Laurie Klein, Scribe

immerse in God, emerge refreshed

  • About
  • Books
  • Blog
    • Small Wonders
    • Soul Mimosas
    • Springboards
    • Wellsprings
    • BiblioDiva
  • Reveries
  • Links
  • Contact
  • Press Kit
  • Playlist

Black Sheep: Between Noels, Part IV

by Laurie Klein 6 Chiming In

Black sheep? Moi? Oh yes. Sometimes.

During childhood I cradled my stuffed counterpart, complete with music box.

Amid adolescence I perched it atop the desk handed down from my mother.

Seven decades later, it sits near my keyboard, flop ears and button eyes cocked my way.

Black sheep

Twist the oval brass ring in its belly and the song still plays, almost as if, once again, Mom croons the lullaby words of Brahms. One night, an insecure new mama myself, I asked to hear it again, her voice by then crackly with age.

Sleepyhead, close your eyes.
Mother’s right here beside you.

Do we ever outgrow the childlike longing to be held? Rescued?

Re-wind with me . . .

to a distant, long-ago night. A swaddled infant’s gaze locks on his mother’s brimming eyes.

Perhaps Mary sings:

Guardian angels are near,
So sleep on, with no fear.

From starlit Bethlehem, slip further back in time. A month will do. Picture slopes and valleys partially blanketed in wool, as if fallen clouds rest on the earth. These sheep are specifically raised for temple sacrifice.

firstborn donkey substitute

And King David’s descendants keep watch.

Farther afield, a grizzled shepherd bows over a feed trough. He swaddles a flailing newborn lamb. The birth rags will protect spindly new legs from harm. Little eyes close, the damp body nestled in warmth.

Does the shepherd pipe a tune?

I’ll protect you from harm,
You will wake in my arms.

What of this motherless lamb? And that bleating ewe, over yonder, grieving a stillborn body?

How gently the shepherd nudges the bereaved aside. How painstakingly he bathes the orphan in the dead lamb’s placental blood.

And then, how wondrous, the milk of recognition, the miracle of adoption!

From these hills we can look toward Bethlehem or, five miles north, toward Jerusalem; from incarnation to eventual crucifixion.

Among these grasslands hundreds and hundreds of lambs — black sheep, white sheep — were once raised for twice-daily sacrifices in the temple.

Black sheep

Thousands more of them met the priestly blade at Passover. BUT . . .

. . . before that feast of remembrance, each household brought their best lamb into their home for several days. Hand-fed it. Treated it as family. Maybe the children named it.

and, metaphorically, for a black sheep, a perfect lamb

Everyone knew that when they presented their gift to the priest, he would ask them one question: “Do you love this lamb?”

Spotless, tenderly cherished lambs led to the temple.

My threadbare black sheep on my desk.

Heaven’s Lamb — who loves us.

Now and forever NOEL, noel, noel . . .

lauriekleinscribe logo

Black sheep, white sheep: Photo by Megan Johnston on Unsplash

Close-up, white sheep Photo by Sam Carter on Unsplash

Lamb: Photo by Bill Fairs on Unsplash

Brahms Lullaby, Celine Dion

Lullaby lyrics

 

https://video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?fr=yhs-trp-001&ei=UTF-8&hsimp=yhs-001&hspart=trp&p=celine+dion+brahms+lullaby&type=Y235_F163_217427_042622#id=1&vid=150f47cd4fb7c8d9305ca40e9f5ccbe2&action=click

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: adoption, angels, black sheep, Heaven's lamb, lamb, love, lullaby, miracle, rescue, sacrifice, shepherd December 21, 2024

“The Food of Love …”

by Laurie Klein 28 Chiming In

The food of love? Well, we are making cookies today . . .

My granddaughter perches on the kitchen stool, one loose-cannon leg kicking the rungs. She’s chatty, a tad restive. She waves the baby chick cookie cutter above her head. Then, surprisingly, she falls silent, pointing to the decal that spans the soffit. With a five-year-old’s zest she proclaims, “If music be the food of Love, pla-a-ay on.”

“Keira,” I marvel, “you’re reading!”

She grins briefly, then returns to cutting birdies from dough. Keira, aka Kiki, was once a hypersensitive infant we carried around on a pillow. She suffered acute sensory issues. Traumatized in utero by her birth mother’s drug habit, our little fledgling now reads Shakespeare.

