Play Therapy

Little hands were busy, busy, busy.

From the eye of an amateur, it looked like quite a tower. Or a skyscraper.

It was some pretty precious teamwork.

When they finished, they told me,

"Look, Mommy. It's a daddy. And his little boy.

And please, can we not put it away? We want him to stay."

Let's keep it out, guys.

I love it. Very much.

Two Mindsets

"Good morning, guys. Hey, sleepyheads... good morning to you."

I whisper to them as I wake them, and I raise the blinds an inch to gently let the sunshine in.

"Hey. Hey, you two. Handsome ones. Good morning. It's Thursday. That's an important day. Time to wake up."

They rub their eyes, thinking, yawning, stretching.

"Today you have preschool, then lunch, then swimming, then soccer. And that is a big day."

Tucker bolted upright on his top bunk.

"Soccer? Today is soccer?! I'm late for soccer! I'm late!" Instantly, he began climbing down the ladder, ready to put on his jersey and head out the door. The boy loves soccer.

"No, kiddo, you're not late. It's not a game day. You have practice tonight."

Tyler furrowed his brow and groaned. "Soccer practice? We have to start that all over again?"

Two different mindsets.

I'm pretty sure I'm raising an athlete and an artist.

Pleased To Meet You

"Hi, Tricia? I hope you don't think I'm stalking you... I know you don't know me. I just wanted to say..."

"Excuse me, ma'am, I just need to introduce myself. I recognized you from across the restaurant. I read your blog. I'm an oncology nurse; all the patients on my floor read your blog, too."

"Hi... are you Tricia? Oh, I knew it. I just wanted to say..."

I am truly honored by these conversations. People who are reading, listening, thinking, feeling, and praying for us. People who feel compelled to say so.

It's a humbling honor. Truly.

In case you see me, and in case you'd like to say hello, please do.

I'd love to meet you.

Theology

Theology.

Born of theos and logy. God and study.

The study of God.

In my mind, I hear a booming voice resounding through the walls of a high-ceilinged cathedral, saying those words: "The study of God."

I think of heavy concordances.

I think of books, books, books, countless pages of thick language.

I think of words like Calvinist, Armenian, Postmodern, Reformed.

A language all its own. The stuff seminary is made of.

But if theology is the study of God, then isn't that all I am doing?

As I seek to make sense of this, as I start a new day and seek to find anything in it at all,

As I find hope I can't explain, as my bones ache within me, as joy comes in the morning, as I think and learn and feel,

As I process who I am, who Robb was, who we were together, who I am without him, who he is now as a new creation,

As I think about the questions my children ask, as I think about the ones I may never be able to answer,

As Tyler asks me if I can please give him a baby sister, as I tell him, no, we need a daddy for that,

As I wonder if his daddy now knows if our other two children are the sisters Tyler wishes for,

As I think about grief, healing, and how it's all depicted in an ocean of grace,

As I remember,

As I look for God in this,

Is this theology?

Studying God in today. Asking the questions.

Perhaps I am becoming a theologian,

one who studies God.