggle or big grin is hard to do. However, this afternoon we are enjoying a miracle comparable to walking on water…Maddie is taking a nap. While she sleeps, let me muse.

We are off and rolling on the journey of parenthood in the Freeman house. Life that was once consumed by dinner plans and errands to run is now consumed by hugs and smiles and a few other less-than-appealing events.

Today someone asked me what I did with my time last summer and truly…I cannot remember. I’m sure I read a few more books and probably had a little more sun, but honestly…I couldn’t tell you what filled my days. What I can tell you is that the joy in these summer months at home with Maddie supercedes any entertainment I might have enjoyed last summer.

Sunday we celebrated Father’s Day and I was reminded anew of just how much it means to me to watch Jerry be father to my Maddie-girl. When I think of the way that she is experiencing the unconditional love of a father that will point her to the Father…it brings tears to my eyes. I am blessed to have a married a man that is the man of both Maddie’s and my dreams!

“for this child, I prayed”

Maddie-girl

It is hard to believe that six weeks ago I was ready to give up and let Maddie stay put in her cosy uterine home permenantly. Biologically, I understood that was impossible. However, two hours into pushing an 12 hours into hospital labor…I was willing to try. Little could I understand at that point that the next thirty minutes would forever change my life. Six weeks and 14 minutes ago, I held love in my arms.

Six weeks, a load of outgrown newborn clothes, 3 thousand diapers (maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but not much) and a few moments of sleep later…we are adjusting to life with Maddie. To say she’s precious seems trite; to say she’s adorable seems an understatement; to say we’re in love seems so inadequate. Yet precious she is, adorable she is and the love pouring through her father and I is more than we could have ever begun to imagine.

Smiling at Daddy

As I watch her father attempt to wake her up now for a late-night meal before bedtime, my mind is filled with questions. Who will this darling child grow to be? A writer of novels or award-winning children’s books? A concert violinest? A missionary? A teacher? A mother of my grandchildren? Oh the dreams I have…not for this little one to follow a particular career path or achieve a certain amount of “success” in this world. I dream for my little girl a heart of compassion, a head full of knowledge, a discerning mind, a healthy body, an intuitive personality and a relational being. Most of all, I dream for her to be a woman who fears the Lord. How can it be that this tiny one will grow into such a woman? In the midst of the fears of parenting and the certainty that her father and I will mess it all up from time to time, I rest tonight in this.

Easter Sunday Family Picture

The six-week old blessing in my arms is a child of the King of Kings. Even now, He is calling her to Himself. He will love her, cherish her and watch over her in His infinite wisdom. Jerry and I will seek to serve Him as we serve her…and I will be patient to see what He grows in that little heart.

 

six weeks old

As Hannah said to Eli, “‘As surely as you live, my lord, I am the woman who stood her beside you praying ot the Lord. I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted me what I asked of Him. So now I give [her] to the Lord. For [her] whole life [she] will be given over to the Lord.’ And [she] worshipped the Lord there.” (1 Samuel 1:26-28)

Okay, time for someone to eat. Here’s to a last good meal equating to a great night’s sleep!

lingering at the cross

I want to learn Arabic. However, last year on Easter Sunday, I was glad I couldn’t understand it. You see, waking up at daybreak to the Muslim Call to Prayer was hard enough without understanding the words. But that was my wake-up call. I laid on my charpai and listened to the sound as I watched the light of Easter spill over through the small window near the ceiling of our room in Lahore, Pakistan. A few months after the assassination of Benazir Bhutto and an eruption of violence across that nation, I laid on that hard rope bed listening to the Call to Prayer and thinking about the fact that the threat of suicide bombings is not even near the top of the list of problems in that dry and weary land.

For many weeks prior to our trip, I looked forward to Easter Sunday as the day we would move from Pakistan into India and a much safer environment. I hugged my teary-eyed mother goodbye at the Columbia airport with the promise that, when she woke up on Easter Sunday, she could rest easy that I was in India. Just a few short weeks after I committed to this trip, Pakistan make the cover of Newsweekas the “most dangerous country in the world.” That didn’t do much to set minds at ease before I boarded a plane. However, in the knowledge that God had called me for a specific time and purpose, I simply couldn’t stay behind when the call came to board the plane.

After a week in Lahore, I’d learned much about the Pakistani peopleand culture. I’d experienced the sweet welcome of a people who are so misrepresented in the minds of many Americans. It often felt like we were walking the proverbial “red carpet” (as if I know how that feels) as we walked the streets of a country where many people have never laid eyes on a white person. All of us had fallen in love with the people of this nation that is so full of turmoil. But nothing of that experience prepared me for the emotion of Easter Sunday.

Never before have I felt so deeply the freedom of Easter. When I looked out on the people of Pakistan, I saw a sea of lostness deeper that any I have ever imagined. Empty eyes displaying a lack of hope surrounded us, and so often I felt physically heavy at the darkness of a lost people. But on Easter, I felt the grace of God pouring out His love…calling all nations to Himself.

Climbing out of that rope bed, I went to celebrate the Risen Savior with a group of women who understand the lostness of the Pakistani people in a way that those of us who venture for a short while never will. I don’t think I have ever been as intimidated as I was that morning…how do you speak on Easter Sunday in such a setting? What could I say that would somehow articulate the meaning of that morning?