Oh, the ageless effervescence of wonder — it tingles all over my body. I’m older than the average grandma, eager to savor each stage of growth while I still can.

As my friend Judi Carlson says, “What piece of our heart did God create to receive this kind of miracle? We adopt fragile children. And those children adopt us.”

Kiki, our impish dynamo, seldom sits long enough to hear a story through to the end. So when did the skill to read click? She’s a girl with places to go, faces to make, boundaries to test.

“All done,” she sings out. “Now what?”

I slide her tray of ginger-bird cutouts into the oven. “Eight minutes,” I say. “Want to see the baby robins?”

We tiptoe to my bedroom window to watch the ramshackle nest on our deck.

awaiting the food of love

Three fledglings yeep and chirr, jostling each other. Then, like harrumphing uncles, they rotate positions.

She wants to know why they are fighting.

“They’re getting too big for the nest,” I say. “And maybe they’re itchy. Look, they’re taking beak-baths.”

[Click & watch] IMG_0548

Chirping, Mama Robin swoops to the lawn, nabs a worm, heads for the nest. She embodies music, the food of Love — countless times each day.

I’ve watched her spread wings and tail over the nest during two hailstorms, her quivering pinions jeweled with ice. She’s giving her young every chance in a world where statistics show only 25% survive their first year.

The oven timer goes off, and we head for the kitchen, Kiki bouncing ahead of me — and off a wall or two. The thought comes to me, she’ll be okay, despite her rough start in life and her madcap ways. The cherishing God who knows when a sparrow falls is with her, and will be, long after I’m gone.

Whoever wrote Psalm 91 knew a thing or two about love: “[God] will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection.” For now, I’m grateful the Deity shares part of that privilege with me.

Kiki and I frost the cookies and top them with sprinkles. Another gift. The robins, too, seem sent. Vulnerability dressed in feathers chooses my deck. My time. Me. From the nest’s inception to sky-blue eggs to scruffy hatchlings, I’ve eavesdropped on this family-in-progress day after day, for weeks. A living psalm.

Kiki takes bird cookies home to her mama. A few hours later I find the nest empty. Abandoned. I’m surprised by the ache in my chest. And how it spreads.

I would have loved to watch them fly.

Since then, I’ve used this breath prayer throughout the day, the one that’s been singing itself in my head lately, helping me let go.

(inhale) Lord of every     (exhale) quickening,
Watching over     egg and wing,
How you cherish     everything!
Taking flight     or nestling,
I live     to sing
All that you are,     my King.

lauriekleinscribe logo

What helps you release a cherished hope or a beloved being already in flux?

You might also enjoy this one about Kiki

And this one, if you missed it, about the nest

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: adoption, cookies, feathers, fledgling, gingerbirds, love, music, nest, robins June 2, 2022

Chosen Again, Moonshadow Day

by Laurie Klein 38 Chiming In

Moody skies. A cliff. An abandoned stroller . . .

chosen chariot awaiting

Who took the baby?

+++

May I tell you a story?

On August 21st the solar eclipse will, in some locations, turn day into darkness. I wish you could know what the day means for our family.

On this day a year ago, an unwanted child was born to a drug-addicted mother and unknown father.

The parents would not cradle or feed or rock their baby girl.

They’d never be the metaphorical sun and moon watching over her world.

The baby, traumatized by Lithium withdrawal, could not settle and would not eat.

Our daughter, Rachel, agreed to work with her in the Neonatal Care Unit.

Love ignited their first moments together.

Rachel took this baby . . . into her heart.

Irresistibly drawn, she and her husband would rescue her, raise her, and nurture little Kiki into wholeness.

chosen to be cherished

Perhaps Kiki sensed she’d been chosen, because she relaxed. She ate and slept. Her new responsiveness to love lit up the room.

Homecoming

Ongoing drug withdrawal consumed compassion, patience, and stamina.

Even tightly swaddled, sometimes Kiki could not bear to be touched, and I carried her around and around the house on a cushion. As with so many of our solutions, the pillow trick worked but wasn’t foolproof.

Weeks passed. Red-eyed and shaky with fatigue, Rachel and Damon agonized over her anguish. She shrieked and flailed.

“I’ve got you,” Damon would whisper, holding her close. “I’ve got you.”

Is this what it means to be chosen and cherished by God?

To be rescued, again and again—no matter what. To be made part of a family, given a new name.

