Listening/Part 2?

The crises? We all have them, some seasons fuller of them than others. A mixed bag of life offers up
circumstances that make our hair stand up on end, or fall out-- news where we either kick up our heels, or dig them in.

Personally, I am facing  the second anniversary of my son's death, feeling loss of long-time neighbors moving on, and watching my husband and son embrace new adventures in their lives.  If I have a new adventure --

I DON'T SEE IT.

 I am adrift. My begonias, sit on the front stoop, drooping, crying out to be watered, (or even better, PLANTED!)  My dog smiles up at me, coaxing a walk -- he prances along as I shuffle. Days drag on endlessly -- (where was all this time when I needed it?!)

Feels like God is saying, "You can now move freely about the cabin."

My answer:  "Am I even in a cabin?"

Truth to tell, I AM learning. My opine is not always divine. So listening is up front and center.

Lazy summer sounds are high on my easy listening list. Lawnmowers humming, (not mine unfortunately), trees rustling in a gentle breeze.  Fighter jets crashing through the sound barrier DO NOT make the list, but the midnight train peeling down the tracks at midnight as I drift to sleep DOES.

Listening to myself is high on my list. As I pour through WAITING ON GOD by Andrew Murray, I once again learn that this process is not cut and dried, short, or predictable.  Courage to sit in my own silence, gently sorting through emotions which pour in without bolting takes some discipline, strength, and a measure of focus. 

I just didn't count the cost. 

But I will.  With Him, I will.

And in the process I hope to understand more of myself, of new friends and old, and of the One Who Knows.  Methinks that the pen of my heart is being sharpened.  Much is finding its way to paper, some of which is surprising to me.  The new adventure?  I suspect much more to follow.

Hope you come along.

Can I just say? Listening? I've worked on this blog for two months now. I've strained my ear, stretched my focus, used plenty of Q-tips, reviewed my CD's, reminisced about my childhood favorites,  stiffened as I recall sounds which signify fear, death, and destruction, and those that go bump in the night.  You get the idea.

I've racked my brain about how to describe sounds in a bright and brilliant way.  Birds that go chirp?  C'mon!  For years now, I've searched for the word about how I felt when a gang member stuck a gun into the small of my back, and cocked it.  Not much else sticks in my mind but that sound.

Obviously I lived to tell about it.

The reason for this exercise you may ask?

A crisis of conundrums. A map too frayed and worn to give me any direction. A mind fraught with overload.  A life, too quickly changing.  Once again, I had to pull up camp, go higher, clear off the calendar, pick up my journal and my Bible, and,

Watch, wait, and listen.