All week at the retreat we had “lingered” around many ideas. That morning, there were no words for the experience we shared. We simply lingered. It was about eloquent words or even beautiful music…we just lingered at the cross. We lingered at the cross because Jesus didn’t. He didn’t linger at the cross; He didn’t linger at the grave. He didn’t linger at all. He conquered death…He defeated the grave…He overcame the very powers of hell so that I can linger in His presence. So I will linger at the cross. In Lahore, Pakistan or in Lexington, SC…wherever I may be.

I will linger, because He did not.

He is risen…He is risen indeed.

the freeman family

first Freeman family picture with Maddie

Who am I, that I should be so blessed? And yet, the Father has lavished His love on me through the gift of friends and family that surround me through this journey called life. I am married to a man of God who challenges and inspires me to chase after the Father with reckless abandon. He loves and cherishes me in an unabashed way that causes me to stop and smile on so many occassions. I find myself more and more in love with him each day.

November 2008

As of late, I am falling in love with him over and over again as I watch him as a father. On March 5, 2009 at 10:45 pm, our lives were forever changed when Madison Elizabeth joined our family…8 lbs, 10 oz and 20.25 inches long.

Madison Elizabeth

Our Maddie-girl is a miracle from above who is filling our days with a joy and sense of awe that neither Jerry nor I could have ever imagined. She is becoming more alert each day as she grows into a woman after God’s heart. She is the essence of delight and this mother’s heart will never be the same again. She is the answer to prayers that oozed from the deepest depth of  my heart for so long. In case you don’t know the story, here is what Jerry and I wrote upon finding out that we would finally have a child…

“How Can We Keep from Singing?” — July 2008

Many of you are a little familiar with our journey of infertility, so we wanted to take just a moment and send an update…In June, Kimberly and I traveled to Charleston for our final round of infertility treatment. Knowing this was the last medical option with which we were comfortable, things have been a little emotional. A few weeks ago, as we awaited results from our treatment, Kimberly began experiencing some pain. After a day of grieving what we thought was coming, she decided to take a pregnancy test to “get it over with.” The thought was to go ahead and find out that we were not pregnant, so that we could move on and seriously begin pursuing adoption. Instead, she called me at the office and said, “Um, Jerry, I am not sure, but I took a pregnancy test and well, I think, uh, that um, well…it might be positive.” I asked her about false positives on the tests and we decided not to talk about it anymore that day – yeah, fat chance. The following day was the day we were to touch base with the doctors—so sometime around midnight, we prayed together and tried to go to sleep. About 2:00 AM, Kimberly got out of bed and laid on the couch – she couldn’t sleep…not that either of us were surprised by that. At 4:15 AM, I realized she was not in bed and walked into the living room and said, “take the test.”

About 8 hours later, after positive tests, a doctor’s visit and much anticipation, we received a phone call from Charleston with the news we’ve hoped to hear for well over 2 years now…we are pregnant. We have laughed; we have prayed; we have cried. And here we are. We went to Charleston last Monday and watched the miracle of life in a tiny heartbeat. Kimberly and I sit in utter amazement of our Lord and His goodness. He says in Matthew 11:28-30, “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” God is good all the time. We just don’t always know what is happening in the heavens. We have left it all in the Lord’s hands and trust Him each step of the way. We know that He allows rain and storms to come into our lives, but He does it to prove how big He is and how much He desires to comfort us.

The journey of infertility has been a long and painful one. About 2 years ago, Kimberly’s doctor began to suspect that there were some hormonal issues preventing us from having children. After working with us for about a year, that doctor referred us to some specialists in Charleston. In the world of infertility, there are just a few options of treatment. Once we had narrowed down the options available with which we felt comfortable, we were not left with a whole lot of routes to take. Months (literally, years) of medications and hormone-altering treatments, combined with the anger we both experienced in the valley of what seemed like unanswered prayer, has led to an emotional roller-coaster that has lasted for several years. Through it all, we have continued to sing…around the first of the year, Kimberly sent out an update including the lyrics to an old hymn recently updated by Chris Tomlin. The words remain the cry of our hearts: “How can I keep from singing Your praise? How can I ever say enough? How amazing is Your love! How can I keep from shouting Your name? I know I am loved by the King, and it makes my heart want to sing.”

Again, we rejoice at God’s goodness and His love for us at all times. Thank you for being rope holders with us in this process. We pray now that this child carries to full term and is healthy. Mark your calendars for March 9, 2009. There will be a quite a celebration in the Freeman house…sometime around that day.

We love you all very much!

Blessings!

Jerry and Kimberly Freeman

lessons in lingering

Linger…a disinclination to depart. In this hurried world in which we live, taking the time to linger seems to be a bit of a lost art. I’ll admit, I’m terrible at taking the time to linger and enjoy the moments…but I’m learning. A little over a year ago, I was asked to join a group of women traveling to South Asia to hold conferences for ladies in the region who are giving the days of their lives to bringing the good news of salvation to the highest concentration of lostness on earth. As the five of us sat around a table trying to find a theme to encompass our retreats, we stumbled accross the word linger. Upon finding a slightly dusty dictionary rendering the word “linger” as “a disinclination to depart,” we knew we’d found our theme. Several months later, I climbed onto a plane having spent many hours pondering that single word. Before I could teach others what I had discovered, you see, I had to learn to linger..to “cease striving and know that [He] is God” (Ps. 46:10).

A year later, I still struggle with stopping long enough to linger. But the desire of my heart is to be “disinclined to depart”–from the presence of God, from the moments with my husband, from the time spent with my newborn daughter, from the seconds of life that pass by so quickly. And so, I enter the world of blogging so that there is another venue for me linger. As I pause to reflect over the moments of life, here I will linger.