Dreams Up High

Posted on June 2, 2014 by sherryrossman

When my kids play, I see God illustrating resilience. I see my daughter look at the tippy-top of the swing set and it’s as if God says “this is how high you can reach.” I follow her gaze toward the towering branches of a tree and I know she will find a way to get there. She has to start low first. As the sun burnishes her arms, they toughen and fill out as she learns to hold her own weight. Then she swings, climbing hand over hand across the monkey bars at the park. 100_2977

There are days when discouragement shakes her arms scared, and she needs me to hold her as she monkey crawls across the bars. Sometimes she is too tired, but like a child, she doesn’t recognize fatigue, she just sees the top of the world she hasn’t reached yet.

She comes home from school and tells me about her friend, the gymnast, who can swing and flip and nearly fly over those monkey bars. She wants to do that too, and instead of listening to the dream thief that likes to whisper “you can’t”, she lets her dreams expand. Month after month, she climbs higher, farther. Occasionally she gets stuck in the tree out back and I have to rescue her, but we just laugh and she keeps climbing.

On her last day of school, we meet on the playground. She smiles proud and begins to go from bar to bar, swinging with much more strength that she appears to have on her wiry frame. My heart soars as she conquers every one of them and I think, This is what God made us for—for keeping our eyes on the highest dream, and like the resiliency of a child, we will reach it.

Ollie’s Second Week

Posted on March 17, 2014 by sherryrossman

Introducing Ollie

Posted on March 10, 2014 by sherryrossman

Rockstar Peter

Posted on March 3, 2014 by sherryrossman

I feel like I’ve slipped on Peter’s skin again. The boat reeks of fish as I climb over the splintered sides and push from shore. I probably won’t be catching anything but seaweed today. I can’t see Him.

I can almost feel the breeze, the same that kissed the face of Jesus. Oh, leaders of all kinds make fun of Peter. I’ve laughed along with them as they listed all of his screw ups. He lost his temper and cut someone’s ear off. He walked with the very Son of God and then was mocked by roosters when he denied Jesus in a moment of fear. I laughed until I realized I was him.

I don’t use a knife for anything but a tool, but my words have cut through the skin of more than one person, sometimes out of impatience, sometimes out of complete unedited idiocy.

I’ve believed in Jesus for as long as I can remember, but in seasons of heartache, seasons of stretching $25 into a week of groceries, moments when I just wasn’t good enough, I’ve looked away from the sky to my own solutions, finding shame in my denial of His power, His love.

I cast my nets and sit. I wait.

Sometimes in the waiting, I get impatient. I grab a dirt-coated worm, stick it to a hook and plunk it into the sea. No bites worth keeping.

Do I get a new boat?

I tug on my shirt and stare at the frayed edges. I look across the water to the hills.

Suddenly, a flash of white. A form, a bright something hovers over the water and I cry out. It’s a ghost—a haunting of all my screw-ups finally come to devour me!

I’m done for.

“Peter.”
When he says my name my heart winds down to shame. It’s Him. How could I have not recognized my friend?

I look around and take a feeble step. Should I?

Who do I think I am?

I want to – I look at His face, and just for a moment I feel like I’m anything but a dimwitted Peter.

I step onto the water and it holds. “I’m coming”, I say and I start to move forward. The sun burns fierce on my skin, a zephyr nearly knocks me over, but I keep my eyes on Him and I AM WALKING ON WATER.

The wind spins on my shoulder for a moment and blows trash in my ear. It reminds me that I’m not good enough for this.

My feet break through the water and I’m in over my head. I can’t breathe. All the mistakes I’ve made rush into my mouth and I’m drowning.

A hand lifts me up, up, up, toward the light. The surface breaks into a thousand shards as my Friend lifts me into the boat.

He puts His hands on either side of my face. They are bleeding, pierced with a sea full of hooks. Mine sticks straight into His heart and Love spills all over me.

“My blood is enough to pay for all of it,” He says, “Just keep your eyes on Me.”

Then he slips Peter’s skin from me and says,
“You are wonderfully and uniquely made.”

I pop back into my living room and stare at the painting on the wall called, The Word. I see Peter, my brother from the line of Oops, and watch as he leaves the boat behind to follow our friend.

Something happens.

Despite his mess-ups, his denial, his blunders, Jesus takes him and gifts him with grace and strong feet – the kind that keep walking toward Jesus. He keeps walking. He fishes for those stuck in the boat.

And somewhere along the way Jesus made him into a rock star.

“And I also say to you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church, and the forces of Hades will not overpower it.” Matthew 16:18 (HCSB)

I look at The Word again, catching sight of Peter’s last days. His walk has led him to a finely sculpted artwork. All because he kept his eyes on Jesus.