Sometimes few words are needed. Touch is all.

Kiki’s suffering raged on.

Will the clouds part?

People who follow total eclipses wonder: Is our equipment good enough? Will the clouds part? We’ve come all this way . . . what if the wonder eludes us?

As caregivers, sometimes we miss glimmers of light when our loved one’s pain is vast and their progress, incremental.

We doubt our ability. God seems remote. Hidden.

Who will hold us and say, “I’ve got you.”?

We turn to “the man with starlight in his veins,” as writer Brian Doyle once called Jesus.

Then we offer ragged presence.

Chosen Again, Moonshadow Day

chosen one
“To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Kiki is thriving.

On the solar eclipse we’ll celebrate her first birthday . . . at the courthouse. We’ll witness the finalization of her adoption. She’ll be formally chosen, again, and for always, in a court of law . . .

. . . with all manner of declarations and testimonies, photos and signatures.

Can you imagine the hugging? No words needed. Touch is all.

lauriekleinscribe logo

 

Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.
Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night?

“Moonshadow,” by Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens)

More of Kiki’s story here

 

 

 

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: adoption, cherished, chosen, eclipse, love, moonshadow August 20, 2017

Love and the Stork’s Apprentice

by Laurie Klein 18 Chiming In

Some stories are so tender, they’re meant for only a few eyes. This story reveals hard things, and hopes long-guarded. I’ve covered the heroes so you can see their goodness, but they won’t feel the world’s glare in their faces. I trust you to do the same.

###

Can a young, single, entrepreneurial girl be almost full-term—and not know it?

Let’s call her Larkin: Girl-on-the-move, literally and figuratively, traveling across country with a new boyfriend. Unexplained pain prompts their detour to our city’s Emergency Room. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Small Wonders Tagged With: adoption, hidden, longing, love May 2, 2017

Windfall: Urgent, Instant, Demanding Joy

by Laurie Klein 24 Chiming In

Windfall —”an unexpected gain” — who wouldn’t want one?

Oh, have I got a story for you, a tale worth a roomful of candles and cake . . . windfall of candles

S.O.S.

One week ago the local adoption agency phoned our eldest daughter, mother to our 16-month-old grandson. The agency’s request was urgent, the need, dire.

A struggling newborn in the Deaconess Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) needed someone to help her learn to eat. Hopefully, to thrive. Overworked nurses wanted someone calm and caring to hold one tiny girl, coax her into life. Would our daughter come?

She and her husband weighed the risks. There were many.

Still, she went. Stepped right into miraculous, heart-wrenching chaos for five days. We met our newest little one in NICU that first evening. Ashen and frail, with an awkward feeding port in her skull and cords snaking off to various monitors, she looked like a small electric doll. [Read more…]

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: adoption, love, Risk, unexpected, windfall, wonder, yes August 30, 2016

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • RSS

Subscribe

Please enter your email address below to receive emails from Laurie twice a month.

Your information is safe with me. I will never spam you. Read my privacy policy here.

Hi, I’m Laurie.

  • Scribe for wonder
  • Contemplative author/artist
  • Reader/performer/speaker
  • Imagination maven
  • Biblio*Diva
  • Expert on chocolate raisins
  • Click here to read more.

House of 49 Doors: Entries in a Life

House of 49 Doors: Entries in a Life
Buy This Book Online
Buy from Amazon
House of 49 Doors: Entries in a Life
Buy now!

Where the Sky Opens, a Partial Cosmography

Where the Sky Opens, a Partial Cosmography
Buy This Book Online
Buy from Amazon
Where the Sky Opens, a Partial Cosmography
Buy now!

Recent Posts

  • Under the Primer
  • Hold Fast
  • Runaway
  • Wholehearted Lent
  • Listening to You Breathe

Categories

  • BiblioDiva
  • Immersions
  • Small Wonders
  • Soul Mimosas
  • Springboards
  • Wellsprings

Tags

adoption adventure attention Beauty blessing Blues change chosen contemplative cookies delight emergence Gift grace gratitude hidden hope joy light longing love Magi music nest pain peace pearls possibility praise prayer regret Risk shelf life soundings space star surrender Time transformation truth waiting wellspring wonder word yes

Copyright © 2025 Laurie Klein, Scribe Laurie Klein, Scribe All Rights Reserved Laurie Klein, Scribe Privacy Policy