let it break

I am longing to write a warm, cozy post for you about books we're reading, new projects in the wings, and food-ish stuff. I want to sit down with you over a huge mug of tea and tell you how I've discovered books by Captain Marryat and Elizabeth Goudge and Charles Kingsley, and how I finally, finally, finally, after many years, have finished reading all of Jane Austen's published works (though there are only seven of them, and I admit that I had to hide behind a locked bathroom door more than once to make it happen).

But instead, for today, I have to tell you about our last couple of Saturdays. The nerdy amongst us will have to talk books and tea later.

Saturdays, as many of you know, are Fridays for us. It's the one day a week that I almost always have to get up early (read: before 10am) and we spend the day doing most of the major chores, finishing school for the week, and getting ready for a restful weekend. I used to dread Saturdays (well, dread is a strong word, but let's say...nope, "dread" is right on target) but lately I've been enjoying them. Probably since November or so, when we started getting only five to six hours of daylight and the kids started sleeping in until after 9am.

Another thing that's different about Saturdays for us is that I'm more likely to have music playing to move us through the day of major scrubbing, vacuuming, and laundry. Vin reminded me after a hard day recently, "Are you listening to His music, and saying His words?" It's a great gift to have a husband who not only knows what God has been speaking to you about, but will also remind you of it when necessary. So we plug in the iPod and turn it up.

We steep in music until the flavor of the day has changed. Regardless of what is happening in the moment, we've maintained our joy.

The bigger boys are upstairs doing impertinent things with a vacuum cleaner. I am downstairs holding the other boy, who is raging in my arms while two little girls dance around us.

He's actually upset because the music is playing and he wants it turned off. He tried to shut his door where he thought he couldn't hear it, but what he's really doing is hiding behind a hardened shell that has been cracking since we brought him home.

He usually loves music, often asks for it, but he fights it now out of opposition and throws a fit because he cannot have his way. He doesn't realize that he's trying to reject us and protect himself from healing. He is an unborn baby in the warmth of the amniotic sac, not wanting to come to the real world where there is light. The waters broke, and he's been screaming ever since he had his first breath of air.

We listen to the music anyway and He is the remedy. I'm convinced that the David Crowder Band was made for such a time as this.

"Are you not thirsty?" said the Lion. 

"I'm dying of thirst," said Jill.

"Then drink," said the Lion.

"May I - could I - would you mind going away while I do?" said Jill.

The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.

The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.

"Will you promise not to - do anything to me, if I do come?" said Jill.

"I can make no promise," said the Lion.

Another Saturday, and we are finishing cocoa after playing in the snow. Dishes are in the sink waiting to be scrubbed. Andrey comes in and points to a particularly nasty pan. "May pees crub dat?" he asks. He loves scrubbing dishes. I love that about him.

But eggs are encrusted in it from breakfast. I run water into it and explain that he needs to wait until it's soaked for a while. When we soak first, the scrubbing is easier. Quicker. More painless. He agrees to wait a little while and goes off to play.

Reagan brings her cup to the counter and it has been so long - almost two weeks? - since she has broken a dish, but I hear this one shatter as she walks to the counter. Glass in a million pieces, everywhere, and she is stepping in it while I run to her.

She wasn't startled by the cup breaking. She is startled when I lift her out of the glass and rip off her sock that is covered in shards and throw it in the burn bin. She bears down and tries to fight me while I check her feet, which are fine, but there is still glass everywhere and she won't stay out of the kitchen while I clean up the mess. Timeout follows, but she fights it and tries to leave the room, to leave me.

She is rejecting us to keep from being rejected first by us, but she doesn't realize that. She chooses to stay in a cage with no food and water, though the door is wide open. She is like an abused woman who has been in a bad relationship for too long, but refuses to break it off because freedom and healing are just too foreign and frightening.

"I daren't come to drink," said Jill. 

"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion. 

"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then." 

"There is no other stream," said the Lion. 

                           

We move right into holding. My cheek is against hers and she turns away. Her eyes go everywhere but to mine, and I ask Him for His words. He is right there and doesn't make me wait for an answer.

"Let it break," I whisper to her. 

It never occurred to Jill to disbelieve the Lion - no one who had seen his stern face could do that - and her mind suddenly made itself up. It was the worst thing she had ever had to do, but she went forward to the stream, knelt down, and began scooping up water in her hand. It was the coldest, most refreshing water she had ever tasted. 

 - C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair

"He has made you well." And He has. She is a beautiful creature, crooked toes and all. No one misses her eyes when they first see her.

"He is making you well..." And He is. When we brought her out of the orphanage, she couldn't climb into a chair on her own or peel an opened banana, and she had parasites. Three hurdles overcome, a thousand to go.

We watch them resist the Lion at the stream of living water all the time. We are steeping in His words, His music, and He breaks up the nasty chaff that has encrusted them both for six years. We have been there ourselves and we see others do it, too. He scrubs us all the time... and it is much more painless with some soaking. The hard scale of insecurity, fear, pride...they're all the same thing, really...build up for a long time. It only breaks off with His water.