Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Christmas 2010
Hello friends and family,
The Richard Tenney Family wishes all of you a joyous Christmas Season. We are truly blessed and feel especially grateful this time of year for the tender mercies of the Lord in our lives....here's an example.
Over the fourth of July Holiday, we spent some time with extended family in a distant town. The plan was to leave our son there so he could work for a couple of weeks and earn some money to purchase a motorcycle. Prior to us leaving our home for the holiday, there were arguments with this son that were very serious. Both parents and child were left feeling estranged from one another. We traveled to New Mexico to explore an abandoned mining town. There was awkward silence in the air as we tried to enjoy the sight seeing, but inside I was crying out. I felt as though I was mourning for this son, who was growing up rapidly and didn't seem to need mom anymore. I felt separated from all of the children, as though they had forgotten my deep love for them. I felt a great loss when I thought about never holding my own newborn baby again...or all of the other millions of experiences you pass through with young children. My kids had arrived at a different place now, and it left me scrambling to relearn how to parent them. And so I felt lonely; very lonely; and in desperate need to nurture and love, and to be loved.
We took some family pictures and loved learning the history about the place. We made our way back to the mini-van eventually to find that we had a flat tire. The men went to work on fixing that while the rest of us ate some lunch. The ruined tire was secured up underneath the back of the van where the spare had been, and soon we were driving down the mountain. After a few minutes, the road before us presented many ups and downs, like a mini roller coaster. We took the first rise and fall just fine, but the second one, larger than the first, provided too little clearance for the full size tire below the carriage. We heard a terrible noise and felt the van jerk. I looked in the rear-view mirror, and saw the flat tire rolling across the road. It finally wobbled and then fell, convulsing for a moment before coming to a rest. All of us were stunned for a moment. My husband stopped the van, and he and I got out. He went to the back of the van to do some inspecting, and I started walking back up the road to retrieve the tire. A few feet from my destination, I noticed some movement on the blacktop. I leaned down and realized that it was a butterfly. It was flapping it's wings slowly and did not fly away. I got very close to it and could see that one of it's upper wings had a tear in it. I placed my finger in front of it and it hopped right on. I walked back to the van, rolling the tire with one hand, and cradling the injured butterfly with the other. The kids thought it was neat, but I was mesmerized with it. It didn't want to fly away; it couldn't fly away. Did it get hurt when the tire went bouncing down the road? It sat on the back of my hand and barely moved. We continued our trip back to our relative's home. It was over an hour away. The kids gently passed the butterfly around a few times, but then grew bored of it. When the butterfly came back to me, I decided to see if it would drink something. I filled a lid to a water bottle about half full with water and sat it in front of the butterfly. The animal didn't move at first, and then it just seemed annoyed and backed away a little. Frustrated, I took the lid and tipped it sideways. A single drop of water landed right in front of the butterfly; a smalll, beaded, shimmery pool. The animal stepped forward, lowered it's head and unrolled it's unusually long proboscis until it touched the water. It started to slurp up the water slowly. When the drop was almost gone, I could feel the tickle of the tiny straw against the back of my hand; it was amazing! Two more drops of water were consumed this way and then I simply enjoyed just watching the pulsing wings for the rest of the ride.
When we arrived, I decided to place the butterfly on a lavender plant in the front yard of the house. The wind was barely blowing and the butterfly clung safely to the leaves. I busied myself with kids and dinner and unloading the van. By then, the wind had picked up and was blowing hard enough to rustle the tree leaves. I went to the front yard to take a peak at the butterfly. It was gone.
I felt a little guilty and wondered if I should have put it in a glass jar instead, to protect it and keep it safe. I went in the house and sat down to watch a movie with everyone. My youngest child, who I thought had "outgrown mom", came and laid his head on my lap. He let me stroke his cheek and hair. I heard a voice say,"They still need you. You are loved. Thank you for watching over one of my little creatures today." And then the tears flowed, and I realized that the Lord had granted me every unspoken desire of my heart; they were unknown to all around me, but not to Him.
I looked up at my oldest son, and through my tears, mouthed the words, "I love you", and he touched my arm.
