Every Heartbeat

5th grade was a hard year.  I did not like school.  I clearly remember sobbing at the dinner table as I was trying to finish my "composition technique" homework.  I had to write three sentence paragraphs about Native Americans.  I had memorized The Song of Hiawatha in its entirety, no problem, but composing a topic sentence with two supporting sentences wrecked havoc on my 10-year-old brain.

Little did I know that writing would one day become a source of creativity, an outlet.  Little did I know that writing would reveal the mysteries and the miracles I so easily sped by before.

Getting the sentences on the paper would prove a struggle for much of my schooling, however, there was an avenue where my synapses fired and I thrived. 

Creative Arts.

The Bug's first Recital.

Whether I was dancing, acting, singing, gymnastic-cizing, (yes, I know, I made that word up,) ice skating, or creating with my hands, I put my whole heart into it.  I loved to create.  I love to create.

If you head back to my very first post, A Lesson From Amy, you will learn of my fond feelings for Amy Grant.  They were woven in at a young age.  And, once again, Amy inspires yet another story.

With big bangs, black, ribbed bicycle shorts and floral tops with a tie-front, chiffon overlay that flared at the bottom, all purchased at Mervyn's, four extremely talented 5th grade girls performed an interpretive rendition, if you will, of the 1991 hit single, Every Heartbeat, at the school talent show.  ( I heart run-on sentences.  Take that, composition techniques!)

It. Was. Epic.  Oh, how I wish I had the video to show you...or at least a picture.

"Every heartbeat bears your name
Loud and clear they stake my claim
My red blood runs true blue
And every heartbeat belongs to you." 

(It's okay to sing along if you know the words.)

Yes.  Just like I remember, "By the shores of Gitche Gumee, by the shinging Big-Sea waters..."  (Hiawatha, my friends!) and the tears at the dinner table, I remember the truly inspired choreography of the chorus.  With strong windmill arms, grape-vines, and bended knees the four of us told the "classic story of boy meets girl...moving the same direction." 

We told the story.  

Tonight, as I sit and wait for Christmas to come with a child's anticipation, I am remembering the stories.  Stories of my childhood.  Stories that I read.  Stories that I told.  Stories that I lived.

In the middle of all the remembering I found myself reading about Abraham.  The Bible gives him an incredible eulogy.  One I so desperately want to be true of me.

"Then Abraham breathed his last and died at a good old age, an old man and full of years; and he was gathered to his people." Genesis 25:8

It made me think about my kids, the stories I tell them and what I want them to remember.  It made me think about the stories I am living with the people in my life and what I want them to remember.  What do I want to leave behind?

Legacy.

This word has weighed on my mind.  I continue to come back to it. 

As life unfolds and these days become the next ones I remember I desperately want all the days to point to One.  The One who ordered them.  The One who redeemed them.  The One who breathed afresh on them.

If every heartbeat I was graced with could bear His name...what would that look like?  If I could point my kids to Jesus as we walk to the park or look at the Christmas lights, what would they remember?  Will they look back at their own 10-year-old tears and see how the sweat, the ache, the frustration, the failure, the perseverence and their need for help could lead to a beautiful revelation of His goodness and grace?

As Christmas comes in a few days and the new year sweeps in right behind, I am praying LEGACY.  I want to leave behind a grace-filled story.  A story that reminds the ones I love and even the ones I may not know that the God who came to be with us is for us. 

Amy was singing about a boy, and at 10, I was too.  But tonight, as I remember the cheesy 90's pop chorus  (sorry Amy!), I am reminded of a baby King who grew into a boy and then a man whose red blood ran even though it was Royal blue. 

This baby King came to save me and wrap His love around me so I could tell His story to a broken world and pray those that hear it will remember it and tell it again.

The Bug and her proud mama who curbed her inner "stage-mom," and never fixed the head-band.  Let's just say it was a proud night for both of us.

My Grown Up Christmas List

This is the email I received from my hero, my dad. 

So many prayers have been answered in the last month.  My reaction?  Wanting more.

Instead of recognizing answers and God's outstretched arm and His right hand moving in the dark spots and hopeless places, I sulked in self-pity.  I steeped in loneliness, letting myself be infused with doubt.  My eyes were closed and my ears were deaf.

But as I read, for a second time, "Your prayers are being answered," I confessed in my heart and humbly thanked God for hearing my cry...giving an ear to little ol' me.   I let my heart soak up the joy that He was so longing to fill me with.

Then I stared at the next sentence.

My daddy is the greatest gift giver.  His gifts are thoughtful.  His gifts are sought out.  They are wrapped with pretty bows and love pours out of them as you unwrap them.  It's not because of what it is but because his heart, his love, is obvious in the contents.  

Me and my Daddy...dancing as my sweet sister serenaded us.

For a few days I've struggled with the gift receiving and gift giving questions.  I have battled it all...guilt for wanting things for myself...guilt for not knowing which charity to give to...guilt for being overwhelmed with all the stuff I need to do to point my family toward Christ this Christmas...guilt about whether to buy or not to buy...you get it, guilty.

So, today in a quiet moment, stolen from the to-do list, I sat down with my anxious heart and wrote this:

What do I want for Christmas?

• I want my family to fall more in love with Jesus, desperately seeking Him for all they need.

• I want my kids to learn that people are not perfect but are only made perfect through the gift of grace that comes through knowing Jesus as their Savior.

• I want people, myself included, to humble themselves and learn the power of servant leadership in the community, their homes, their jobs, the Church.

•  I want to hear God's voice, feel His promptings everyday and I want to want to be obedient.

• I want to be with people.  I want to eat and laugh and love people. 

• I want to see my three bestest friends in one place at the same time.

• I want my marriage to continue to grow and flourish.  I want to love my Fly better.

• When I buy presents for people this year, I want to buy them things that are meaningful.  I want them to know how they are loved.

• I want to teach my kids the true meaning of Christmas.  I want them to enjoy receiving gifts without guilt but as they grow I want them to understand the yearning they have for more will never be satisfied in this world.  Only He fills us.  Our souls long for Him, even when we don't realize it.

• And, completely selfishly, not in the least deserving, I want my Disneyland pass renewed.  I love that place. It makes me happy.

 I'm not sure these things can be packaged...but if there's one guy who is creative enough to try...it's my dad.

His gift-giving gifting points me to my Heavenly Father's Gift Giving...so creative that the spoken Word became flesh and dwelled among us.  He knew exactly what we needed.  He knew it when we couldn't articulate it.  His gift wrapped in the delicate, velvet skin of a newborn.  Oh, to smell the newborn head of God...to place your cheek to His and breathe in.  Life.  Abundant life. Zoe life. Wrapped in clothes.  Lying in a manger.

Yes, the greatest gift has already been given.

May the gifts we give be ones that point people to Him.

Zoie Cheek to Zoe Cheek.