Sunspots

Posted on February 24, 2014 by sherryrossman

“Uh huh, I know how that is, Pounce.” I give the old tiger striped thing a nod and watch him stare at the sunspot. He snuggled next to it as it shone over the patch of wall and dusty plant, but after all his efforts it wouldn’t move to his spot on the floor. After he pawed it, nudged it with his head, he sauntered to my bed still soaked in morning shade and fell asleep.
I wanted a moment too. Hot tea and uninterrupted silence to wake, pray, and charge up for what the day brings. Like Pounce, I try grabbing for that comfort, but the house erupts early, before I can open my eyes and I find myself without my sunspot. My body jerks to life like a cold car engine and sputters, reeling in the chaos before I’m ready to go.
After dropping my daughter off at school, I find a cartoon for Noah. I can’t tell you how Sesame Street and Curious George bless me with an hour and a half of time to get a few things done. Of course, every couple minutes brings an interruption, every commercial break brings who knows—a full body tackle from a rowdy little boy, a temper tantrum, a “Mommy, I need…”
I find Pounce asleep on my bed. His aging frame has shrunk, his paws no longer twitch in his sleep from dream adventures – he just stays curled in a fuzzy ball, waiting for his sun.
The light creeps down the wall, finding the floor when Curious George comes on. Pounce doesn’t know it, but the sun is coming, still shining, still doing its job as he sleeps. The moment I wait for is coming too. The Son I crave never sleeps. When I sit down to write, when I scrub the oatmeal off neon bowls, He comes. Sometimes, when He hasn’t given me that moment to sit, He stays at my side shining on my boy that is rowdy, but…healthy. He shines on those dirty dishes that soak in the filth so easily, but hold all the food we need. He illuminates the small things that rob me of rest, but when I take a moment to be where He wants me, I find they’re blessings. And I can rest in the Son that never fades.

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.” Psalm 91:1-2

What do you do when that thing you want seems unreachable? Tell us in the comments.

The Cat Did It.

Posted on February 3, 2014 by sherryrossman

This is Pounce.

He’s been feeling left out lately, with the attention I give to my kids, my book.

And, well…

He ate my blog.

See you next week.

Wrapping it up

Posted on December 16, 2013 by sherryrossman

There she was, in white silken glory, engulfed in my wedding dress. The protective cedar bag lay ripped open on her bed and my little sweetie had collapsed in tears because the dress didn’t fit her. “Fix it, Mommy.”

After explaining the importance of waiting until she had grown up to fix it, she calmed down and gave me most of a smile for this photo.

So, like Chloe, I’m trying to make my own work-in-progress fit just right. Chapter 38 is about to be re-written for the third time, so the blog got neglected this week. I’m in the final chapters, though, and can’t wait to wrap it up in a beautiful, fully hemmed bow.

On the same Friday that I found my little girl in bridal froth, I write about The Bethlehem Star on Life Upside Down. You can read it here.

Happy gift-wrapping, crazy shopping, cookie baking week! See you next Monday!

The Post Thanksgiving Workout

Posted on December 2, 2013 by sherryrossman

How does a person find peace with the thousands of calories consumed at Thanksgiving?

How does a mother with sugar-possessed children cope?

Welcome to the Post-Thanksgiving Workout.

Supplies:

*Comfy clothes

*Two children ( If you don’t have any of your own, there is always a set of parents in need of a nap – Call me).

It’s always important to warm up first. You can accomplish this by mopping the gravy and sugar drips from my the kitchen floor.

1) Upper body. Grab the shortest child and lift. Do this 20 times.

2) Lower body. Simply walk through the room where two children are playing. They will automatically assume you are there for their entertainment and will attach themselves to you. Now walk. This will work your ENTIRE lower body.

3) Abs. Have the oldest child hold a piece of chocolate in front of you. Now crunch. With each crunch, have child hold chocolate farther away from your mouth.

Now repeat. And then eat the chocolate.

Happy Late Thanksgiving.

Don your ball gown

Posted on November 4, 2013 by sherryrossman

Autumn is a beautiful misery. Shade trees flame into golden reds before undressing for winter. They drop their clothing to the earth, stripped of their ball gowns, leaving their skeletons to point at the sun. After their dramatic exit, our heroes burn through the decayed clothing to protect us from its fury that can turn a town into ash. It’s necessary, I know. Prescribed burns help protect us from the monster blazes, and even promote germination of certain trees. It’s a death to promote life, and in the midst of pumpkin pie excitement, we try not to choke on its polluted breath.

The smoke keeps me on a steady diet of tea and honey. My son has to hole up inside to protect his fragile lungs, and in our living room we become part-time hermits for the holiday season. But we still sing to the Silent Nights and lift our tea cups to the King that died on his own tree, bleeding into the earth an invitation where death has no place and the only fires that exist are the ones He placed inside our hearts.

My children marvel at the trees that are in-between green and red, orange and yellow. Something about this season has wired them with energy beyond what sugar can do. They delight in the tie-dye colors and wind that blows the leaves into a confetti spice, weaving in and out of fence posts and windshield wipers. A passion for life has filled them, almost as if the flames are teasing their feet.

And we sniff, and cough and sneeze in the beauty.

When Christ displayed His love on the cross, didn’t He show it with fiery passion? I think on how often I stay in the fire compared to the times I just want to crawl underneath security blankets and block out the smoke and darkness the next few months will bring.
But, the fire, when shaped and pruned by God, is what lights up the world.

So maybe this season is God’s reminder to keep the flames going. If you let yourself get lukewarm, the decayed things collected through the years will ignite uncontrollable and consume all that is good. But if we stoke the fire, and let God strip the dead stuff away, how much more will the world see His glory?

What does autumn remind you of? Tell us in the comments.