The Richard Tenney Family wishes all of you a joyous Christmas Season. We are truly blessed and feel especially grateful this time of year for the tender mercies of the Lord in our lives....here's an example.
Over the fourth of July Holiday, we spent some time with extended family in a distant town. The plan was to leave our son there so he could work for a couple of weeks and earn some money to purchase a motorcycle. Prior to us leaving our home for the holiday, there were arguments with this son that were very serious. Both parents and child were left feeling estranged from one another. We traveled to New Mexico to explore an abandoned mining town. There was awkward silence in the air as we tried to enjoy the sight seeing, but inside I was crying out. I felt as though I was mourning for this son, who was growing up rapidly and didn't seem to need mom anymore. I felt separated from all of the children, as though they had forgotten my deep love for them. I felt a great loss when I thought about never holding my own newborn baby again...or all of the other millions of experiences you pass through with young children. My kids had arrived at a different place now, and it left me scrambling to relearn how to parent them. And so I felt lonely; very lonely; and in desperate need to nurture and love, and to be loved.
We took some family pictures and loved learning the history about the place. We made our way back to the mini-van eventually to find that we had a flat tire. The men went to work on fixing that while the rest of us ate some lunch. The ruined tire was secured up underneath the back of the van where the spare had been, and soon we were driving down the mountain. After a few minutes, the road before us presented many ups and downs, like a mini roller coaster. We took the first rise and fall just fine, but the second one, larger than the first, provided too little clearance for the full size tire below the carriage. We heard a terrible noise and felt the van jerk. I looked in the rear-view mirror, and saw the flat tire rolling across the road. It finally wobbled and then fell, convulsing for a moment before coming to a rest. All of us were stunned for a moment. My husband stopped the van, and he and I got out. He went to the back of the van to do some inspecting, and I started walking back up the road to retrieve the tire. A few feet from my destination, I noticed some movement on the blacktop. I leaned down and realized that it was a butterfly. It was flapping it's wings slowly and did not fly away. I got very close to it and could see that one of it's upper wings had a tear in it. I placed my finger in front of it and it hopped right on. I walked back to the van, rolling the tire with one hand, and cradling the injured butterfly with the other. The kids thought it was neat, but I was mesmerized with it. It didn't want to fly away; it couldn't fly away. Did it get hurt when the tire went bouncing down the road? It sat on the back of my hand and barely moved. We continued our trip back to our relative's home. It was over an hour away. The kids gently passed the butterfly around a few times, but then grew bored of it. When the butterfly came back to me, I decided to see if it would drink something. I filled a lid to a water bottle about half full with water and sat it in front of the butterfly. The animal didn't move at first, and then it just seemed annoyed and backed away a little. Frustrated, I took the lid and tipped it sideways. A single drop of water landed right in front of the butterfly; a smalll, beaded, shimmery pool. The animal stepped forward, lowered it's head and unrolled it's unusually long proboscis until it touched the water. It started to slurp up the water slowly. When the drop was almost gone, I could feel the tickle of the tiny straw against the back of my hand; it was amazing! Two more drops of water were consumed this way and then I simply enjoyed just watching the pulsing wings for the rest of the ride.
When we arrived, I decided to place the butterfly on a lavender plant in the front yard of the house. The wind was barely blowing and the butterfly clung safely to the leaves. I busied myself with kids and dinner and unloading the van. By then, the wind had picked up and was blowing hard enough to rustle the tree leaves. I went to the front yard to take a peak at the butterfly. It was gone.
I felt a little guilty and wondered if I should have put it in a glass jar instead, to protect it and keep it safe. I went in the house and sat down to watch a movie with everyone. My youngest child, who I thought had "outgrown mom", came and laid his head on my lap. He let me stroke his cheek and hair. I heard a voice say,"They still need you. You are loved. Thank you for watching over one of my little creatures today." And then the tears flowed, and I realized that the Lord had granted me every unspoken desire of my heart; they were unknown to all around me, but not to Him.
I looked up at my oldest son, and through my tears, mouthed the words, "I love you", and he touched my arm.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)